OLD WHITE MEN: THE AFRICAN WOMAN'S DREAM OR ESCAPE?

Let’s not pretend this ain’t happening. Let’s not act like we don’t see it. I saw it again today—an old white man, bent over, barely able to walk, with a young, stunning Ghanaian woman on his arm. She wasn’t with him because of love. She wasn’t looking at him like he was her king. She was in it for survival. For escape. For access. And he knew exactly what he was doing. These kinds of “relationships” aren’t built on love. They’re built on desperation, power imbalance, and a twisted type of neo-colonial transaction that plays out every day across Ghana and the continent.

I was born in New York City, April 8th, 1963. I’ve seen racial dynamics in America. I’ve seen white power structures and Black people running after the dream they’ll never be allowed to own. But when I moved to Ghana in 2020, I saw something that disturbed me on a deeper level. A sickness that many don’t want to speak about because they’re too afraid of the truth. Too afraid to face what colonization, religion, media, and poverty have done to the mindset of African people—especially our women.

Now before you come at me sideways, let’s be clear. This isn’t about shaming sisters. This isn’t about controlling who you choose. This is about unearthing the why. Why does it seem so many of our sisters would rather be the sidepiece of a dying old white man than build with their own Black brothers? Why do they tolerate disrespect and exploitation from someone who wouldn't even look at them twice if they had money back home? Why are they dressing up for poverty-level perverts and ignoring good, strong Black men who walk among them every day?

I’m talking about truth today. I’m talking about that sickness in the mind that makes whiteness seem like salvation. I’m talking about the trap that social media lays—making it seem like a white man is a passport, a house in London, and a future. And you know what? Some of these women believe it’s a better deal to be used than to build. And that’s the tragedy we need to confront.

And let’s not pretend the brothers don’t play this game too. Ghanaian men chasing after white women like they’re the golden prize. Talking down on their own women. Believing they’ve made it when they land an old woman from Europe who throws a few coins their way. This sickness runs deep—and it didn’t start with us, but it sure as hell is continuing with us. Let’s dig into the meat of it.

Let’s talk about colonization—not just the physical theft of land and resources, but the theft of mind, of identity, of self-worth. When the British left, they didn’t just leave behind railroads and flags. They left behind a system that taught us that everything white is better. Better education. Better love. Better opportunity. Better future. This didn't fade with independence. It got reinforced through religion, through school, through everything we saw on television.

Many Ghanaian women grow up being taught that their Blackness is a limitation. That their beauty only has value when it’s validated by a white man. That suffering with a Black man is foolish, but being used by a white one is strategic. And in poverty, when your options feel few and your dreams seem far, a wrinkled white man waving a UK passport can feel like salvation. The money doesn’t even have to be big. Just the illusion of something “more” is enough.

But what are we selling for that “more”? We’re selling dignity. We’re selling potential. We’re giving away the womb that will raise the next generation, hoping that mixed-race babies and London addresses will save us. Meanwhile, Ghanaian men are being bypassed, emasculated, and told indirectly that they’re not enough. And instead of rising up to reclaim respect, too many are out here doing the same thing—chasing whiteness, abandoning their women, worshipping the colonizer with their choices.

There are entire dating apps catering to this dynamic. Older white men specifically targeting young African women. Lebanese men. Europeans. They don’t have to be rich—just richer than you. And they use that to buy the bodies of women who should be building empires with their own men. It’s soft-core trafficking. But because there’s a dinner involved and a ring sometimes, people act like it’s love. It’s not love. It’s survival. It’s manipulation. It’s desperation in a dress.

What makes it worse is that the same women who wouldn't look at a strong, grounded Black man twice if he doesn't flash money are the same ones running to take abuse and silence from men who offer crumbs. And the Black man? He starts thinking something’s wrong with him. He begins to believe that he isn’t good enough unless he mimics whiteness, unless he gets foreign validation. The cycle continues. Broken homes. Confused children. Colonized minds.

Let’s be real. Many of our sisters are not choosing these old white men because of love. They’re choosing them because they’ve been brainwashed into believing that anything Black—especially a Black man—is a risk, a weight, a burden. They think the struggle will never end with a Ghanaian man. But who said struggle is the only thing we can offer? Who told you we’re all broke? Who told you we all lack vision?

Some Ghanaian men may lack drive. Some are immature. Some are chasing white women just like you’re chasing white men. But many of us are here. Focused. Grounded. Spiritual. Ambitious. Looking to build families and legacies—but we’re invisible to you. You want the illusion of security more than the reality of shared growth. And some of you are willing to give everything to men who see you as nothing more than a third-world thrill.

Religion plays a role too. That worship of the white Jesus. That psychological placement of whiteness as holy, pure, clean. For some, that image slips into relationships. It creates a hierarchy in your heart where your own people are second-class—even to you. Social media finishes the job. The influencer lifestyle. The travel videos. The dream of being “chosen” by someone outside. Not for who you are. But for what you can give them on the cheap.

Let me say this: the white man’s ice is not colder. It’s just that some of you have been left in the heat too long. And you’re running toward anything that feels like relief—even if it burns you in the end. And when you wake up, you’ll see that many of these so-called saviors were predators, not partners.

So here we are. A Ghana that looks modern on the outside but is still struggling with the chains in the mind. Sisters walking proudly with men who need help to walk, while ignoring brothers with strength in their back and love in their heart. Brothers chasing old white ladies like they’re job applications. And we’re wondering why we’re not building as a people.

It’s not just poverty. It’s not just economics. It’s deeper. It’s psychological. It’s spiritual. It’s historical. We’re still fighting the effects of slavery, colonization, and the theft of our worth. We’re still running from each other, trying to find value in the arms of strangers. But strangers don’t save us. Strangers use us. And when they’re done, we’re left holding the shame, the confusion, and the generational scars.

To my sisters: you are worth more than this. You are the future of this nation. You are the mothers of Africa’s tomorrow. Stop selling yourself cheap. Stop confusing exploitation for opportunity. Love who you want, yes—but make sure it’s love. Not business. Not brainwashing. Not desperation in disguise.

To my brothers: stop giving up on your women. Stop chasing foreign validation. Get yourself together. Grow. Build. Protect. Lead. Our women need to see that we are not the struggle. We are the solution. But we have to act like it.

The sickness is in the mind. But so is the cure. And it starts when we stop lying to ourselves. When we start calling it what it is. When we stop looking at whiteness as salvation and start looking at each other as the foundation.

Let the truth hurt. Because only then can healing begin.