By Christopher Wink | August 29, 2005 | Travel Reflection
Africa was not real to me. It was imaginary; I saw a place where elephants roam and people starve. I saw children with flies around their faces in villages and huts and tribes. I saw in stereotypes and misunderstandings and prejudices and lies. That was all before I arrived at the Kotoka International Airport in Accra, Ghana.
I gave two months of my teenage life to West Africa, and I was given in return a lifetime of awareness and understanding. I studied in a classroom at the University of Ghana, but Ayi Kwei Armah and Abu Abarry didn’t teach me nearly as much as the cab rides and post offices and market women did. Reading about West African culture in my overpriced course packet never satisfied my hunger as well as freshly pounded banku and groundnut soup did. I played basketball with Octung and Salam to hear them speak in proverbs. I laughed with Tonko and met too many Kwesis to remember.