Akwaaba: From Being a Stranger to Being at Home
Barbara Beachley
The term “akwaaba,” the first thing you see on a large sign at the Accra airport, technically means “welcome,” but experiencing “akwaaba” goes far deeper than the word itself.
When I stepped out of the airport in a city I had only just visited for the first time last year, I was overcome with joy. Waiting outside were Dela and Kwasi, who had become dear friends during the two weeks we spent together the year before. As soon as they saw Denise and me, they jumped up, waving their arms, then hurried toward us with broad smiles and warm embraces. In that instant, I didn't feel like a visitor returning to a foreign country. I felt like I was coming home.
There is something about Ghana, and about the Ghanaian people I have had the honor to meet, that creates that feeling. Ghanaians often say it is part of their culture to be good hosts, but I have come to believe it goes far deeper than hospitality. Hospitality can be performative. Making people feel they belong cannot. The welcome I have experienced here is authentic. There is no sense that people are simply being polite or fulfilling a social obligation. They genuinely want you to know that you belong, that you are home.
Tete Cobblah, the founder of the Witness Tree Institute, shared the expression: the stranger is the most important person in the room. The person who is unfamiliar, uncertain, or outside the circle deserves our greatest attention. Instead of expecting the newcomer to find their place, the community makes a place for them.
That philosophy reveals itself not just in words but in rituals.
After arriving at the home where we are staying, Dela invited us to sit at the table. We were given a cold bottle of water, and before anything else happened, he and Kwasi made a point to welcome us. They spoke about how happy they were that we had arrived safely and how much joy it brought to have us there. It gave me the opportunity to pause, receive their welcome in my heart, and then to share my own genuine gratitude and joy in return.
It was such a simple moment, yet simply taking that pause to connect had a profound impact on me.
In that brief ritual, nothing needed to be accomplished. There was no agenda and no rush to move on to the next thing. We simply acknowledged one another's presence and expressed gratitude that we were together again. It struck me how rarely I allow space for moments like that. At home, my greetings are often squeezed between appointments, emails, and the next item on my to-do list. And what could possibly be more important than human connection?
Ghana invites me to move at a different pace. It reminds me that welcoming someone is not simply opening a door and saying words. It is creating space for them to feel seen, valued, and connected to others. That sense of belonging changes my perspective and the way I participate in conversation, reflection, song, or dance. When I’m not worried about proving myself or finding my place, I can be present. I notice the beauty around me. I listen more carefully. I connect more deeply.
Perhaps that is why returning to Ghana feels less like traveling and more like coming home. Not because it is familiar, but because the people I have met here embody a spirit of joy and community that I didn't realize I was aching for until I experienced it.
As I begin another journey here, I can’t help but wonder what our communities, our schools, and our countries might become if we treated every stranger as the one most in need of our attention.
Barbara Beachley is. former head of school, WTIG alum and Co-leader.