I want to tell the story of my trip to Accra, Ghana in West Africa. I don’t think words can do it justice. All of its loveliness and warmth is forever with me, like a constant companion reminding me there is always a place that I can call home.
It’s hard to describe my visit–all of the things I saw, the people I met. I think that might require a novel to tell the story. All I can say, is that Africa feels like home. It’s like going back to the place where you belong. The faces are all familiar, the tones, the sounds, the music. It’s where you’d want to be if you had a choice to live anywhere in the world. Sure, Africa is developing and all of the nations within it, but I imagine if Africa had the same amenities as many post industrial nations—you wouldn’t want to leave, even to see family abroad.
The one thing I knew for sure on my way back to the States, was that I needed to go back again. And even as I left, and at times now, in the cool of the night or in the stillness of twilight—Ghana is haunting me—Africa is haunting me. I cannot say I had imagined it would stay with me so long. But it’s an undeniable haunting that says, “Please come back to me. You know where you belong.–here!“