Creating a culture of self-love: Loving my body wherever I go

When I was living in Saudi Arabia, I was between a size 6 and 8. Being relatively thin, I was less concerned with how much I weighed and far more occupied with how I looked. I was an ultra-conservative dresser—even under my abayah. I wanted to be a virtuous girl and woman; this would be achieved through my choice of clothes, which would influence my actions and ultimately, how I was perceived.

When I arrived in the U.S. I became more aware of my body type. For the most part, I continued to dress conservatively. With the cultural shock of living in the U.S. after a lifetime in Saudi Arabia, combined with a familial incision, I began to eat differently. Increasingly, I found comfort in foods that I had rarely consumed. By the end of my freshman year, I was a size 10.

My eating habits made me more conscious of my body. I think this is a point largely missed by others: It’s not that I was eating because I didn’t notice my body or take pride in how I looked.  I was acutely aware of my body and how it was changing. In fact, I was obsessed. I felt powerless in swapping my current habits for healthier ones. As I continued to lose autonomy, I relied more on food to distract me from my growing discomfort with myself.

This experience was aggravated by mass consumption of the female body in the U.S.  I couldn’t escape the reminder that thinner was better. As a naturally curvy person, even in my smaller-sized days, watching hip-less, flat chested, thigh gapped women be portrayed as the only type of beautiful woman was difficult and fueled a more destructive view of myself.

There were pauses in my self-hate though. When I visited Ghana in the summer, I could temporarily abandon the idea that skinny was better. Not because Ghana didn’t celebrate her thinner women but because it mattered less whether I was thin or not. In fact, it was a wonderful thing that I was curvy. My body type was desired and celebrated to an extent. Interestingly enough, when I visited Ghana in the summer, I could lose up to 20 pounds without any effort or intention to. My mind was healthier in Ghana and I was kinder to body.

But as I continued to gain weight, being in Ghana become a painful reminder of my weight gain. If you’ve read my post The Trouble with Words (Part I), at a point, it became increasingly difficult for me to be in Ghana because I despised being called obolo. If I knew I would be traveling to Ghana, I would schedule the latest possible departure date so I could give myself more time to slim down—this never worked.

Being away from my family and the constant feeling of displacement, are two of possibly four reasons I have continued to gain weight. Different events in my life have fueled my reliance on food as a coping tool and I’m currently wearing a size 12.

I realize now that I am the worst person to be mean to myself. I never give myself a break; I am always present and ready to take myself apart.

I would love to have the body I had in Saudi Arabia. But I was so disconnected from my body then, so ashamed of what society said it could do, so afraid to use or portray it incorrectly that I did not love my body. Even though I am less satisfied with my body now, I think I love my current body more than I ever could have in Saudi Arabia

Bottom line: A nomadic life style has exposed me to different ideas on what defines a woman’s beauty. These ideas have either been uplifting or burdensome. Despite the richness of variety, my happiness and self-confidence should not be subject to locale. I was late in coming to the realization that regardless of where I am, I am always with me. My body is the place where I live. And maybe, in that sense, the relationship I have with my body is actually a culture. So, I could construct a culture that positively influences my body. I can create my own beliefs, behaviors and values towards my body. I can even choose foods that celebrate and encourage my well-being. I have adopted different cultures anyway, what’s one more?

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The Trouble with Words (Part I)

Definition. Obolo: A person who is fat

Have you watched the movie The Invention of Lying? An offensively brief plot summary is the characters live in a world where lying has not yet been ‘invented’. Everyone is subject to the truth—hearing it and speaking it. From my interpretation of the movie, consequences of lies like being hurt and offended would also not exist. In the movie, people are subject to the truth and equally compelled to respond truthfully. Quite unlike the movie is the recipient in his or her inability to respond or react, truthfully or otherwise.

I am Ghanaian, plus-sized and I have been called obolo more times than I can put effort to remember. To be called obolo feels like being a character in The Invention of Lying where whatever someone sees and thinks about you, he or she comments immediately. On the name caller’s part, there is no consequence—the ‘truth’ literally speaks for itself.

‘Obolo’ is a type of mockery that is socially accepted[1], recognized, very difficult to avoid and nearly impossible to protest. I once made the mistake of telling someone that it was neither appropriate nor kind to call me fat. I call it a mistake because of the verbal execution I thereafter received. The verbal backlash centered on my being obroni, another problematic word for me.

