Finding My Mother: Musings from Ghana 🇬🇭

I stepped off the plane into Ghana, equal parts excited & nervous, 

with no idea what to expect– or whom. 

It was a familiar feeling, one that returns each time I begin fieldwork in a new place. 

They call it brave- this act of going for it, again & again, 

despite the not-knowing. 

& now, I finally understand. 

It’s wild when you deep it-  

like skydiving again & again into the unknown, 

heart racing but open, 

& somehow, always landing on your feet.

Ghana = Calming. Peaceful. Embracing. 

A soft gentleness in the air. 

Welcoming – Akwaaba! 

Love lingers like the sweltering heat.

The home of the powerful Adinkra symbols.

Goats, chickens, dogs, cats & sheep roam freely in the streets, 

no rush, no road rules (or that’s how it feels).

The food is rich, grounding & generous. 

Banku, fufu & jollof at every turn– 

so filling it gives you ‘itis- making you want to lie down & sleep. 

One big meal a day, with snacks in between, is more than enough.

Warm hands. Open hearts. 

Hospitality that humbles. 

Helpful souls everywhere. 

Each sentence, punctuated with "please".

Treated like a Queen wherever I go. 

Respect always given & accolades honoured.

The polite "good morning", "good afternoon" & "good evening" greetings- gentle rituals of recognition, grace & a quiet "I see you".

 My first book housed in libraries here– 

a sacred gesture, leaving a piece of me behind.

& I have become a magnet– 

drawing many, like tides to the moon, 

compelled by a beauty they see in me, 

which was perhaps always there, once overlooked, 

ignored in the UK. 

Here, I am truly seen. Adored. Revered. 

Not just watched, but witnessed.

Death notices pasted on every surface– 

life announced in reverse. 

Giant, elaborate funerals, as grand as weddings & just as sacred.

Waist beads kept hidden, never to be seen – 

perhaps they should be renamed hip beads.

Aunties nearby, ever watchful, remind me that not all beauty is for display– 

especially when those beads come into view.

Some beauty is meant to be hidden, held close.

Privacy is a kind of reverence,

a quiet language of intimacy,

NOT for the eyes of strangers.

Lizards dart through the house, 

fruit bats & monkeys as neighbours beside it. 

Birdsong becomes your morning alarm, 

while Bolt drivers become your cheerful guides.

Amongst the tribes– 

Ga, Fante, Ashanti, Ewe, Northerners– 

I listen, I learn, I belong. 

Powerful histories & cultures pulsing through every conversation.

Vibrant Kente glistening in the sun like royal armour.

My newly recommended tailor, Ms Mary, brings my designs to life-  each stitch a fusion of African fabrics, her expertise & my vision, a bridge between past, present & the future.

Traces of Jamaica glimmer all around.

Saidiya Hartman’s book is called Losing Your Mother-

but here in Ghana, I feel I have found mine-

no longer am I a long-lost dawta.

I am almost certain my paternal ancestors walked this very soil, their presence woven into the land, their spirits now intertwined with mine. 

Something deep within me is shifting, 

as if their spirits are awakening in quiet recognition.

My skin glows like the red clay of the land. 

The eczema begins to fade, 

as if my body, too, is healing through return.

On video calls, my family stare wide-eyed– 

in awe, in love, in laughter– 

relieved & radiant, seeing me happy & well,

grateful to Ghana for embracing me as her own.

I keep meeting people with the same names as my family members– 

a quiet echo, a nod from the universe, 

gently reminding me that I am not alone, 

& still home, even when far from home.

Pictures of my family & small tokens from home keep me grounded, 

reminding me of the immense love I carry with me– 

love that stretches across oceans.

I will never forget turning a year older in Kumasi.

Christianity & Islam side by side-  

Eid & Easter each given their own space, 

their own holidays, their own joy. 

Alongside them, ancestral & traditional spirituality thrives, 

remembering the land, ancestors, & ways of being 

who were here long before.

I walk often by the ocean–

so close, so constant– 

each wave carrying my emotions & the whispered spirits of my ancestors. 

I hope they are smiling, 

knowing that I have come back on their behalf.

There are days when the power cuts out, 

water slows to a whisper, & the Wi-Fi drifts in & out. 

So I’ve learnt to fill a bucket & keep it covered, 

ready for when the taps run dry. 

The water runs lukewarm at best, 

so I boil a little each day to bathe. 

It’s a humbling practice– 

putting into perspective all I once took for granted– 

but I’ve adapted like a pro. 

I have air con. I have a fan,

& for that – I give thanks daily.

My speakers have become a lifeline, 

blasting the right tunes at just the right moment– 

music that holds me, lifts me, keeps me moving. 

They offer a steady, soothing soundtrack to my days. 

They hold space for reflection, 

give rhythm to my movement, 

& strength to my spirit.

My research is unfolding with grace. 

I have my own desk in a shared office– 

a small sanctuary for thought & focus. 

Colleagues have offered generous feedback & guidance, 

& Ella, my research assistant, is a gem – steady, sharp, supportive. 

Though my research is emotionally heavy,

I am held in a loving environment that cushions the weight, 

& gently nurtures my process of uncovering & healing, 

as I move through this final stretch of fieldwork.

So far, I’ve been blessed to explore different regions across Ghana– 

each one offering new insights, 

each one colouring in the canvas 

of who I am becoming.

Throughout this journey, I have experienced & continue to experience deep connections to people, places, food & spirit, deepening my sense of belonging with every step, every meeting, every meal.

& at last- 

I've found the community my spirit longed for.

I am, & will always be deeply grateful-

for this experience, for God, the ancestors & the universe.

Captured moments in Ghana:

My book getting a new Ghanaian home. Photo credit: Emmanuella Duku

Rice, Banku & fufu in abundance

Me with some beautiful Kente cloth

Me at the door of return at Cape Coast Castle. Photo credit: Emmanuella Duku

Celebrating another year in Kumasi & rocking one of my tailored dresses. Photo credit: Lexi Rhoads.

Air con & Lizards inside the house...

Glimmers of Jamaica everywhere...

Meaningful moments & lasting connections.

Me & my research assistant, Ella at the archives.