02 February 2009

Finding My Own Saffron Sky

“Hyphenated Americans” on growing up multicultural

Ofori dances Adwoa, a traditional dance of the Ashanti tribe of Ghana, in Washington.

By Crystal Grace Ofori
Staff Writer

Washington — At times, I feel like I have a dual personality. Although I speak English at work and at school, at home I speak Twi, the language of the Ashanti tribe and a language that I have spoken since I was 8.

My parents, both Ghanaian, have always made sure that I knew where they came from and what their culture was. I am proud of being a Ghanaian American, but it wasn’t always that way. Like many Americans with ties around the world, I am proudly bilingual and multicultural, but at one point, I had a hard time mixing my inherited culture with my American one.

I lived for four years in Ghana with my grandparents, who immediately initiated me into a culture I had only been privy to through my parents’ lens. I was taught ideals that were similar to my American virtues: hard work, honesty, the value of family and pride in one’s culture. But when I returned to American life at the age of 13, during that pivotal stage of adolescence and identity, I felt lost.

It was difficult readjusting to American teenage life. As teens were busy going to the mall and obsessing over different boy bands, I was trying to understand who I was and my new life. During this period, I shunned my Ghanaian culture and turned to everything American, trying to painfully erase all the years that I had been in Ghana. I felt alienated and struggled to fit in because I wanted to be “regular” like the kids at my school. Like many hyphenated Americans, this was the point when I was stuck in limbo between the life I was leading in America and another culture that seemed so distant.

SAFFRON SKY

Ofori in Washington’s Chinatown neighborhood

In her memoir Saffron Sky, Iranian-American Gelareh Asayesh faced these same challenges: trying to fit in while finding the bridge where she could go back and forth between her two cultures. “When I first came here, it was incredibly difficult,” Asayesh said, “like stripping off one layer of skin and growing a new one.”

I laughed when she described how high school was a series of mini shocks to her system, and I understood the yearning she had for life in Iran, just like I do for life in Ghana.

In her memoir, she freely illustrated her struggles and her eventual acceptance of her identity. “My goal has always been to assimilate America into my Iranian identity, rather than being assimilated,” she said. “The process, however, was one of pushing away from the old — before I realized how much it meant to me and sought to reclaim it.”

Through her struggles, I realized that having two cultures was a gift and should not be a burden. I used to bristle at the mention of my Ghanaian heritage or when my mother wanted to speak Twi in public; now I find solace in the fact that I have another heritage to identify with.

Through yearly visits to Iran, constant calls with family and practicing the many customs of her homeland, Asayesh found stability. She believes that “the goal is to dance a sort of dance that keeps both sides in motion, alive, engaged in your identity and your life.”

I now keep both identities alive, taking joy in African traditions, clothing, customs, foods, speaking, reading and writing the language, and I keep in contact with my family abroad. It is no longer a burden, because both cultures are intertwined in my daily life.

I have realized that being Ghanaian American helps me stand out from the rest of the crowd just like other hyphenated Americans, and Asayesh shares this same sentiment: “The world needs people who can inhabit skins other than their own,” she said.

Crystal Grace Ofori is a senior at Mount St. Mary’s University in Maryland, where she studies communications and French. She is working as an intern in the Department of State’s Bureau of International Information Programs.