returning to / arriving in Ghana

After twenty years away, I went back to Ghana in October 2022. Before and during my time there I wrote a few words each week on my thoughts and feelings about returning after so long. And here they are.

the context is Ghana - 30 sep 2022

I like to think I haven’t written about Ghana a lot; that I haven’t put into words exactly how it feels to be born and raised in one place (London by way of Essex and briefly North Wales) whilst trying to connect with another place that is connected to me by heritage though I have never lived there. And then I looked back at my own writing, my novel length stuff, my short stories. It is interwoven into everything — explicitly and implicitly.

I have always written about Ghana. I have been grappling with the idea of it for my whole life; what the place, the concept and the culture mean to me, someone who would fit well into the Black and British box — a collective we have forged for ourselves that comes with its own sense of belonging as well as its own factions.

Perhaps this searching just comes with the territory, especially for those of us whose parents have ventured from X to raise us in Y.

I was reminded the other day of my writing on Ghana from my novel Bad Love — the characters I created being a Black British filter for my sense of what Ghana was/ could be to someone ‘returning’ to their parental place of birth. And I want to be honest here; I was actively staying away from it — for many reasons that I hope will eventually become clear.

considering October - 2 oct 2022

This is not exactly a return. It is me, visiting the birth country of my parents for the third time. That I can count such trips like these on one hand, is still something I carry a lot of shame about. I did not grow up taking yearly trips to Ghana, learning the language (Twi) or getting to know relatives there. I also didn’t holiday there. What my family did was perhaps something in between.

The first trip is a vague memory, when I was about 10 years old. I had already taken my first flight two years earlier, to Australia when I was eight. So, getting on a plane to Ghana wasn’t as exciting as it could have been — I fully embodied a been-there-done-that sort of attitude as the precocious child that I was back then. I remember bits and pieces of the weeks we were there, I think.

We flew Ghana Airways (RIP) and it felt like we were taking off for the full six hours of the flight — just climbing to some unreachable altitude before it was announced that we had made it to our destination and would now be descending. Think of it as the beginning of the rollercoaster — that tick-tick-tick sound you hear as it climbs and your stomach drops in preparation for the fall. But then the ticking sound goes on for hours and your stomach can’t remember what upright feels like, until finally a reprieve for a few seconds as you level out, before dropping again, slowly and uncomfortably, sliding to a lazy stop and then waiting in the car (on the tarmac) for another hour.

To be honest, the journey there is easy to recall. The rest of the trip is really in bits and then pieces.

Watching Tupac’s Brenda’s Got A Baby video in my uncle’s house because he had air con. That video still terrifies me.

Visiting my great aunt at the house she raised my mother and aunt in, whilst my grandmother was in the UK. I remember the grown ups talking and me being mostly hot and bored.

I bought some chocolate digestives from a stall with my Cedis and my cousins made fun of me because I of course got overcharged — I was 10 and a tourist after all.

Everything else is a mixture of sights, smells, one instance of illness from the anti Malaria tablets, and being hot and bothered. I don’t even know really how I felt about any of it, but ‘out of place’ would probably be an accurate description.

The second time I visited I was older, a full six years later at aged 16. That trip rings a lot more clearly. I spent two weeks with my older cousins, being taken around to clubs and restaurants. They took good care of me. Plus, I had my first ever driving lesson there — apparently if you can drive in Ghana you can drive anywhere, which is sort of a trial by fire logic if we’re going to get into it. I drove into a gutter is what I’m saying; I was terrified but I did dine out on that story for many years after that.

I had a lot of fun on that second trip, but I didn’t find myself or feel closer to my roots. I was just 16, away from sixth form college drama and loving it. And secretly very glad to be away from home as I knew it; life back in the UK wasn’t exactly great — in fact it was a mess and I was just trying to make it to university in one emotional piece. I barely made it out alive too, so I didn’t really have time to interrogate my heritage like that then, either.

So, perhaps the initial infrequency of visiting is why it’s taken 20 years for me to even consider making a trip to Ghana again. This time by myself, as an adult and a writer. These days, heritage is on my mind a lot. My first book was all about a Ghanaian Londoner, and I took her to Ghana by piecing together my own memories of the place.

But this trip is a little different. I am going there to continue research for another book. And finally, I have a valid excuse to return, or revisit.

I can say with certainty that I am very apprehensive about going, which is not a feeling I often associate with travel. I enjoy travelling to new places, making new connections, discovering new cultures. Except that this is supposed to be my culture. That’s really what it boils down to, and what I get stuck with — what I am supposed to know and feel and think about the place, because that’s what my fellow Ghanaians around me feel — or so they tell me.

