From the moment I landed in Ghana, I’ve been struggling to find the words to describe how I feel. When I’ve been asked, it’s easy to say I feel awestruck. That the people, culture, and customs are beautiful. That I’m humbled to be here. But those words and phrases don’t encapsulate what I’m actually feeling here. I’ve tried using the word “surreal”, but that doesn’t work either.
So, transcendental is my word. But before I move on, the teacher in me needs to define it. Quite simply, it means “relating to a spiritual realm, and that, indeed, is where I currently am. I’m in the spiritual realm.
I believe that phenomenal teachers have a spiritual calling to serve their students. This is not an easy job, so there has to be some sort of ethereal voice that leads us to serve. A spectacle and meaningful teacher is called by something in their heart and soul. It draws them into advocating and supporting their students, despite unimaginable challenges and obstacles. For example, my new Ghanaian friend, Seth, went months without receiving a paycheck. Even then, he continued to give his all (plus some) for the betterment of his students. This is transcendental.
I am in Ghana fulfilling my own spiritual calling within my teaching practice. As a teacher of African American Studies, I am compelled to ensure that ALL of my students are loved, honored, and seen. That ALL of my students are represented. That ALL of my students have the opportunity to grow and learn from the whole unadulterated story of humanity with love, empathy, and respect. I’ve learned here in Ghana that “knowledge is a baobob tree”. Not one person can wrap their hands around it. It takes a community to learn. My classroom wraps their hands around the baobob tree in the notion that everything is to be approached with humility, grace, and respect. On this trip, I’ve come to learn that this is called gracious space. In a time where these concepts feel so shaky and unstable in my own country, the calling to advocate for these basic components of humanity is undeniable, and yes, transcendental.
But for me, on a personal level, there’s even more transcendentalism here. Something I’ve been trying to reconcile and process rather privately. Please excuse my vulnerability, but it’s messy, and hard, and complicated, and emotional. So I think the best way to verbalize it is through a portion of my “I Am” poem.
Though I don’t look like it
I am a daughter of Africa
I am born of a Nigerian Grandmother or Grandfather
From 300 years ago
Undeniably forced across an ocean
Against all will
I am likely an only descendant
To step back on this continent
And thought history has forgotten them
And I will never know their name
I. Will not forget them.
I don’t share this to make a claim. Or to seek to identity with the strife that comes with diasporic heritage. Rather, I share this to illuminate the diasporic complexities that have embedded themselves in literally every corner of the world. And while I’ve been processing this internally, the spiritual and transcendent world has spoken to me here in Ghana. I am stunned by the beauty and awe of the natural world here. I feel at home in the forests. I know I’m being spoken to.
At the Donkor Nuso, I placed a leaf into the river, just as my new friends and family did. Meant to ease a burden, the leaf was to make a spiritual journey down the river. After I set my leaf free, I closed my eyes in silent prayer and meditation. But when I opened my eyes, I realized that river had returned the leaf to me. Rather than drifting downstream with the current, it caught an undercurrent and appeared back at my feet. I was clearly being beckoned, so I picked up the leaf again and waded farther into the river. With emotions high, I released the leaf into deeper waters, and this time, it was swiftly carried away. I’m certain this wasn’t a second chance or a “do over”. Instead, I believe the river gave me TWO chances to relieve my burdens. One “chance” for my teaching “soul”, and another chance for the soul of my distant relative.
We learned from Professor Pashington Obeng that community stretches to the past, present, and future. Here in Ghana, this transcendental realm, I am connected to a past community; my Nigerian ancestor. I am connected to a present community; my new Witness Tree friends and family. I am connected to a future community; my students.
Kristen Hall Jackson, AP African American Studies and AP US History teacher, Holly Springs, North Carolina