Nkawkaw is not a pleasant city. Even though it's not necessarily a large city, it's congested traffic, high population density, and choked streets all bear an unfortunate resemblance to Accra, Ghana's huge metropolitan capital. But in addition to these inconveniences, Nkawkaw has two features that, in my mind, make it unique within Ghana.
The unpleasantness begins upon arrival. The second you step out of a taxi or out of the market, a crowd of twenty-something men will descend upon you, all of them bustling to tower over you and often take your arm; they are trying, through various degrees of coaxing and or pushing, to shove you into a nearby bus or taxi. For some unfathomable reason (as I've never seen this anywhere else in Ghana), all the buses and taxis here employ “finders-” meaning this band of twenty-somethings gets paid for every passenger he “finds” for the driver. The result is pushing, shouting, and general unpleasantness.
The second unique feature of Nkawkaw is its inhabitants' inordinate interest in obrunis, or white people. Generally, white people in Ghana get noticed and occasionally approached. In Cape Coast I am approached probably 10 times in a day- in Accra I'm approached less. Even in the backwater of Obo, I probably average maybe 5 approaches an hour. By “approached” I mean that a stranger comes up to me for no reason other than they are curious and want to engage me in conversation. Unfortunately, Ghanaians don't realize that they all strike up the exact same conversation, so that while this is new and exciting for them, I myself have had this same bland conversation four times already today, and 5 times yesterday, and 25 times last week. These numbers, of course, vary; Mus's presence seems to be a big factor. See, in addition to their curiosity, Ghanaians feel this protectiveness over foreigners, and therefore they believe that all obrunis need to have a Ghanaian protector,like a parent, to guide them and make sure the white person isn't cheated. When I walk alone, I get many many offers from people, especially young males, to fill this position. When I'm with Mus, the message is clear- I have my guide, so back off. It seems possessive, and in a way it is, but really it's just an extension of their hospitality.
But today I was in Nkawkaw for a mere 45 min. and Mus never left my side. But regardless of that fact, I had over 50 people try and engage me in conversation during that time. Men, Women, children- there was no pattern. And this happens to me all the time in Nkawkaw. This city has the biggest infatuation with obrunis that I've ever seen.
So of course I have to ignore them, or else I would never move. I would inch along,step by step, having the same conversation over and over like a politician. I feel bad ignoring them, but there' no helping it. I can't make aquaintance with 50 strangers every time I need to go grocery shopping.
The attention reached a crazy point when we were in the market itself. I was following Mus through the narrow alleys of the market, and there was the usual boisterous laughing and talking all around. I know that the market women often talk about me in Twi as I pass them, usually to say that I'm pretty, etc. so I kind of tune them out. But I became aware of an older women walking directly behind me since she was talking very loudly. Mus later told me that she and the market women were talking about how nice I looked and, in particular, how much they liked my butt. Mus was listening but this was, as of yet, not out of the ordinary for me here in Ghana. Then he heard someone ask,”Is it soft?”
That's when I felt the old woman's hand on my butt. Mus said that she told them, “It sure is!”
I decided the pervy granny was just being mischievous, probably hoping for some attention, so I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of facing and talking to her.
But when Mus heard her reply, “It sure is!” He whipped around to see what had happened. Unfortunately, by then she had her hands to herself. The look on her face told Mus that she hadn't realized that Mus was with me, and that he had probably had understood everything. Embarrassed, she looked anywhere but his eyes, and then conveniently turned at the next corner.
The whole situation was a test of my morals. If it had been a guy my age, I would have turned around and smacked him- and the market women would have applauded me for it. But I knew that the person who grabbed my butt was an old woman. What am I gonna do, punch a granny in the face?
