I am Here to Learn: Navigating the Stereotypes of Americans in Ghana

Darkness had fallen on Nzuelzo, the village on stilts in the Western Region of Ghana. It was the most remote and rustic trip my friends and I had made yet. While the host of the guest house had welcomed us warmly, our interactions with the villagers had been somewhat awkward. We were there to observe their way of life, and I was struggling with how to do so in a way that would demonstrate our respect and appreciation.

The bar which accompanied our home stay seemed to be a hot spot in the evening—if for no other reason than the generator which supplied its lights (the only lights in the town) and speakers. We made our way to the bar and continued in minimal exchange with some of the locals. Our varied English accents and vocabulary were posing a particular challenge to our attempts at conversation.

“Azonto” finally graced the boisterous speakers of the bar. Both benches—the locals and my friends and I—were quickly in the center of the bar breaking out our best “azonto” dance moves. Before long, we were laughing, smiling, and the bar was overflowing with locals trying to join. With a twist of the ankle and a pump of the fist, we had shown that we were there to learn, engage, and laugh along with the villagers.

The struggle to shape my position as a visitor to Ghana has been an ongoing challenge. In many situations, I have been presented with an unsettling hierarchical relationship between foreigners and Ghanaians. Ghanaians have a reputation for welcoming foreigners, and people frequently start up friendly conversations with me as I stroll down the street or through the market. They are curious as to why I am in Ghana and how I feel about Ghana. Often they guess at my occupation in Ghana: a volunteer; and presume how I feel: hot.

While volunteering is an honorable pursuit, I am eager to upset the stereotype and proudly respond that I am a student at the university. Perhaps my water flows more regularly and my lights rarely go out; but that does not mean that I am in the position to teach Ghana how to develop. Rather, I am here to be taught. The need to empower populations of developing countries in their ability to develop independently has been proposed as a key to sustainable development. It is important for a mutual exchange.

I did volunteer as an intern at Women in Law and Development in Africa (WiLDAF), but this too was more of an educational experience for me than anything else. On one of my most educational exposures of the internship, I accompanied a WiLDAF delegation to the Supreme Court of Ghana. When my director introduced our delegation she grouped myself and another American intern together as “representatives of donors.”

She later explained that she did not want to offend the Supreme Court justices with whom we were meeting in bringing mere interns to the visit. I appreciated being included, but my position struck me as reinforcing an unfortunate hierarchical relationship. Once again, it was an easily acceptable story that as an American I represented a donor; and, as a donor, I deserved respect even from the highest officials of the courts of Ghana.

This assumption is indicative of an unjust positioning of players in Ghana’s development. My main objective in Ghana is to explore another culture, but in those countless conversations on the street I intend to also contribute to its development by denying my role in designing it. Rather than reinforcing my stereotypical position as an instructor from the developing world, I try to empower those with which I interact: I am here to learn, and I have learned so much. Yes, I am hot, but that’s not all: I am inspired.

Azonto dancing was one way in which I was inspired, and one way in which I could visibly demonstrate to others that inspiration.I have never been a dancer. I can credit only meager rhythm to my name, but azonto is more than a performance. It is an expression of emotion, identity, and humor. It has become a form of communication and commonality that has crossed the diverse populations of Ghana and the gap between Ghanaians and foreign visitors. It has often been my gateway to inclusion amongst Ghanaians. Their enthusiasm to teach it to me and my enthusiasm to learn was a strong signifier of a mutually appreciative relationship. When we brought out our azonto moves in Nzulezo, we sent the signal that we were not visiting just to observe and compare, we were visiting to engage and adapt.