“Can I touch your hair?” a student asked as I supplied another with pencil crayons during a school activity. To my surprise, I happily bent down as two to three students took turns tapping my hair. “Is it real?” one exclaimed. I smiled, “Yes, this is my real hair”.
In Canada, encounters like this generally left me annoyed and frustrated, but in Ghana, I feel a mix of indifference and contentment. As such, my journey as a Canadian intern in Ghana has reshaped my understanding of foreignness and what it means to be ‘in’ or ‘out’ of a community.
Transnationalism and Identity
I consider myself a transnational person, someone with deep identity ties to multiple countries. Due to this, I have often felt like a foreigner—whether in Canada, where I was raised; the United States, where I was born; or Ethiopia, my parents’ homeland. My experiences in Canada have shaped my understanding of transnationalism and my feelings towards being labelled a foreigner. Over time, I have grown to resent this label, and the experience that comes along with i,t which for the most part has been negative.
But immersing myself in Ghanaian culture has revealed something new. I’ve come to understand that foreignness is a social concept—both fluid and, at times, rigid—and that its meaning shifts depending on the context. Consequently, my views on being foreign are no longer fixed as they evolve with each experience I have with this label. And surprisingly, experiencing being foreign in Ghana has left me questioning the negative aversions I once had towards being an outsider.
Revisiting Foreignness: from frustration to belonging
There are underlying emotions of annoyance and frustration when I’m reminded that I’m considered a foreigner in Canada. This, in part, has to do with the fact that despite growing up in Canada and being a citizen, I’ll never fully “be on the inside.” As a foreigner, your presence is highlighted in ways that are not highlighted by what I’ve grown up calling the “in crowd.”
As an Ethiopian-Canadian, I’ve experienced the awkwardness of having to explain where I’m “really from,” and grew up internalizing beauty standards that demanded I keep my hair straight and smooth. These experiences shaped how I saw myself, and how I felt about being labeled foreign.
In contrast, being a foreigner in Ghana, albeit having still highlighted my presence in unique ways, has meant that I’m automatically awarded the “in-crowd” status I yearned for in Canada. Where being asked if my hair was real made me feel a sense of pride, and explaining my identity saw me joyfully identifying with my African roots.
While in Canada, making a new friend meant walking home through alternative routes to avoid my friend’s parents seeing me. Ghana saw me reclaiming that same space, as students and community members cheerfully introduced me to parents, teachers, and classmates.
Deconstructing Belonging and Marginalization
However, while describing my experiences to our local country guide, I was reminded of my outsider status as he gently explained that the way I was being treated was not typical, and instead an exaggerated version of what locals generally encounter. Making me realize that I was still on the outside of the ‘in-crowd.’ These moments have left me questioning what truly defines the ‘in-crowd’—and, more importantly, who gets to decide who is a part of it.
Even in spaces where I feel embraced, I cannot escape the markings of difference. My presence is still highlighted, just with a smile instead of suspicion. While being foreign in Ghana has not necessarily given me the same negative experiences I associated with being foreign in Canada, I wonder if the impacts of facing this daily could lead to the same fatigue and burnout I often feel in Western countries. Understanding this now, I question the significance I once placed in being a part of the “in-crowd”. If being a part of the in-crowd means shrinking in one place and expanding in another, is being a part of the “in-crowd” really something to strive for?
While being a foreigner in Canada meant that you were disempowered and othered from the community, being a foreigner in Ghana has done the opposite, often leaving me feeling a mixture of guilt and flattery. I’d be lying if I said experiencing this treatment has not been pleasant, though I’ve realized that my feelings towards marginalization have been shaped by my underlying connectedness to the “in-crowd”. In Canada, my transnational identity felt like a barrier and made me ascribe any negative experience with marginalization to my identity as a foreigner. In Ghana, my connection to the continent softened the experience, even when I was still technically on the outside.
As I question what it would feel like to truly be a part of the “in-crowd” in Ghana, I’ve begun to reflect on the role race and geography play in shaping how I view foreignness. Ghana helped me rethink the drivers behind my discomfort with questions about my hair and origin, not because the question changed, but because the context did.
Reclaiming Foreignness: Redefining what it means to belong
Now I wonder how others within and outside of Africa experience foreignness. Do Togoans visiting Ghana experience the same hospitality or the Ghanaian diaspora coming from Canada? Alternatively, how might marginalization affect others, a part of the “in-crowd”? These questions have forced me to rethink the value I once placed in being a part of the in-crowd. Additionally, I’ve begun reflecting on how I and others part of the African diaspora can reclaim our inherent foreignness. I’ve observed that this can be done through acceptance and reclaiming the narrative, through intentionally choosing to view marginalization as a celebration of difference, even when it is most difficult.
Where questions about our hair, voice, or country of origin are no longer viewed as reasons why we don’t belong, but rather all the more reasons for why we do. Accepting my ascribed foreignness as I happily did in Ghana did not necessarily erase marginalization, but redefined how I experienced it. It made it more manageable and even empowering. And in that shift, I found a new way to relate to my identity—not by resisting the label of “foreigner,” but by reframing it as a symbol of connection, resilience, and pride. — as it can be by foreigners in the African diaspora.
BY Ahlam Yassien
Research Intern in Nsawam
Health Studies and Political Science Graduate
McMaster University Canada
