When I think of home, I think of my mother, our house. Sitting in our living room by the fireplace at Christmas time. A good, home-cooked meal, family, friends, etc. My idea of home is much like that of many other Americans. However, now that I am back "home" from Ghana, I can't help but think about the individuals I met there. Their welcoming spirit, their helpfulness, how kind they were.
On Tuesday, I traveled to Cape Coast to see the slave castle. Walking through the male and female dungeons was very difficult for me. It was hard to breathe in the dungeons, and to imagine hundreds of captives in there, sitting in their own waste for months, with little air only made me close my eyes. I placed my wrist in one of the shackles and did the same- closed my eyes. Then, when I walked through the Door of No Return and got chills. On the other side of the door was the beautiful water. The Coast is just an amazing sight, and to think of what went on there, is enough to make your stomach turn. Then I turned around, and walked back through the door, and felt very humble to my ancestors, who walked though doors such as the one I came through, and could never return to their home.
So this feeling I got, was enough to make me wonder about what home really is. Home to my ancestors is a home that I may know nothing about. Their language, their practices, their daily lives. I think about all the opportunities I have in my own country. That I have the privilege to come to the Motherland, to behave freely as I wish. I also think of the many consequences of the ugly part of American history called slavery, that I myself, still experience. But I have no idea the experiences of my ancestors, my grandparents, even my own parents who grew up in the 1960's. All I know is that the continent I was on for the past six weeks is a new place I can call home. There is a feeling I have, unexplainable to many (even the kind Ghanaians I met), that encompassed my entire view of myself. A feeling of being home.
So when I passed through immigration in Atlanta airport and I showed the African American man at the desk my passport, he let me through with a comment, "Welcome home Miss Lacey."
I smiled and thought,"Home. You have no idea."
So now that I have embraced my "dual identity" as African and American at it's fullest, I have altered how I see myself and my family. But at the end of the day, I am truly grateful for the experiences I had in Ghana, and I thank Sister Cities for allowing me to represent them in such a wonderful country. Most importantly, I thank God for opening my eyes to another side of this world.
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