AKWAABA!!!

God is so good. I woke up at 6:00 this morning because I couldn’t sleep. Not because of the myriad new sounds outside of my window. Not because of the thick humidity or tropical heat. I couldn’t sleep because I’m realizing how blessed I am to be waking up in Africa this morning. It very hard to explain to someone who may not identify as a member of the Diaspora, but being here has already made a profound impact on me. I looked outside of my 2nd floor balcony right after the sun came up on this overcast day and couldn’t stop the tears from coming. An overcast day in Ghana beats any day in Philly.

Now that I’ve explained the obligatory (but genuine) “first steps on the Motherland” emotions that are overwhelming me, I’ll tell you a little about getting in last night. Getting through customs was pretty odd, as Jason and Ashley (my band-mate and girlfriend respectively, both black Penn students here as well) noticed that there were practically no other African Americans in the ISEP (Int’l Student Exchange) program with us. My estimate is that there are about 2 or 3 sisters here with us, no brothas, about 2 white guys, and 25 white girls. Go figure. Noooot that there’s anything wrong with that. I’m just gonna out on a limb here and say they’ve probably caoe for different reasons than I have.

So we get out of the airport around 10 last night and after we emerge from the exit, there’s huge throng of people waiting outside. I’d say about 10% actually knew people getting off of the plane. Basically, a large group of local men gathered around in hopes of briefly helping travelers with their luggage. There was no intention of theft, but these individuals did feel that pushing a cart 20 paces did merit the reward of 5 American dollars. While I successfully carried my own luggage to the bus, most other students were forced to accept help. Even Jason, who’s 6’6” and fit had to allow some dude to help him out. Speaking of Jason, I remember hearing a friend back at school warn him about the dreadlock’s he’s been growing for a while. Not that he’d be ostracized out here for them, but that they’d be an attention-getter. Sure enough, we heard a whole host of people outside of the airport attempting to gain the “Rasta Mon’s” attention. (My count was about 10 guys enthusiastically shouting “whatup, Rastafari!?” or “my black Rasta brotha!” in that first 5 minutes.) Anyway, right before we got on the bus, one of these Ghanaian men who had been standing outside of the airport asks me if I have any food or American magazines like Vibe or the Source. (whoa… I just did a double take. Just heard a monstrous bird call outside of my window that isn’t like anything I’ve never heard before. But I digress…) So I have a leftover muffin from the British Airways flight, and don’t have a problem giving it to the guy. Then he makes the mistake of asking if I have any music. Not knowing how much of a shameless promoter I am, (otherground.net/releases, ya’ll- you have your copy of the album yet?) he received a brand new copy of “Two Shades Deep.” I could hear his excitement as I dug into my bag and explained that it was my music that I was sharing with him. Then, all of the sudden, I look up and there are 4 dudes standing who came outta NOWHERE with their hands out in my face. Each one was mumbling how they each needed a copy since the initial recipient couldn’t share them. Assuming that none of these people had CD burners, I went ahead and passed out the first 5 of about 50 CD’s I’d brought. At this point, we were standing right next to the bus, so I hopped on once my luggage was loaded and we drove to campus. Legon, which is the location of the University, is about 14 km (you like how I’m already up on my metrics, right?) outside of Accra, so it was a pretty short bus ride over.

The unloading process of the bus was pretty interesting. (OK, last anecdote of the post...) The students had piled into one bus and the luggage was brought into another, so we all got out and stood around the second awaiting our bags. Being that American divas that we were, all 30 or so of us stood around for a full minute watching two tired, sweaty guys unload the truck. Something wasn’t right. Intuitively, Jason and I glanced at each other then immediately ran over the bus, hoping that we could be of some help. Sure enough, the only four black men on hand ended up carrying out the large, overstuffed bags for the remainder of the big group. (Whoa, I just heard a rooster cock-a-doodle-doo for the first time. I didn’t know they actually did that in the morning! That’s crazy. But I digress yet again…) Jason and I didn’t really think anything of helping out, but we were kind of surprised that no one else in the group was compelled to offer a hand. As everyone piled inside, we discovered that a few of bags we had just taken off the bus were actually destined for a dorm across the street. The only students remaining outside, J and I helped the two brothas load up a smaller van that would make the short trip. Right before we loaded back up, the two men from the bus introduced themselves to me with a warm Akwaaba, or welcome. We conversed for a bit, and I explained how happy I was to be in the land of my ancestors. Understanding the conceptions many Africans have of those of us who didn’t outrun the Europeans 400 years ago, I explained my viewpoint from the African American experience. Basically, I said “I’ve heard a lot of people over here don’t really look at us like brothers, but I’ve gotta say I’m really happy to be home.” Having put myself out there, I wasn’t really sure how they’d respond. Fortunately, they reacted with warm smiles, assuring me that “we are all brothers.” It’s good to be home.

P.S.
The photo you see above was taken from the balcony of my room here. Not exactly 39th & Spruce in West Philly, wouldn't you say?