A few things for contextual purposes: I was born in the United States, my parents are Ghanaian, I lived abroad for 18 years though not in the US, I have spent 90% of my summers in Ghana.

Someone near-and-dear to me shared a blog post from That Hayet Rida, “Growing up Fat in Ghana”. Hayet writes about her experience as a plus-sized woman growing up in Ghana. Her narrative resonated with me. Rida says, “Sadly, I grew up in a culture that considers feelings and emotions exclusive to white people”. I must choose my words carefully because I do not intend to disagree with Rida’s observations. I am relieved to read Rida’s perspective and as evidenced from the comments section, discover that we are not alone.

I would not say, however, that most Ghanaians view feelings and emotions as exclusive to white people. Feelings and emotions are not white inventions, but probably a cocktail of chemistry, biology, environment, etc. I do think that it is more the case that different societies/cultures place varied emphasis on feelings and emotions, and this importance influences the role feelings and emotions play. Does that make sense? When I think about Ghana then, I think of a society that grieves together, laughs together and celebrates together—in my view, Ghana is an extremely affectionate society.

Ghanaians are observant and Ghanaians speak freely, for the most part I believe. No one has ever skirted around the issue of me being obolo. “Obolo” marks the beginning of social interaction in my experience. It is said as easily as “Obolo, how are you?”. “Obolo!” can also mark the beginning, end and sole purpose of interaction. Frankly, however it appears, it is horrible. For some reason, I feel compelled to add that in the same way I am called obolo so too am I called beautiful, eii sister wo ho y3 f3 ohhh. Obviously being told that I am beautiful (swirls) stirs up different emotions than obolo (cringes).

This is an important distinction for me because I think it might be saying something important about Ghanaian society and culture that is easily overlooked. And I will try and illustrate it this way: I have lived in the US for a decade now and I can’t recall being called beautiful by a stranger in public. Strangers have offered ‘compliments’ that made me feel uncomfortable and unsafe. I have never been called fat by a stranger in America either, but I have received all sorts of unsolicited counsel on how I can lose weight, eat better, dress for my weight, etc.

In America, I think we have developed a library of politically correct terms because we readily acknowledge that words can hurt and because our society is richly diverse. But is it okay that I think someone is stupid as long as I address him or her as ‘less intelligent’? If I see someone and I believe they are fat, as long as I address him or her as curvy, am I good?

What we say are leaves whose roots are our thoughts. But does that mean we should say exactly what comes to mind…? I guess not. What I am saying is that I didn’t consent to being called fat or oboloo. I similarly did not consent to ‘thick’ and ‘curvy’ or ‘plus sized’ but these terms have been deemed to be more respectful and maybe they are, unless it’s a new leaf for the same thought.

Personally, I do not appreciate any differences between fat and thick, or fat and curvy, or fat and heavyset or big boned. If we were to group people by their size only, would the groups ‘fat’ and ‘skinny’ have any more value or use to us than ‘curvy’ and ‘thin’? For a moment there, I even struggled to find the politically correct term for skinny—what are these terms? Why aren’t they at the tip of my tongue? Have you looked at the definitions of fat and skinny? The definitions are not favorable to either category in my opinion! Take a look at the synonyms too.

The issue is the social value or lack thereof we have bestowed upon ‘fat’ and ‘skinny’. The evidence that one body type is valued over the other is abundant.

As I write this, I am in Ghana. Yes, I have been called obolo. My response is to smile (or smirk) because if someone is calling me obolo they will not understand my protest. I can only hold them accountable for being an active participant in one facet of their culture. If they did understand my protest, they wouldn’t be calling me obolo, I hope. I have also reached a point in my self-growth where thoughts of self-hate and unloving descriptions of my body are slowly and surely being replaced with self-love, praise and just general amazement with everything my body enables me to do.

Bottom line: The consequences of a lack of consideration for a person’s feelings and the seeming hesitance, reluctance or refusal to scrutinize and question certain facets of one’s culture all create a terrible burden for the recipient of name calling and inevitably for the society itself. Maybe we wouldn’t need an archive of politically correct terms if we our interactions did not dedicate so much value to physical attributes.

[1] I am saying it is socially accepted because it is wide practice to call men and women oboloo. Of course, as it is the purpose of my writing to point out, this ‘acceptance’ is limited and partial.