as long as you're still walking...

Yesterday Jens got hit - in the arm - by the side mirror of a van.  Don't worry - he is absolutely fine - there is no bruise at all.  But it would have been nice for the driver who grazed him to have stopped to check.  Instead we had to chase him down.

We were walking down the street when a white van came speeding by.  I heard a soft thump and saw Jens stop short.  The van went a few feet further, paused for a few seconds, and started again on its way.  We yelled and waved, it stopped again, paused to decide, then sped down the road.  We both took off after it, yelling and screaming "STOP!"  Some interested passersby asked what was going on and I told them eagerly before running off again.

In Accra there's a strong notion of "street justice."  A few months ago we heard about a case on the UG campus where a woman accused of stealing was caught and abused by a gang of male students, and recorded on phone video cameras (reported here and blogged about here, for a start).  If two cars bump each other on the road, a screaming match is just around the corner.  So it's no surprise that the driver who hit Jens took off.

What did surprise me is that the onlookers didn't do anything about it.

I was hoping I'd get some kind of crowd following the van or that the word would spread down the street faster than the car.  Instead they just listened to my story and urged me to run.

Turns out the van was headed to a hotel two blocks away.  Jens caught up with it as it screeched into the gated courtyard.

The driver's explanation for his hit-and-run?

• I was in a big hurry to get here.
• You were walking in the middle of the road.
• People get hit with side mirrors all the time.

And the kicker, folks:

• I saw you could still walk, so I knew you were okay.

Anyway, the driver continued, I said I was sorry.  What more can I do?

It's true.  There's not much in the way of auto insurance here.  The police, we are strongly sure, would not have done anything.  Jens's arm was feeling okay right afterwards.  (Today it doesn't even hurt, let alone have a bruise - lucky he didn't get hit any worse.)  It was incredibly frustrating, though.  Had Jens been truly injured, would the driver honestly have thought more seriously about stopping - or been faster to run away?  Is an apology after you try to flee the scene really enough?

I went to the doctor today with a coworker (this relates, I promise) - she has tonsillitis, I have an ear infection, and now we both have antibiotics - and she was saying that doctors here don't listen as much when white people complain.  They think we exaggerate every pain we have.  So when she told the nurses the blood pressure cuff was squeezing her arm too tightly, they told her it only hurt because she was speaking while it was measuring.  Though she had started to speak only after it started hurting.  There wasn't any acknowledgement of her pain, or that something might truly be wrong.  There was only the need for blame to fall elsewhere.  And if she was still able to talk, presumably, they thought she was okay.

There's no question that obronis in Accra often have more wealth, possessions, and opportunities than a vast majority of the people they interact with every day.  That doesn't mean, though, that each of our experiences is less worthy - or that our words should have any less impact.  Being able to afford an extra cedi or two for each taxi ride doesn't mean I should be required to pay it.  

I heard of a friend who was overcharged 10 pesewas (cedi-cents) on some fruit she bought, and when she brought it up the vendor looked at her earnestly and said, "I need it more than you."  Does that give the fruit vendor the right to take more money from one person than from another?

A culture clash, indeed.

Being White (preliminary musings)

A short visit only to the city is no way to get a full taste of the country.  I know in more rural areas it'll be even more different to be white.  But here's what has happened so far.

You step out onto the street and the first, third, fifteenth and last thing you hear is beep-beep!  Taxis see a white person and toot to let you know they're here, just in case you should need a taxi.  Even when they've seen two taxis before them honk and be ignored.  Annoying when I want to walk, but helpful when I really do want a taxi.  Just hard to know when the honking behind you is a taxi, and when it's someone using the horn for one of its other myriad uses.  Let me list them:

1a. Move, pedestrian!

1b. Move, car!

1c. Move, chickens/goats!

1d. Move, cyclist!

2. Hey, friend!  How are you?

3. Thanks for letting me into traffic in front of you.

4. This is a close squeeze!

5. I'm about to turn.

6. This is unfair.

7. I am part of a funeral procession.

8. I'm driving very quickly and don't want to slow down.  I advise that you move.

9. My brakes have failed.  MOVE NOW.

And then you have more of your standard uses.

You also may hear a couple of kids yelling out "Obroni!  Obroni!" (this means "white! white!") or "Hello, how ahh you?"  Their faces crack into big smiles if you smile back or wave.  I'm still baffled why they get so happy when a white person simply acknowledges them.

Today when I came back to B's house with our laundry from the cleaners, the guards and I had a chat.  (The main function of guards here is to open the big gates in front of the driveways, and to always have a presence on the property.)  One of them said he loved my bag (Jens's backpacker bag).  They were impressed that it allowed you to carry such heavy loads.  And then the really cheery smiley one started looking at my freckles.  His companion said, "Yes, those are normal on white skin!"  From freckles, he saw one of my mosquito bites (only 8 so far, I must be doing pretty well with the bug spray), and the friend said also that this redness is normal for whites.  I showed him a very angry bite on my arm that means "My body really hates mosquitoes."  Then he saw a vein in my elbow!  It looked green!  OMG!  A third time, the second guard said "Yes, look - you can see my veins in my arm standing up too, just not the color.  This is how white skin looks."  Then they asked, "Are you a ness?"  I didn't understand.  "Ness, ness!"  Then they asked something that sounded like "Are you medican" so I said, "Yes, I'm American."

"By profession, you are medican?"

"Ohhh, medical, no!  I'm not medical.  I am a teacher.  Not a nurse."

"A teacher by profession!"  Their faces erupted in glee.  "So you can teach us!"

I really like these guards with their happy smiles and exuberance.  They ask how long I'll be gone and always say "Have a nice time" when I go, and "Welcome" when I come back.  I went to visit the new apartment today (and SIGNED THE LEASE, hallelujah!) and the guard there was all business in a spiffy uniform.  I'd rather have smilers who put me in a happy mood than grimacers who take their job too seriously.  I'll take pictures of them before we move out of here.