But I was born and raised in London. I even feel a connection with Australia — a place I have residency, where I found big chunks of myself in my early thirties. But with Ghana, it’s just different.

Sure, I was around Ghanaians in my family and growing up in the church. And there are cultural commonalities that I understand, that I even notice in myself from time to time. But there are parts of me still looking to belong.

My whole self still feels torn between what it means to be Ghanaian here, in the UK, and what it means in Ghana proper. I don’t actually have a concept of the latter — beyond what people tell me. Perhaps I fear this fictional (but definitely based on real people) auntie who will meet me as soon as I touch down in Kotoka airport, will look me over and say,

‘Well, this is all wrong.’

Logically, I know this isn’t a real scenario but here we are.

My heritage is Ghanaian. I grew up in London. I am from where I’m from — that’s one thing the UK will never let me forget. But what else am I? Why is that still a question?

Maybe this is the trip that will provide answers, maybe it won’t. Maybe that has to be enough.

your younger self - 6 oct 2022

A new friend gave me some great advice about returning to Ghana after so long, when I expressed all the hangups I had about it when I was last here:

‘Think of yourself now, as your younger self’s best friend. Travel with her and be her support, make new memories.’

I am paraphrasing but that was the general gist. And it changed the outlook of the trip for me, to be honest. So, I touched down in Accra a few days ago, and immediately it felt familiar in a way I didn’t expect. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised. I did grow up in a Ghanaian household after all, and I have been before, but I feared I had lost any connection because of the gap in time I had created, and upon returning I would feel like a complete tourist.

Don’t get me wrong - I am still a tourist and don’t know my way around, but there’s an instinctual feeling that would have been hard to articulate before I came. I suppose, it’s still hard to articulate.

A lot of my adulthood has been about being kinder to my younger self, and this trip is definitely a big part of that work. And quickly I have found that this isn’t something I have had to do alone. If anything, community is the strongest thing here in Ghana. People will look out for you in a way that just is not part of the British society I have mostly grown up in. And kindness rewards kindness - which seems basic as, but UK politics will try to convince you otherwise.

I won’t get into the impact of colonialism here (except to drop in a mention - take from that what you will), but strong elements of the culture have persisted, which I am fortunate enough to have experienced in a few short days. My younger self might give a sigh of relief at feeling less of an outsider than she expected.

the privilege thing - 10 oct 2022

*Photo by Barnabas Lartey-Odoi Tetteh on Unsplash*

I knew I would have to grapple with it early on - the idea that here in Ghana, I am privileged in a way I never really was growing up in London. And this is completely owed to my family lineage here, which could be considered tantamount to ‘upper-middle class’. But in that migrant journey from Ghana to the UK, your privilege and status does not often travel with you.

The other day I got my hair braided - standard activity to embark on within your first few days of arriving in Ghana, especially if you’re like me and can’t be bothered to deal with your natural hair in the tropical-like heat. One thing is for certain though, getting your hair done here is always a good decision; your braids will look fantastic and it will cost a fraction of the price that you would pay for the same level of quality and care back in London. There’s no lie here. And it didn’t take too long either because two or three hairdresser’s had their hands on my head at one time (what did I say about community before?), working seamlessly together so that by the end, your braids are full, laid and protecting your precious afro from the elements.

So what’s this got to do with privilege?

A lot of people have been in service to me since I got here. Because my family holds a certain status, because I look like a tourist, but mostly because of the family thing. I feel weird about it, but I also can’t pretend I don’t benefit from it massively. Especially me who had no idea where to buy groceries or change money or even find the right hairdresser. I was given help before I had to ask for it, and despite all my preparation before the trip, I couldn’t just Google my way out of it. If anything, Google tells about 25% of the story; the rest is just living and experiencing things.

But like I said, I’ve had help - I could be the hapless tourist getting overcharged for every little thing and honestly, I would deserve that as a newbie. Also the Ghanaian Cedi is really down in comparison to the British Pound (and if I’m saying that given the status of the UK right now, then that should tell you everything) and so I suggest tipping wherever you can, just as a general rule. What’s light in your pocket could still be heavy in someone else’s.

For me, I’m being taken care of at every point during this trip - several people making sure I’m ok, that I have food to eat, that I’m being shown a good time. Some of this is good favour garnered by my parents, but much of it is about familial status, what that contributed to this society, and what that means now, in the present day of things.

