Immediately when I stepped foot in Ghana-it changed me. The air was dry and dusty, the pace immediately slower, relaxed, and the people busy but conversational and friendly. Ghana was different but surprisingly familiar. Nothing like I thought it would be, but not distant from what I’d experienced growing up. I didn’t grow up entirely like the Africans I knew—in a two-parent household with children running around and rice and stew being served for dinner three times a week. I grew up in a home that was rooted in African ideals but preoccupied with the American pressure to “make it.” Our family friends were Ghanaian, Jamaican, and Nigerian, yet with the demand of my parents’ work, they dwindled in how frequently I saw them and size. I remember when I was younger attending loud Nigerian parties where the music boomed and shook the house. My dad played his old man hits of Nigeria and welcomed the friendly atmosphere of like-minded Africa. This faded as my father grew older and farther apart from my mother. They eventually separated then divorced, only leaving the authoritarian ideals intact.
Divorce is not talked about in African families—at least not in mine. African families are supposed to be strong with formidable ideals and the strive to create a more prosperous future for children. But every African family is different. Some may engage fully with their African cultures, others may be “Americanized.” Yet, we all bond through similar cultures. I could claim to be African but knew it was not valid until a native African confirmed my claim. I could claim to be Black but knew I could be invalidated at any time, leaving me to choose what was convenient. I was Black when defending myself against White classmates, but African when it served me and suited my ego. I fluidly navigated different social identities but knew I wanted to explore my African roots when I was forced to engage a Black world that didn’t fully accept me.
These intersecting identities drove me to travel abroad to Accra, Ghana. Where I knew family resided. Family, I had not met, and my mother spoke little of. Family brings worth, memories, and a perspective of your parents that you never would have gathered from them themselves. But families also expose truths that shock you and may even harm the interpretation you have of your identity. My family greeted me with warmth when they visited me at the University of Ghana. They brought laughter, wisdom, and tenderness. I learned about my mother and pieced together the missing puzzle piece to complete the mosaic of who my family was. Yet, upon leaving I realized that it was only one piece of the puzzle and there was a multitude of other insights and knowledge, I’ve yet to discover.
From my experience aboard, I learned I am a lot like Ghanaian and African people—despite the continental divide. The way I look, my expressions, and the foods I love to eat relate. However, I also learned I am different than many Africans as well. I am not religious enough. I do not know the local language and my bargaining skills are subpar. I am a coalition of identities. We must acknowledge that Africans have relatively different experiences and ancestry. Ghana is a heterogeneous state made up of people from various ethnic groups, religions, and ancestral stories. The journey to America to achieve the American dream may be presented as the same but is not—an obvious observation but something that is not quite explored. Identities are not linear. They are multilateral and even though I had the privilege of visiting a country where my parents were from, African identities and culture are not far from any of our descendants. I write this piece to give thanks to those who granted me the opportunity to study abroad, but also to acknowledge that a person is not simply a result of their parents, but created by experience, exploration, and aspiration to compose their own identity.
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