While
waiting for our host to pick us up for the trip to Kumasi, Ghana
I decided to take a walk down the winding road toward the Elmina Castle. Along the road a young boy was walking toward
me. I sensed it was just another child intent on asking for money.
After all, with my longer hair and glasses, my big fanny pack
and my camera dangling from my shoulder there was no mistaking
me for other than a tourist and a hot prospect.
As he came closer, though, his demeanor
changed, his script altered, his anticipatory nature modified
and he smiled as if it was enough just to say hello.
"Hello, sir," he said politely.
"My name is Joshua. What is your name?"
Many indigent children in Ghana,
from my personal experiences, greet you with an eager smile and
familiar attitude. They will ask for money or sometimes just
for your address. I believe this is because in order to receive
a visa to the United States it is necessary to know a familiar
contact to fill out the visa application. Sometimes they will
ask for your email address or just a pen. Pens are quite a popular
request by children and a valuable commodity, be sure.
Naturally, I responded, "My name
is Stephen. How are you?"
"I am fine. Are you from America?"
he asked anticipating an affirmative response.
"Yes, I am from San Diego, California
in America." I confirmed.
It was apparent that we shared a mutual
intent to hold a conversation. After all, no one else was around.
It was just he and I on the side of the road. I suppose both
of us fellas had plenty of time and that this was as good as
time as any today to take a break and talk to someone new. Kids
like Joshua, who grow up in a tourist town, develop a measure
of street smarts early. Some children actually refine their public
communication skills to a higher level than their peers, and
Joshua was utilizing and refining his street skills with me.
Out of the blue Joshua asked, "Is
Florida a state?"
"Yes," I replied. "Full
of alligators and crocodiles," I added.
"Is Chicago a state?" he then
asked.
"No. Chicago is a big city inside
the state of Illinois," I confirmed.
Why Joshua was asking me these questions
was inconsequential. I assumed he had his own reasons. My answers
seemed satisfactory. I was curious what he would ask next. Even
a child needs to consciously validate what he learns in school
and sees on TV.
"Let me ask you..." Joshua
began. "Why do I hear that sometimes there are 50 states
in America and other times I hear there are 52 or 54?" He
had the look about him as if he wanted to add in American pop
culture lingo "What's up with that?" And that's a fair
question. The answer was one I assumed many Americans actually
didn't know. And there was a part of me inside that was anxiously
raising my hand declaring loudly, "I know! I know! I know!"
to this inquisitive young man.
"Joshua, it's because we have 50
states and a few territories called Puerto Rico, The Virgin Islands
and Guam. But we don't consider the American territories as states.
They're like, you know, colonies." I confidently replied.
I assumed Joshua had learned the definition of colony
in school considering Ghana was a part of the British Commonwealth
of Nations.
"Are you sure?" Joshua asked.
"Yes, I'm sure." I replied
again with confidence.
"How did you come here?" Joshua
then asked.
What a cool question. I was actually
beginning to really enjoy this young man's company so, despite
the cars whizzing by us, I picked up a twig and knelt down beside
the road. Joshua knelt in similar fashion probably pleased he
had succeeded in a successful engagement with a Black American
tourist. He rung in a big fish this time and he didn't have to
share his catch with any of his begging, frenzied friends. He
had me all to himself and he intended on milking it using his
sharpest people skills available. So I drew an outline of the
U.S. map in the dirt and first showed him where Florida and Chicago
were located.
"I flew from my home in San Diego,
California to Detroit, Michigan, to New York, across the Atlantic
Ocean to Amsterdam in Europe and then down to Ghana," I
said as I drew arcs from city to city.
"Did it take a long time?"
he asked.
"More than a full day in an airplane,"
I characterized for him.
"I want to become an airplane pilot,"
he declared.
Joshua's
response mildly startled me and redirected my train of thought.
Can this handsome young black man from Ghana actually become
a commercial airline pilot? Of course, in America, anything is
possible; with appropriate drive and effort anyone can rise up
from the bottom to the top. Is any goal possible in Ghana if
you put your mind to it, particularly if you are born into poverty
as Joshua apparently has? For a moment I imagined Joshua looking
dignified with an airline cap smartly cocked on his head and
silver wings neatly laid across his shoulders. I could see him
succeeding in my mind's eye. He would overcome all obstacles
and become an airline pilot. This could happen, I concluded.
"I want to fly to Japan," Joshua
stated declaratively.
"Do you know where Japan is?
Show me on our map," I instructed, and handed Joshua my
stickly pointer. He outlined a small area in the sandy soil positioned
to right of the visually outlined African continent. Kinda threw
me for a second because being American you always think of Japan
west of North America, a totally different orientation. I began
to wonder who's instructing whom.
