The air in Ghana is sweet with the stench of daily duties.
Metal baskets sit heavy on the heads of market women whose hip sway in the
sultry normalcy of tradition. Sweat pools on the muscles of men laying beneath
a staircase in Osu. There is not an inch of Ghana that does not stimulate at
least one sense. Color splashed cloth sold on the other side of an open gutter.
The grayish-white rush of excrement and bath water flowing beneath planks of
wood laying bridge-like alongside one another. At this point, they are the only
thing I’m scared of. If I make it through 5 months in Ghana without falling in
a gutter this trip will be complete and all the other things I discover and
experience will come as a welcomed bonus.
My first two weeks in Ghana before the official start of my
SIT: Social Transformation & Cultural Expression program have been full,
hot, and relaxing. I told someone that I practically ran out of Atlanta and
it’s true. The week before I left was kind of overwhelming that you appreciate
for the way it brings you closer to your loved ones, but none the less I was
exhausted and dangerously close to turning of and shutting myself in. But there
was no time for that. After a quality soak in the last functional bath tub I’ll
see for the next 4.5 months I had accepted what I needed to accept and was
ready to start this journey.
No matter how fast you leave there will always be love –
From the smiles and laughter shared with my sister-queens (& king) as we
hastily climbed waterfalls setting the scene for projects to come, to the
familiar awkward fumble of me and my parents making our way to the airport. I
used to get so sick with separation anxiety that I’d cry violently before every
flight, now I breathe. Sometimes the tears come, sometimes they don’t. This
time I was so calm it frightened me. It was a weird combination of peace,
exhaustion and excitement that almost felt like a high.
There were two flights and a brief layover between me and a
country that’s always felt like home. When the final plane got close enough
that I could look out the window and see the dust red roads and trees, all I
could do was smile and give thanks.
My Ghanaian sister Joeshmail met me at the airport. We got
kelewele and laughed and hugged away all the time that had passed since we last
saw each other. After two days in Osu we moved to Labadi. Some things have
changed since the summer of 2012, the kids are older, there’s a mall on Oxford
Street & I can’t find some of my
favorite street vendors. But all in all, LA feels the way I remembered it – the
busy streets, clusters of houses, random bits of pop culture and religion
juxtaposed on shop windows. I’m living in the shadow of The Church of Pentecost
Headquarters, a chapel and office complex that looks like it could rival any Atlanta
mega-church.
The irony of my living situation is that I spent the
majority of last semester reading case studies about Ghanaian Pentecostalism
and now it’s literally in my backyard. But that’s one reason I’ve structured my
year this way. Spent 3 months in London experiencing Africa academically and
now I’m here experiencing Africa physically and spiritually. Studying in Ghana
will be interesting as I’m pseudo-familiar with the land and have done most of
the tourist-y things before but I will undoubtedly have a level of access to
Ghanaian art and culture that I would have missed if had just come on my own.
I won’t say I’m looking forward to traveling and studying
with a group of Americans. There are maybe 15 of us – 2 women of African
descent, 1 white male, and around 12 white women. But I’m approaching this as
close to unbiased as I can get and open to experience. Plus, I know it will
likely make for some wonderful rants/blog post.
I’m excited about my 3 host families and my month long
independent study project. I’m excited about the two weeks I’ll be here after
my program ends. I’m excited about my family coming (speaking this into
existence) & celebrating my birthday on a beach in Ghana.
I’m excited about my latest baby, Project Ohemaa. A healing
and empowerment centered creative writing program for SHS girls that I’m hoping
to run in collaboration with the Attukweii Art Foundation and some other
Ghanaian groups and creatives I’ve been blessed to work with.
I’m excited to be here, twenty years full of inspiration. As
endless as 20 feels, I know now more than ever that tomorrow is never promised.
Fred Hampton was assassinated by the police at 21, my cousin Ashley in a fatal
car accident months before her 21st birthday.
I will turn 21 at the end of this journey and have committed
this next year (& all years to come) to being an ACTIVE proponent of the
dreams of my ancestors. Living the story my ink tells, making things happen and
not just writing pretty words about them.
Stay Tuned, ya’ll. There’s greatness to come.
