A case of mistaken identity

Ghanaians have made an art of calling things what they are. A young man who wants to get the attention of an old man is likely to simply say, “Hey, old man.” Women are commonly referred to as “sister,” men as “brother.” I have more than once been called “father,” which I assume is due to the wisdom I exude. Shawn, meanwhile, doesn’t care what motivates them to call her “mother;” she would just rather they not.

Based on the same theory, as a whitey in Ghana you will hear one word every day, all day, from children, adults, men and women, from doorways, open windows, passing cars, storeowners, bus drivers, policemen, people with stuff on their head. And that word is obroni.

Meaning “white person,” the word serves as a description, a greeting and a kind of surrogate name. There is, I have to admit, a kind of undeniable elegance to the simplicity of it all. When I hear it, I know that I’ve been spotted. So I’ll usually wave and smile, which always rewards me with the same in return.

They had probably been using the second word long before I was aware of it. When I finally began discerning that “nduom” was also following me around everywhere I went, I guess I just figured it meant “hairy” or “mustache” or “strikingly handsome.”

As it turns out, I was apparently not already conspicuous enough; I had to go and bear an unmistakable resemblance to one of the four principal candidates for president of Ghana whose picture is everywhere. A successful hotelier from nearby Elmina, Paa Kwesi Nduom does indeed have a certain Greg quality. I can’t deny it.

Ghanaians are unanimous in their opinion that we are doppelgangers. Not a day goes by when upon passing a group of people I do not hear, “Blah blah Paa Kwesi Nduom blah blah blah.” Or it’s merely called out to me. I’ve lately begun responding with “Vote CPP,” Nduom’s party, which always triggers big laughs and cheering.

Months into the campaign now, there are certain shops, certain corners of town, where we have been playing this game for so long that “Nduom” has effectively become my name. They greet me that way, I remind them to vote CPP, we laugh and I move on. The other day, while buying food in the market, no fewer than half a dozen market women turned into a riot of clapping and laughing after I told them to “Vote for number 6.” (Nduom’s party is the sixth on the ballot.)

After the first debate, which Nduom was widely credited with having won, I felt like Augustus riding back into Rome after defeating the Gauls. I was bigger than the Beatles. Hiding inside the Global Mamas store, for some minutes I could still hear a group of people outside calling me/him: “Nduom! Nduom!”

There have been the odd days, I won’t lie, when, like a beleaguered Brangelina, I just wanted to be a regular obroni again. But the vast majority of the time I’ve greatly enjoyed the connection with Ghanaians this unexpected situation has afforded me. We are together in thinking it hilarious that I, this visiting white guy, should happen to look so much like this prominent black guy. It’s just funny.

But if he wins on Sunday, I may have to be secretly shuttled out of the country or shave the mustache. Or maybe I should just start working on an inauguration speech just in case.

(Picture: CPP candidate for president, Paa Kwesi Nduom)