SILMINGA

Preface

Three months ago, when I wrote this reflection, I was in the midst of adjusting to life in a city unlike anything that I have ever experienced. The influence of my skin tone on the perceptions and interactions that I came across daily was one element that really got me thinking.

While the terms ‘silminga’ and ‘abroni’ bothered me at first, they are no longer real issues to me. I have much more understanding for the people who didn’t get why it bothered me. In most cases it does not bother me.

I say most cases because there are still times when the term irks me. For example, this morning I was in my office and Wisdom, who usually calls me ‘Chris-Chris’ stepped into my office and called out ‘silminga’. Coming from people that I know or people that I am close with, I don’t hear that.

My understanding is that when people don’t know my name, they refer to me by the most obvious reference point – white man/silminga. Proof of this comes every time that I wear my Ghana Black Stars futeball jersey. I walk down the street (whether in Tamale or Accra) and people call out to me ‘Essien’ in reference to the name of the world-class Ghanaian mid-fielder whose name is on my jersey. I have also been refered to as Peter Crouch (a tall striker for England and for Liverpool, who I am said to resemble).

That I undestand.

When you know my name and we are building a relationship, and the primary aspect of my indentity that you want to refer to is ‘white man’, that still irks me. I don’t get offended, but I do tell people my thoughts on it.

So, with that said, enjoy my exploration of one of the many names that I have inherited in my time in Ghana.


Silminga

Ever have the feeling that someone is watching you? Ever have the feeling that everyone is watching you? Ever look up and find that your feeling is right, and every pair of eyes around you is set upon you, with no apology for staring...just grilling you? Have you ever walked down the street, sat on the back of a motorcycle, or in the back seat of a car and have seven out of ten people stop what they are doing and turn the heads to watch you pass? I feel like Beyonce.
The attention is not because of my sizzle or my dazzle, but it is because of my complexion. In Tamale, you rarely see anyone that is not African. There are a few Asian workers building the new stadium (though they stay on their compound and are rarely seen in the streets). As for Europeans, there are a few Dutch volunteers and a couple of Canadians that you see here and there. I think that the fact that I am usually dressed in business casual clothing (or the odd time in some pressed and matching jeans and a t-shirt also adds to the attention); for the few volunteers are usually dressed more like travelers (kind of a bohemian vibe of backpacking wear, with a few touches of Ghanian fashion).

The result can be a strange feeling of being alone and the centre of attention at the same time. In those moments when I just want to walk down the street, or go and buy something, or just chill and reflect, the feeling is that I am more of sight to see than a person. There are times where I have felt like a painting that someone has walked up to in a gallery and is just looking at.

People often blurt things out at me too. The range of motivations is wide: curiosity, genuine kindness, perceived opportunity, attempting to make a sale, for fun, and – sometimes - rudeness.

The children always say, ‘hello’. They usually seem to take it as a mini-adventure to get me to say ‘hello’ back, which I usually do.

Sales people sometimes will blurt out, ‘hey’, and when I turn to them, they point at what they are selling and say, ‘come buy this’. That hasn’t worked with me once, and it won’t.
Some people start conversations and practice their English, and often inquire about going to school in Canada (when they find out I’m Canadian). I have also gotten a lot of people tell me that, “you can help me get a visa”.

Sometimes people speak to me in Dagbani, and when they use the few sayings that I know, I respond. Other times, I just put my hands in the air and shrug my shoulders.
There are times when people seem to mock me, which usually prompts me to meet their gaze showing them that I’m not feeling the joke. That has had different effects, ranging from them turning away and continuing their joke, to a look kind of like, ‘my bad’.

While some people are distant, some are just too friendly. I have had people riding their bike, and turn the other way and come back to get my number and ‘be my friend’. For me, I am not comfortable with developing a friendship with someone who has never heard me speak; we have never had a conversation, we have no idea of what the values and principles and interests that we each hold, and it is hard to gauge what the motive is.

Razak says that, 'it is the culture of Ghanians to welcome strangers more than their own family so that they return to their country testifying of how well they were treated'. Rafiq says, 'they think that you have money, and they will get some by being your friend'. The reality seems to be a combination of the two some days 50/50, sometimes 90/10.

The looks and interactions are one thing, but the words are something different.

In Accra (the Twi language), you often hear the term ‘Abroni’ when you turn the corner. The term means, ‘White man’, but is applied to most ‘foreigners’; Kary with JHR is of Jamaican parentage and she gets it all the time, and so does my friend Tamara whose Dad is from Ghana and whose mother is from Europe. In Tamale, they say ‘Abroni’ sometimes, but they usually use the word ‘Silminga’ (which means ‘White man’ in Dagbani). One term you also hear is ‘Gban Pieli’, which means ‘white skin’. Most times though, it’s ‘Silminga’

Even though I get it often (everyday), I never respond to ‘Silminga’. While greeting is of critical importance to day-to-day life here, I treat such calls to me the way I do an engine hissing by with the sound of the last syllable of my name: no recognition. The difference between the two is that hearing ‘Silminga’ stings. I do my best to keep it in perspective though, and most of the times it just rolls off of my back; for most people in Tamale, they rarely have any contact with White people, so they have all of these perceptions through TV and their limited experiences. In a lot of cases, they don’t know your name, so they just through that out. Still, there are other things you can say if you don't know my name: 'Hi', 'Hey', 'Psst', 'Mr.', 'Sir', 'Ana woola', 'excuse me', ‘yo’, etc.

