Today is the second to last day of WTIG and my feelings are kaleidoscopic, shifting continuously to hold all the emotions that I experienced, and the imminent pain of saying goodbye to my lost homeland. Before I depart, I want to share some of my private reflections and memories from this journey.
I remember the warm smile of a woman on the highway, selling water, a basin upon her head. Our eyes meet and her smile ignites mine and in a brief moment we connect. Strangers sharing a common gesture.
Aunt Mary, who wore a solemn scowl which intimidated me. Who’s entire face softened as soon as I said thank you. She delighted in my enjoyment of pinkaso, a spicy breakfast dough. She suddenly felt like a familiar aunty to me, making me comfortable.
We may be separated by languages but our commonality is our humanity.
Aunt Mercy’s dinner was like no other. I observed her in awe. I noticed the twinkle of her eye, the contagious laughter, the sweetness of her hug, and her easy, soulful dancing. I would be remiss to not mention her amazing food. The talia was my highlight and her sponge cake was a true treat.
The music and songs every night on the bus have become an anticipated and enjoyed ritual among us, especially the call and response of how we name each other.
I was sitting next to Agya Koo Nimo, age ninety-two, and I remember thinking I was drinking from a well of knowledge. The proverbs he shared will be remembered forever.
“Time is life. Put the watch to your ear and you will hear the tick tock of time going by. In school you learn a lesson and take a test, In life you are given a test and it teaches you a lesson.”
To my sister Gifty, my brothers Phillip, Dela, Jerry and my Kwasi, how amazing it has been to share this journey with you. I am grateful for your keen observations, openness and protective nature. Your presence is a daily joy and I am grateful.
To my white cohort members, I reflect on your presence. The tensions I held in my body as I felt your gaze upon my Black pain, and my inability to fully mourn and break open. I was able to weep with a stranger in the dungeon but not with you, knowing the cycle continues. Feeling weariness for the responsibility to build the bridges for your understanding. My quickened heart rate when seeing your lack of awareness of your own identity. I say a prayer of hope, hope that as we part ways your practice of decentering whiteness begins as you too grapple with this history. May you learn how to build a bridge to me and to us, so that one day we can simply be.
To Ghana, until next time.
Kerryn Hinds
Director of Diversity Equity and Inclusion
Chestnut Hill School, MA