7. Jamaicans vs. Ghanaians
I spent the following afternoon with a few of the “Jamaican” contingent in Ghana. They number some 200-plus members, apparently, and have their own cooperative going. It’s always nice to see some of the “London-born” posse and catch up. But boy, how they can turn the air blue with their cussing and personal gripes. What’s the point of living in Ghana for ten or more years if you don’t like Ghanaians?
Some of the guys even have Ghanaian “wives” and kids, but you’d never believe it by listening to their opinion of local people. Close your eyes and you’d think it was the voice of some white racist talking about “ignorant baboons” and “corrupt brainless fools.” They like to keep up this “them” and “us” facade, which I don’t happen to share, and reminds me of why it’s been over 18-months since I saw them last.
They’re fine and good people, nice enough guys and gals, but I don’t understand the point of digging yourself into a separatist hole to the extent whereby you find it hard to work with or trust the people around you, and so, you begin to stagnate and, ultimately, end up in a self-induced weed slumber.
“It’s all those reggae records we listened to throughout the 70s, 80s and 90s,” said one, “daydreaming of Africa, only to come ‘home’ now to find a welcome that’s not quite what we expected.” Well, tough f**king luck! I see you didn’t leave England to move to Jamaica, where the locals there will have probably shot you dead by now, or burgled your house numerous times because they see you as wealthy returnees. “No, I couldn’t live in Jamaica at all,” they’ll tell you. “The place too violent out there, man. But we reach home now, and we nar leaving here, no matter what none-a-them say.”
“Dem nuh like us. Is only we money dem love. Dem want we fe go and leave all a we things to dem. That a what dem want. Over my dead body!”