"Let me ask you..." Joshua
slightly hesitated, "Is your President Bush in charge of
the all the States of America?"
"Yes," I replied.
"Can he go to jail?" Joshua
asked intently.
I had to think about that one and Joshua's
motive for asking me such a poignant question. I have seen several
posters displayed of Osama bin Laden both in Accra, the capital
city of Ghana, and here in Cape Coast. Considering the blanketed
media coverage since September 11th, it's interesting to evaluate
the mindset of people of another culture particularly from Africa.
The local television media spin is so antithetical from the United
States propaganda that it is obvious that those in control of
the Ghanaian media pander to the national political bent of their
country as well.
"How old are you Joshua?" I
asked, in order to temper an appropriate response.
"I'm thirteen years old," he
answered proudly.
In the U.S. I cannot recall Joshua's
peer asking such a weighty and politicized question. Joshua seemed
to realize he asked a significant question because his pupils
widened and his posture stiffened in anticipation of a unique
response.
"Well..." I paused momentarily
thinking about the possibility of the imprisonment of the President
of the United States. Although the odds are high against this
possibility, after the Nixon resignation and the unmerciful Clinton
impeachment trial, anything's possible.
"Yes." I succinctly declared
with no further explanation.
"Are you sure?" he repeated,
gauging my credibility.
"I'm sure." I affirmed.
Joshua squinted his eyes, cocked his
head and evidently decided not to pursue the subject further.
In fact, this instinctive Ghanaian young man quickly changed
the subject and requested that I come by his home not far away.
"Can you come to my house so I can
give you my address?" Joshua asked.
Despite the short time of our meeting,
the intimate nature of our shared experience seemingly made Joshua
realize that asking for money would be demeaning. If that was
Joshua's initial intent, he forfeited the opportunity by playing
the "getting to know you card" at this first chance
encounter.
"I don't think so, Joshua,"
I negatively replied.
This particular request, of asking for
a mailing or email address, has been asked so often this week
by Ghanaian children and young adults as to become as inuring
as it must be for an entertainment celebrity to be daily asked
for his autograph. I'm not predisposed to giving or exchanging
addresses or emails from strangers no matter their age. As an
American you are automatically cast into a well-to-do financial
status and by comparison to Ghanaian standards, appropriately
so. On the other hand, you do wish to reach out and lend a helping
hand. The challenge is the constant mental equivocating between
the two cultures that is wearisome.
"That's alright, young man,"
I replied in a patronizing way. "I'm going to walk further
down the road, okay?"
"Okay, Stephen, bye, bye,"
he said as he stood idly waving his hand.
"Nice talking with you, Joshua.
Good-bye," I said while waving back.
Our pleasurable chance encounter was
over. I walked further down the winding two-laned road among
residential
goats, lambs and chickens. The neighborhood
was lined with very old thatchety wooden structures and populated
with the poor, friendly
population of Elmina. The residents
of Elmina gazed upon an "oceanfront view" of the Gulf
of Guinea in the South Atlantic Ocean and a historic tropical
scenic beach. I crossed the street to snap a photograph of working
local
fisherman stationed a half-mile out perfectly framed by the Elmina
Castle. Suddenly a small boy in the
short distance came upon me. It was Joshua.
"Hi Stephen. Here is my address,"
Joshua said excitedly. He was out of breath after apparently
running all the way home and tracking me down the street. He
had written in blue ink his address on a small torn piece of
paper and extended it to me anxiously.
"Thank you, Joshua," I replied,
recognizing no other option but to accept his friendly, albeit
purposeful gesture.
"Can you send me some books and
pens? It's very important," he pleaded.
"I can't promise I will," I
guardedly admitted. I was assessing the effort and consequences
required to make a firm commitment and unsure if I would follow
through on his request.
"Can you take a photograph of us
together?" he asked. Smart kid, I thought. Joshua, even
at his tender age understood the value of planting long term
seeds to gain gratifying rewards. I marveled at how Joshua seized
upon this opportunity that would naturally help me remember our
engagement with a memorable photograph. He may get his pens yet...
So we stood together as I directed
a local teenager to snap our photograph on the sandy beaches
of Elmina, Ghana. As of this writing I haven't seen our photo.
I'm sure the photo captured a fond memory of two guys from different
continents effortlessly smiling and perfectly satisfied.
"Stephen, if you could send me some
books and pens it would be very important," Joshua reiterated.
"We'll see, Joshua," I replied
with mixed encouragement. "I'm going to walk further down
the road. Okay?"
"Okay," he replied.
"Bye, bye Joshua," I said.
"Bye, bye Stephen," he replied.
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