The Imported Ghanaian

When I used to think of Ghana I thought of a sizzling African land and a national football team which held its own against the mighty samba kings of Brazil in the last World Cup. Other than that my knowledge of this small African country which lies tucked on the Northern shores between the Ivory Coast and Togo, was somewhat limited.
 
That was until I discovered 'The Imported Ghanaian' written by Alba Kunadu Sumprim.
 
Miss Sumprim is the 'Import' of the title - born in London but having moved to her ancestral homeland in the late 1990s where she now happily and proudly resides.
 
'The Imported Ghanaian' is a collection of tales and articles which first appeared in the author's own weekly newspaper column for the 'Daily Dispatch.'
 
Miss Sumprim has weaved these anecdotes and astute observations into a riveting 264 page read. The result is a compelling study from beginning to end that lifts the lid on every conceivable aspect of Ghanaian culture and which is brought vividly to life in the hands of this skilled wordsmith.
 
No stone is left unturned as the reader is whisked away on a rollercoaster ride, exploring Ghana's customs, traditions and fascinating characters.
 
Many of the stories had me laughing out loud, such as the mind boggling chat-up lines of a local would-be stud in a section aptly entitled 'Give The Swinging Dick A Break.' Other chapters such as 'Auntie Dede' and 'To Die For' tugged at my heart strings, whereas one story I read to a friend which was titled 'Vision 2020' reduced her to tears as a result of its compassionate handling and brutal honesty.
 
Alba Kunadu Sumprim herself is a well-travelled lady with a natural gift for writing. Not only is she an accomplished journalist and screenwriter in Ghana, she is also a graduate of the prestigious Cuban film school and has travelled extensively around South America. She has crammed a lot into her life and shows no signs of slowing down.
 
'The Imported Ghanaian' is a MUST for readers young and old, packed with remarkable incidents and revelations. It is a page turner from start to finish. The only disappointment is that it ends, leaving the reader wanting more and more.
 
If you want to know what terms such as 'Mapouka,' 'Chop Money' and 'Akwaaba' mean then you'll have to buy a copy which comes with its own useful glossary of words and phrases.
 
Having read this extraordinary book I now feel like a quasi-expert on all things Ghanaian and long before finishing it I had already decided that this is a country I would very much like to visit.
 
For anybody thinking of travelling to this colourful and often zany country, forget about the usual travel guides and purchase a copy of 'The Imported Ghanaian' - it is not only more insightful, but is a hugely entertaining and touching experience.
 
The future does indeed look bright for Miss Sumprim who, despite being 'Imported,' is destined to become one of Ghana's most treasured exports to the rest of the world.

Alba Kunadu Sumprim, a Londoner by birth, takes her Ghanaian-ness seriously. Never mind that her first visit to the West African country coincided with the year of her fourth birthday, she is a Ghanaian through and through. But is she Ghanaian? Aha!
The prerequisites—one might even say distinguishing qualities—of being Ghanaian, as opposed to just being a Ghanaian, provides the raison d'être of Sumprim's chronicle of contemporary human existence, The Imported Ghanaian.
Beginning life as weekly stories in The Daily Dispatch of Accra in the late '90s when Sumprim became a permanent resident of Ghana, this collection raises questions about what it means to be a Ghanaian, who qualifies as one and other sundry issues that coalesce into this investiture of identity.
From its well-rendered cartoon cover, The Imported Ghanaian evokes a concern with grounding. Sumprim's cartoon character, who makes many humorous appearances in strips accompanying various articles in the book, is seen in midflight (having just obviously disembarked from a plane in a manner not quite the usual) but seems more interested in pointing out Accra on the map than in a safe return to earth sans parachute.
The crash-landing is not a catastrophe of broken limbs and busted guts but disappointment at Mama Ghana's non-recognition and rather questioning welcome of the long gone daughter. Is Ghana's response to her returning daughter a reaction to hubris or naiveté? What is clear is that Sumprim's return to Ghana is nothing like what she expected and there's quite a trek ahead in coming to grips with what it is to be Ghanaian.
The report of this journey comes to the reader in eight parts. While Part III loudly reechoes the near general neurotic concern with this interrogation of identity, its precursors and markers (or what else to make of that subsection's title: 'What Makes a Ghanaian?'), it's basically all over.
In Are You Sure? under Part I – Favourite Catch Phrases, Sumprim is told, "You don't look like a Ghanaian." "Your hair is not the way Ghanaian ladies have their hair." "Your accent is not Ghanaian." All these on account of having declared her status as a Ghanaian, a declaration that instantly earns her the query, "Are you sure?"
It is possible the book's seemingly insular preoccupation with chronicling the never-ending quest of her fellow citizens' obsession with authenticating Sumprim's Ghanaian-ness or the lack thereof might rankle some at some point. Yet, taken in totality, this work hits home way beyond its shores and that is not just because it is relatively free of the proof errors that thwart reader access to so many books these days.
In several articles, for example, Do You Know Who I Am? (under Part I), Noise Pollution (Part III), Give Us a Break (Part V – Give the Swinging Dick Act a Break), Are You Being Served (Part VII – Customer Services) and many others, this Nigerian sees his home mirrored with alarming accuracy.
Who knew the itinerant preachers on buses in Nigeria had annoying counterparts elsewhere? Give Us a Break gives us that info. And when Gospel-Exploitation (Part VIII – Light Entertainment) reveals that, "Every Kwabena, Efua and Akosua has jumped on the bandwagon" of singing gospel (horribly for the most part,) you only need to change the names to Emeka, Segun and Akpan and you're talking of Nigeria.
It follows then that by engaging the specific, in this case present-day Ghanaian life, the author inveigles the reader to consider the generic, that is, contemporary human experience. It doesn't always serve well to draw analogies based on someone else's observations but who's to fault information that shows others share your frustrations, fears and may even be presently faced with the same unreasonable but nonetheless comic situations?
In addition to the neat glossy cover encasing its 264 pages, Sumprim's competent and often witty prose makes this book a worthwhile acquisition. Moreover, The Imported Ghanaian is one of those rare books that gives the reader absolute liberty in how it is consumed. You may begin at the beginning, which, as the author writes on page XV, is 'A very good pace to start.' Or you may dip in and out at random (as your correspondent did) especially if you want to get as varied a feel of the work as possible.
Whichever way you choose to go, Sumprim offers an illuminating excursion into all things Ghanaian, nay human. Now, whether you come away taking your Ghanaian-ness or humanness seriously or not is entirely up to you.

LIAM LLOYD is a Liverpool-born writer, actor and Youth Theatre director who was resident dramatist at the Liverpool Playhouse (1992-93) where his credits include the hit musical 'Imagine,' 'The Dark Side' and the critically acclaimed 'The Tangled Web.'
His work has been performed around Britain and Europe and broadcast on BBC Radio.
More recently Liam has turned his hand to novel writing and film making.

ODUOBUK-MFONABASI is a writer and journalist based in Abuja, Nigeria.