College student Katriona Morgan discusses what she learned about Africa during her time in Ghana.
There were a handful of moments during my ten weeks in Ghana when I thought, “Holy shit, I’m in Africa.”
But then I’d remember the size of Africa, and the tiny part of Africa I was actually in.
After remembering the reality of Africa – that it’s a continent with fifty-four countries, and hundreds, if not thousands, of different languages and ethnic groups – I’d think, why is it so weird that I’m in Africa?
Even now when I think of Africa, I can’t help but think of jungles, wildlife, acacia trees, people dressed in leopard skin, and The Lion King. It’s this mystical place that doesn’t actually exist, a beautiful yet chaotic fantasy that’s been constructed in the minds of westerners. Everyone knows that Africa isn’t a country – but many only know this theoretically. For many, Africa is one great big, beautiful tragedy.
The images we’re bombarded of about Africa reduce its landholders to the starving black Madonna and child, and a black man lunging a rifle. Just look at how Africa is ridden by war, disease, and poverty. Isn’t this enough proof that Africans are unable to look after themselves, and need our intervention and aid? Never mind that the root cause of many of the wars is from the divide and rule method of their ‘colonial masters’, that millions is taken from Africa so many of its states are unable to improve their health care systems, and that the poverty is manmade. Let’s ignore that, before the white man came along, ‘Africa’ was doing just fine. Let’s ignore the root causes and truth, look at what the media bombard us with, and believe that Africa is corrupt because there’s something wrong with the land and the people in it.
Everyone knows that Africa isn’t a country – but many only know this theoretically. For many, Africa is one great big, beautiful tragedy.
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It was a shame how many of my Ghanaian friends were unaware how they, as Africans, are represented in western media and society. How, as Africans, they’re represented as savages living in a beautiful land stricken with death, destruction and disease. A belief that has led to the continued exploitation of Africa as a continent, and people back home to ask questions such as, ‘Is everyone there starving?’
This sentiment of blissful unawareness was perfectly captured by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie in her speech, ‘The danger of a single story’. Growing up in Nigeria and moving to the USA, she was baffled as to why Americans had so many weird misconceptions of her. But the more time Chimamanda spent in the USA, the more she realised why people perceived her this way: “If I had not grown up in Nigeria, and if all I knew about Africa were from popular images, I too would think that Africa was a place of beautiful landscapes, beautiful animals, incomprehensible people fighting senseless wars, dying of poverty and AIDs, unable to speak for themselves, waiting to be saved by a kind white foreigner.” And it was because of this mythical image of Africa that’s been carved into my mind that I would have moments of thinking, “Holy shit, I’m in Africa.”
Not only are these conceptions patronising to Africa and its inhabitants, it shows how little we’ve progressed. We look at Africa in the same way that our racist, colonial ancestors did four hundred years ago. The narrative has barely changed. We come from a country where songs with lyrics like this top the charts: “The only water flowing [in Africa] is the bitter sting of tears … the greatest gift they’ll get this year is life, where nothing ever grows, no rain or rivers flow.” There’s no denying that the intention behind this song was good, and it managed to raise millions for the famine in Ethiopia at the time – but it’s riddled with the white saviour complex that’s marred our image of and approach to Africa for hundreds of years. (A continuation of ‘The White Man’s Burden’?)
And it seems to me that not many people want to hear anything about Africa that goes beyond their preconceived notions. People want a single, homogenous, monolithic story that matches their orientalist preconceptions of death, destruction and disease. There’s no doubt that there are catastrophes across Africa. To deny this would be ridiculous. But Africa is so much more than just a catastrophe.
Of course, we’re all guilty of preconceived orientalist notions of ‘Africa’, as we are with many other categories that are not white and middle-class. But what irritates me is people refusing to look beyond these notions and refusing to accept (and this is the one generalisation I can make) that Africans are just like us. When I was in Ghana, although I’d grown up in a completely different culture, I was able to laugh, talk and debate with my Ghanaian friends just as easily as I could with my British friends, and then sit back and browse our phones together. (No matter where you go in the world, we are all addicted to our smartphones.)
There’s no doubt that there are catastrophes across Africa. To deny this would be ridiculous. But Africa is so much more than just a catastrophe.
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It’s wonderful that our society talks about women’s issues and LGBT issues, and that there’s so many campaigns aiming to tackle these prejudices and discriminations. But we need not be limited to issues that only discuss the problems of white people. Everyone buzzed over Caitlyn Jenner, but hardly anyone cared that Akon’s planning to deliver solar power to 600 million Africans.
So what is Africa like? I can’t say. No-one can, unless they produced a voluminous collection. But not many want to hear about the diversity of Africa. I can’t speak for what Africa’s like. I can’t even speak for Ghana, having only lived in its Northern Region surrounded by the Dagomba ethnic group, who I’m sure are different from the Akan and Ashanti down south. And I don’t know what it’s like in Algeria, Kenya or Namibia. We need to humanise Africa, and stop lumping a whole continent together as one huge disaster.