An Affinity for Ghana In the summer of 2024, Ghana hosted its first ever international educator conference, as the country sought to advance innovation and equity across its educational ecosystem. A small group of colleagues, who are more like family than just friends, accepted the invitation to contribute to the conference while simultaneously making the pilgrimage to our ancestral homelands. Carter G. Woodson, the father of the Black History movement, once quipped that he was the second black man, after W.E.B. Dubois, to graduate from Harvard with a Ph.D. He went on to say that it would take him more than 20 years to recover. Throughout my educational journey, it was regularly reinforced that African and African people had no history worth studying, acknowledging, or knowing. It was my intention to learn more about my people, our traditions, and our contributions, from original sources–not filtered through American hands or perspectives. In the words of the great historian and scholar, John Henrik Clarke, “We cannot expect those who programmed us into oblivion, to program us out of it.” After the rise of 45, the summer of George Floyd, reading Ibram X. Kendi’s Stamped From the Beginning, COVID, crashing Dr. Greg Carr’s Africana Studies Course (at Howard), lamenting every page of Dr. Joy DeGruy’s Post Traumatic Slave Syndrome, and re-listening to Kendrick Lamar’s How to Pimp a Butterfly, I was on the road to my own recovery, and I needed my people (and an Old Fashioned!). As we prepared to land in Accra, my initial questions included:
Given the questions, it was never my expectation to fully answer them, but they seemed worth pursuing. Documented herein are my observations and reflections, in a series of five (5) reflections. My intention is to make public the journey of reclaiming my identity beyond the past 400 years, beyond the American experiment, and re-membering where and to whom I belong. My hope is that others might become more curious about the given social programming and seek to recast that which no longer serves them. As rational humans, we have a responsibility to resist oppression. To do otherwise is to operate as co-conspirators in our own cultural demise. Part 1 The First Breath of Return As I stepped off the plane in Accra, a wave of warm heat greeted me like a long-lost relative. The air was different—thicker, heavier, almost humming with stories. The whispers of my ancestors seemed to fill the spaces between breaths, urging me to listen. This was not a vacation. This was not an escape. This was a reconnection, a reunion, a re-membering. With only seven days ahead of me, I had a brief window of time to glimpse what was deeply held, yet just out of reach—the essence of who we were before the American experiment. Ghana revealed itself in layers, beginning with the lovely bustle of Accra: Osu street vendors with wares that shimmered under the sun, the rhythmic call of conversation and banter, the aromas mingling with the salt-laden breeze, the skyscrapers dotting the business sector, and the new mixed-use real estate high rises. Yet beneath this vibrant scene, I felt the pulse of something both modern and ancient, an unbroken current that beckoned me to this land and these people in ways I had yet to understand. Who were we to each other, and why? I wondered as I watched the effortless camaraderie among strangers in the Osu province. What did kinship mean here, before it was fractured by chains and distance? The answer was not immediate, but it was there, embedded in the smiles, the greetings, and the ubiquitous, open-armed expression of “Welcome back home” in every interaction. My group and I spent an extended and enriching visit at the National Museum of Ghana, guided by a gracious and deeply knowledgeable docent. She generously shared her time and passion for our history, staying with us for hours—even after the museum had officially closed. Her commitment to illuminating the story of our people made the experience profoundly moving. Walking through the museum’s exhibits, I encountered artifacts spanning thousands of years—each piece speaking truths about our boundless creativity, resilience, and deep interconnectedness. From intricately crafted gold jewelry and earthenware to feats of engineering, fashion, and artistic expression, every item seemed to carry the whispers of our ancestors. They told a story of people whose lives were rooted in purpose, innovation, and community. I was struck by the evidence of social movements that not only sought to preserve our heritage but also to advance our economy, governance, and societal structures. As I stood before these treasures, I felt the enormity of what it means to belong to a lineage of builders, dreamers, and creators—not merely survivors of history, but shapers of it. This realization filled me with awe. The pride that swelled within me was almost overwhelming, a profound sense of longitudinal identity and belonging within and across the diaspora. At the same time, I couldn’t escape the lingering question: What else had been hidden, distorted, erased, or forgotten? This question sat heavily with me, but it also fueled a quiet determination to uncover and honor more of our story—a story that deserves to be fully known and celebrated. This book was given to us as suggested reading: “Ghana: A Concise History from Pre-Colonial Times to the 20th Century.” It’s a poor substitute for being on the land with the people, but it’s an original source which I am learning to value more and more. Reflections & Invitations
This is the first episode in the series, reflecting on identity, belonging, and place. Stay tuned for Part 2, where we'll explore the First Bath of Return, at Assin Manso.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Dr. Kaleb Rashad@kalebrashad Archives
January 2025
Categories |