Interestingly, there is no equivalent to ‘Silminga’ in Dagbani, while Gban Pieli (white skin) is complimented by ‘Bban Sablinli’ (black skin). The closest word that would be used is ‘Tuunzun Nira’ which means different tribe. The term ‘Tuunzun Nira’ actually has variations which refers to specific nations such as the Ashanti or Dagbani. This could also be applied to the British or the Welch, the way that it is applied to the Xhosa or the Yoruba, but it is not. They use a separate term, ‘Silminga’.

Some children have called me ‘Fada’, because the only White people they know are Priests. Others call me ‘teacha’, as they have only met White teachers. One of the girls that I live with is starting to realize that Kooneh is not my name (that was the name of the Dutch guy who used to live there, and was the only White man she has ever known personally). Apparently she calls every White man she sees ‘Koon’. She and her mother, who recounts these stories too me, have no idea of the historical resemblance and significance that the name of their Dutch friend has in the North American context.

A major factor in this whole issue is opportunity. One taxi driver was urging me to be careful of out-of-towners who try and rob foreigners.

It’s rare in Tamale, but can happen in major southern cities and in the countryside. He said, “we see Whites, and think that they have money”. The cab drivers, merchants, and children that beg in the market often point out this fact in their persistence to hustle me. I have also been approached around twenty times in my two weeks about the possibility of getting a scholarship in Canada.

I think that it also has to do with a mixture of both the perception and the reality of life in the West in comparison to life in Ghana. While I would like it if this perception didn't effect my days here so often, I would rather things be adjusted on a global level so that this did not have to be the case. It is nothing to complain about in comparison.

The other day, I was sitting on a curb when two young ladies invited me to come sit at their stand where they sell apples. I watched from behind their table as they made a couple of sales. As we talked about prices, dreams, and obstacles to achievement, I could see how charging an extra 1000cds on an apple where you can could help. Really, it’s not anything other than a natural reaction to an unnatural situation; for the disparity between economies (especially given how rich in resources West Africa is), should not be there.

One afternoon, Razak and I were speaking about the attention that the children give to me and how they love to come around when I am in his area. After explaining that I am going to be tired of saying ‘hello’ if I respond every time that they bellow out the greeting, he asked me a question that really made me think. He said, ‘People are so excited to see you, how would they react to see a Black in Canada?’. I think he thinks that Canada is more of the ‘great white north’ than it really is. Yet when I thought of his question, I had a bit of a sinking feeling. Firstly, it depends on what part of Canada we are talking about. Regardless, I felt that he, from his own experiences, would not really ‘get’ my answer.

He was smiling when he asked the question, but I didn’t have the good news that he seemed to be looking for. I began to think of why my answer was so drastically different from the reality that we were seeing in front of our own eyes. What would the experience be for a Ghanian to visit a rural area of my country that rarely ever came across someone from African. I first explained that Canada is different from city to city and from coast to coast. “In Toronto”, I told him, “it is very diverse. Even still, there is a lot of racism. The further you go from Toronto the more extreme it gets”. I told him that, “I don’t think most children would be excited and coming around to make friends”. My thoughts really varied on this question: in some cases it would be no big issue, in some cases they would go unnoticed, but I don’t know of any places off hand that would have the neighborhood children getting excited. Let me really stress that this happens EVERYWHERE that I go in Tamale (and I haven’t even been out to the northern villages yet).

One woman who was here for two months, and helping at Justice FM, asked the children she works with what the Dagbani word for ‘black skin’ is. Whenever someone calls her ‘Silminga’, she just says, ‘Gban Sablinli’. I thought that was pretty funny, and the guys at the station did too.

Imagine this European lady walking down the street and a group of Ghanians are just sitting around talking. They see her and they call out to her what translates as, “White man”. She looks over at them, and without missing a beat, replies, “Black skin!”. Everyone is cool, no hard feelings. Odd?

While I know my thoughts and experiences will evolve on this topic, this is my first reflection on the subject. While I would fill out ‘White male’ on a survey if asked, it is not the primary factor I think of in my day to day identity. Being in a place where those facts are highlighted more extremely than ever, though I am not a stranger to being the odd White guy in the bunch, has stirred up a reflective spirit in me. Here, with the cultural, language and economic factors (plus the lack of exposure to real life interactions with White people that most people I met have had – one friend I was staying with told me that he didn’t think that White people were actually capable of living the way Africans in Tamale do until I stayed with him) the associations are placed in bold, and I am contemplating much more what it all means.
I will close, for now, addressing the idea that it is just cultural and is not meant with any harm.

The term is birthed out of a very unhealthy relationship between Ghanians and European colonizers/slave traders/imperialists/criminals. The more recent incarnation of the relationship between Ghanians and Europeans has been through NGO's (Non-Governmental Organization's - an official name for charities and social change groups). The relationship is dual in that there can be great connections, understanding, and beauty, and there can be distance, bitterness, and entrenched racism. What I notice is that the people that I am growing close to do not call me Silminga. They actually seem a bit akward when other Ghanians refer to me as such. I don't think the term is usually malicious, but to say it is cultural needs more explanation; it is a cultural term marking difference in what is a historically unhealthy relationship between Europeans and Ghanians.

While I am thinking about this quite seriously, I don't take it on so much in my day-to-day life. For now, the prevailing image was of a young boy in his brown and orange school uniform that I was passing on my morning walk to work. Being at eye level with my belt, he looked up at me with a big grin that was only missing his front teeth. He smiled and in a loud and clear voice – confident as could be – and without a tinge of a Ghanaian accent, he said to me, “White man”, and then continued grinning on his way to school.