Finding Myself Home

Kumasi – Trip 2018

November 10, 2018- 6:34 pm

Finally, finally, finally, I am on my way to the Motherland. Africa! Kumasi Ghana to be specific. By way of Amsterdam.

In all of my imaginings never did I see myself traveling this journey without my brother, my husband, my parents, my children. Always, in my dreams, they were there, flanking my sides as we stepped on that soil together. While that is not what has occurred, this is still a very special and wonderful day.

In my mind’s eye I see my family, wearing their celestial garbs, smiling down. Whenever I thought of this day, I often wondered what energy was flung out to the sea for the lost ones. The stolen ones. And if perhaps I, in this visit, am the product of a long held dream and prayer. Perhaps from a mother whose arms ached for a lost child. I often wonder, if those left behind, stood on the shores willing their blood home. Of course, I’ll never know. But I believe it to be so. Were it I who’d been left behind, I know I would have stood on those shores in a rage, in sorrow, in grief, in power. Willing what was lost to be returned. Ever since I knew I was coming to the continent, my blood has felt warm. As if it is heating up in anticipation of clime more suited to itself. How much of them is left, I wonder? How much of the blood which left Africa, remains in me?

The airport of Ghana is spotless, beautiful, classy, and eerily quiet. There’s no sign of the frazzled ill-tempered traveler’s energy typically found in American airports. Instead, people waited their turn on a dauntingly long line without protest. Beautiful museum-worthy artwork graced the space as the accompaniment of a stellar 3-piece live band soothed the nerves of tired travelers.

As we walked outside, leaving the air conditioning behind I was struck by a wall of heat. Here was the noise and color missing from inside. A dark-skinned, good-looking man with a wide, white smile held a card with our names on it. We went to the dark car and were whisked away. On the way to the hotel we stopped for petrol and I spotted a pharmacy nearby. As I’d read an article on the availability of antibiotics without prescription I wanted to explore. I was greeted in ‘Ga the language of the Ashanti as I entered. I smiled a greeting in return then wandered around to the small pharmacy looking at everything. Finally, I asked the young lady behind the counter for antibiotics. Her eyes widened in surprise as I spoke then she said in strongly accented English “Are you not Ghanian?” I replied, “No I’m African-American.” The young man also in the store turned fully to look at me. After a moment the lady spoke again “Oh! I thought you were Ghanian. Your face looks Ghanian and your hair is natural….” She trailed off looking dubious. I repeated, smilingly, that I’d just arrived in Ghana for the first time in my life. The young man began chuckling as they shared a rapid-fire exchange. I listened, not understanding but enjoying the full round sounds interspersed with arm waving. I waited silently as she explained the costs and conversion of my purchases. As she handed me the bag she said clearly with a twinkle in her eyes “I will not say Welcome to Ghana. I will say welcome home sister.” The guy in the store laughed again saying “Ah yes. Dat is right!” I walked out clutching my bag and feeling warmly welcomed.