I’m still grappling with it anyway, people being in service to me and not the other way around. And I know better than to reject it, because that is not how we do things; it’s just part of the culture. But it’s worth thinking about where I sit within it all, and why.

taking things in your stride - 13 oct 2022

Sometimes you have to take things in your stride.

This weekend I accidentally ingested the tap water and my weak Western stomach rejected everything I put into it thereafter. The only person I have to blame is myself. And then the power went out after a storm; less of a Light-Off situation and more cause and effect. Still, it wasn’t ideal.

Yet despite these two occurrences, I’ve felt pretty chill about the whole thing. The irony is that if this happened in the UK, I’d probably have a meltdown, which says way more about me and the UK, than it does about Ghana.

The trick is not to lower your expectations here at all - you just have to adjust them. Just as you would in any other country you’re visiting for the first time/ after a long time away. Be aware of how things work here and why, and go with the flow when everything doesn’t go to plan.

And do not assume any plan you make will definitely go ahead - plans here can change like the wind; they take their own time and they happen when they happen. Because listen, it’s hot. The last thing you want to do in the heat is rush - I couldn’t think of anything worse in fact. But once you lean into the sleepy ease of it all and accept that things go at their own pace, you’ll honestly have a better quality of life all around.

Best to just go with the flow. Drink bottled water. Keep a candle and some matches handy at all times.

the queens kingdom - 19 oct 2022

This week I travelled to my maternal grandmother’s birthplace, Kumasi. Also home to the Asante Kingdom.

I had a strong memory of the city from the last time I was here: Driving from Accra to Kumasi late at night, with one of my then-baby cousins repeatedly requesting sustenance - ‘Me pe bread’. My grandmother ushering us out of the house early in the morning to visit some aunty or uncle. Stepping out of a car one evening and screaming loudly at the feel of a gecko on my foot (don’t judge me, I was about 10 at the time). And the ground, always an orange red, with the rust-coloured dust following you home even if you had barely set foot out of the car. The roads in Kumasi were busy but much like Accra the rules were the same - unspoken and requiring a large amount of bravery. In my mind, Kumasi was the Ghana I remembered.

The contrast between the two cities now is clear - Accra is fast, rapidly developing and innovative. Kumasi has a slower pace but is filled with creativity, a hub for culture and community if you can speak Twi well-well (I cannot).

Kumasi is also the home of the Asante kingdom - one of the biggest tribes in Ghana and the one my family belongs to. Like many descendents of the Asante people, there are stories of a royal lineage in my family; which I’ve recently discovered actually have merit. And when I was younger, the idea of belonging to royalty was an exciting prospect, but now its roots come with questions that force me to consider how notions of duty, wealth, status and patriarchy have persisted, and how that shows up today, particularly in the attitudes and actions of the women in my family.

There have definitely been comments made in the past about certain marriages to men of other tribal lineage, where female relatives were purported to be ‘too strong for marriage’. Take from that what you will.

The irony of this attitude about women, is that the Asante Kingdom is matrilineal - which means that royal reign can only be passed down from the women’s side of the family. You might even have heard the story of the Asante Warrior Queen Mother, Yaa Asantewaa - who lead an uprising against the British in 1900, when colonial powers decided that they wanted something else, on top of the countless lives they had ended, sold and betrayed during hundreds of years of the transatlantic slave trade. They wanted the Asante Golden Stool. But the uprising stopped that from happening.

I think coming from the diaspora and hearing stories like these, of rebellion and traditions and reclaiming stolen wealth - there is lots to take pride in when thinking of heritage and where your ancestry lies. Ghanaians are a persistent people, after all.

And as someone who didn’t grow up here and doesn’t speak the native language of my family, I have still managed to find a connection with Ghanaian culture. To me, this speaks to what was transported when my parents and grandparents left Ghana to live in the West.

Even though we experienced the Ghanaian community in London differently to what living in Ghana allows, it was still there, seeping into the day to day, so that I always knew where I came from. Even if the smaller pieces of my history were missing.

The connection is helping me find them again.

subtitled sections - 24 oct 2022

*"He who does not know can know from learning"*

When I was planning this trip almost a year ago, I thought it might be a step towards discovering more about myself by way of my heritage. But now that I am here, I’ve been reminded of some things.

Firstly, that I know who I am. I am well into my thirties, I’m in the healthiest relationship of my life, and I am finally able to fully dedicate my time to working on my craft as a writer.

Another important thing to know about me, is that I have grown up in lots of different places in the UK, and parts of me are made up of the experiences I had in those places - some I have carried with me more than others. And then there are the sections of myself that are compiled from the early years that I spent in a Ghanaian household. But it wasn’t the only house that I lived in.

