21/09/2018
Girl In The Funny Dress
21/09/2018 share 
Claudia Okyere-Fosu
Name Calling Hurts
Singing 'sticks and stones' won't help me now, I thought indignantly. In fact I'd get so down about the name calling and teasing that I wouldn't have a voice altogether, safely retiring into my shell. Some prints stay on the heart for forever, yes name calling hurts! But before I get into all of that I should probably backtrack a little.
When I was younger I didn’t want to stand out, I wanted desperately to fit in. I spoke properly and could compete with anyone in my class when it came to studies but appearances were something else. For one thing my hair at primary was school was interesting, a treaded architectural masterpiece in fact but this didn’t bode well. I often got asked: “How does your hair do that? “Does it hurt?” And I’d reply quite sharply: “Yes it does, go away!” It didn’t help that I was really shy, mumbled my words and looked at my feet, a lot.
Little Miss Popular
I went to a prep school back in the 80’s in South West London, and well quite frankly there was only one other person that looked like me in my whole school and that was my younger sister. Everyone knows that hanging out with your sister isn’t cool. Eventually, I made little friends and their questions didn’t bother me so much, I guess we were so wrapped up in finding out about each other and what we shared in common. Once a year I’d be Miss Popular as the lawn tennis championships rode round and as I grew up in leafy Wimbledon, I’d boast that me and my family often saw celebrity tennis players hanging out in the Village.
Mud Huts
This all faded all too soon as we were asked to create family trees, or discuss our ancestry. Sometimes I’d sit through really awkward documentaries on Africa in class, ignoring questions like: “Does your family live in mud huts?” Or do you swing in trees too?” The fact that Ghana was part of the British Commonwealth visited by the Queen did little to sway their cruel jibes. Wearing traditional dress or bringing ‘something from home’ to class as you can imagine filled me with dread.
The Girl In The Mirror
Then something clicked inside when I entered high school in the early 80s. I grew friendly with a white South African girl and the fact that she identified with some of the traditions that I grew up with made us fast friends. Slowly, I began to see how different things were in her part of Africa. Apartheid was flourishing and for the first time I realised that Ghanaians had it good. Despite the gaping flaws in Ghanaian politics, Ghanaians could roam freely, be who they wanted to be, own their own businesses and thrive.
As I stared at my reflection in the mirror, I studied my hairstyle, the colourful detailed print that adorned my body and realised I had a lot to be thankful for. Hundreds of years of family traditions passed down to me through my parents, through the food we ate, the words we spoke and yes the way we dressed. The girl in the mirror smiled back at me, she got it too. A new sense of pride filled my being as I straightened my dress, tidied my hair and asked mum if she needed my help preparing dinner.
Do you have funny memories of growing up as a Ghanaian in London? If so why don’t you comment below, I’d love to hear from you.
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