The first few years of my life were actually spent in the Home Counties with a foster family - an experience that a number of Ghanaians and Nigerians in the UK who are about my age now and older, are all too familiar with. It’s always been a difficult thing to articulate, what it was like being the only black child in the neighbourhood, surrounded by white faces - when you didn’t really know you were the only one. Children don’t arrive in the world seeing difference and picking it apart - adults are the ruinous ones behind that action.

I’m not sure I even knew what being Ghanaian was or that I belonged to a Ghanaian family until I was about 4-years-old and I was returned to my maternal grandmother’s house in North London. I was immediately expected to feel connections to blood relatives, to the culture, and to somehow already speak the language, despite only ever encountering those things when I was a baby; too young to form memories of anything beyond motor functions and emotions.

Here in Kumasi, everyone speaks Twi, and most have a basic knowledge of English so my British tongue can just about get by. But I look Ghanaian, because I am, so I was asked multiple times

‘Wote Twi?’ Do you speak Twi?

My answer of course was no, followed by mumbles about how ashamed I am of that fact (this is a hangover from how I used to feel, but now out of habit I still find myself qualifying it with guilt). And then sometimes I get a look, as if I have chosen this disconnect, that I purposely lost the grip of my mother’s tongue - something I never had a grasp of to begin with.

So, I refrain from telling the truth; that for the first four years of my life - the perfect period for a child to learn multiple languages - I wasn’t living with any Ghanaian family members. I wasn’t anywhere near them. I heard only English and spoke only English to the kindly white woman taking care of me. And so now, when I hear Twi, it is a familiar sort of foreign to me, like watching a Telenovela and forgetting to turn the subtitles on.

The truth sits between who I am, how I was raised, and how other Ghanaians might view me. It is the answer to the question of whether I am ‘Ghanaian enough’ even if my parentage leans towards it, and my face carries it, and even the lilt of my accent adopts it in my grandmother’s homeland.

I have accepted that there are some elements of my heritage that I will never be privy to, that might always leave some part of me feeling on the outside. But language is more than just words, and so I will continue to search for other ways to communicate here, in my own way.

Sometimes with the help of subtitles.

in the end - 1 nov 2022

This trip to Ghana started with a story. Or rather, an idea for a story - a companion piece to something I had begun writing in 2020, about family, identity and the gaps in our histories as first gen Ghanaians living in Britain.

So, the following Summer in 2021, I made an application for an ACE Develop Your Creative Practice Grant dedicated to following that idea through - researching the history of modern Ghana and eventually taking a real life trip back to my parents birthplace.

More than a year later, I’ve been awarded the grant and it has allowed me to commit to writing full time, to take a three-month historical fiction course, make multiple public and private library visits, and embark on a month-long trip to Ghana.

Returning/ arriving here has been illuminating. I’ve been able to interview people of my parents’ generation and above. I have refamiliarised myself with Accra and Kumasi. I have eaten way too much (very good) Ghanaian food. And the story I want to write has begun to solidify.

Its properties have morphed over time - it is not its own thing anymore, but now sits as part of something much bigger; a larger story I couldn’t see until I took a step back and listened to some very helpful advice from a wise new acquaintance. Only then did I realise that storytelling is not just a personal vocation of mine, but something embedded within my Ghanaian DNA.

Anyone who knows will confirm it; no one tells a story like a Ghanaian. If you want drama, intrigue, high emotional stakes and a suspenseful conclusion - ask a Ghanaian how their day was. Which also explains why my answers are always long and winding when someone asks me: ‘So how have you been?’

I’m generalising of course, but really what I mean is that Ghana is spilling with stories, an overflow of which I have captured only a fraction.

Stories about what home means for those that stayed when loved ones left. Stories about migrating and returning. Stories about health, about faith, about loss, relationships and growing up here. Big stories about heritage and lineage, and smaller stories about losing touch with old friends.

The kinds of stories that lead to other stories, and other stories still. Stories with ever expanding roots every time you dig a little deeper.

Perhaps this phenomena - of a sort of quiet storytelling magic that resides here - isn’t that unique. Across the African continent there are multiple nations whose storytelling goes back thousands of years, kept alive orally. So, even with an adopted language - English - the proficiency for storytelling remains, because of its deep, cultural roots.

And that’s what I’ve been trying to get a sense of during my time here - what it means to find the thread of something and follow it to its truest conclusion. Stories that mirror real life, that play on emotion, fuel drama, encourage growth and inspire hope.

I plan to write towards these things to varying degrees, wrapping them up in a beginning, a middle and an end. At least for now.