So this one time, I went to Ghana for New Years Eve. It was awesome. I linked up with the homie Panama for a couple of days while I was out there; I had a blast. When I got back he asked me to write an article about my experience in the Motherland. I'm down. I was already writing lengthy instagram captions under the pictures I was posting while I was out there; might as well. I stopped posting my pictures and long ass captions to instagram and put all of my energy in writing the article I said I'd write. Well, a year has passed and Panama and I haven't spoken about it since. Thats my fault. I've been going through some things.
In addition to that, this Covid not being able to go outside thing has really taken a toll on me. I haven't gotten sick yet, but I'm openly terrified to get sick. Except I'm having a hard time doing what it takes to not get sick, so there's that and everything that comes with it. This situation has turned my whole life upside down. I never realized how much my life depends on being able to go outside.
I'll be fine, but this shit fucking sucks. Bad. I want to go outside. Bad.
However, I did have time to sit down and write the longest story I've ever written. It took me a while. I can't say this would have happen at all if my weekends were filled with brunch and hair cuts and bars and the gym and family time and friends and outside types of activities and inside close to other person(s) activities and such, like they usually are. But maybe it would have? We will never know. But this did take me months to write. I also had a really hard time editing it because its long as hell and I get emotional when I read it back to myself. That led to me avoiding it for months. So if something is fucked up, thats why. I'm tired.
Writing it was one thing but this website was all fucked up, so I had to redecorate as fast as I could because I've been telling my friends and family.... and Panama, kind of... that I would publish this story. That took some time. One of the reasons I started this blog, years ago, was to tell the same story, joke or thought one time.
This long ass story is an accumulation of all the stories and perspectives I've shared with my friends, family, twitter and instagram. From "how and why in did you go to Africa?" to "do you hate white people now?" So now everybody has the same story if they manage to reach the end. If you mange to reach the end, eventually, thanks for reading! If not, then not thanks? I guess?
Either way, it went down like this...
1. The Cuban Connection.
One day at brunch, one of my friends casually mentioned how she learned how to surf on YouTube. I had no idea one could learn how to do something as random as surf, on YouTube. I'm a web developer so I rarely have a real reason to put on a suit and tie; but when I do, YouTube has been clutch! A tutorial on how to tie a tie seemed normal in my mind, but a person physically going to the beach and making videos on how to surf? I was amazed by this because I have been involved with a few video productions in my lifetime. So I have an idea of the effort it would take to film surfing lessons. I did not know that there were youtube videos with that level of production in existence, at the time. I could not believe that this was a thing random people did with their time. In the movie of my life the next scene is me leaving the restaurant, getting into the back of an Uber and trying to maintain small talk as I open my YouTube app to search "how to build a natural swimming pool". Cut to me being shocked that there are indeed tons of videos on how to build a natural swimming pool. I was on my way back home but the path of my life took a sharp unexpected turn.
Earlier that day, at the barber shop, there was a random Home & Garden Do it yourself style TV show playing in the background. I remembered seeing a segment about a backyard that featured a natural swimming pool. I thought that subject would be random enough to use for a test. If there were any videos on the subject, I thought there would maybe be 10 at most. Wrong. I couldn't believe there were so many videos on what seemed like an over the top random subject to me. There’s even a guy who’s channel is dedicated to making and maintaining natural swimming pools. I couldn’t believe it. I spent the next several weeks learning how to build a natural swimming pool for a backyard I don't have. From the moment Shani casually mentioned learning how to surf on youtube, until present day, YouTube has overtaken the majority of my free time, my fake free time and not free time. It's a problem.
However, my journey to Ghana didn't begin on YouTube. It began in Cuba. In 2015, my cousin Nadia married a nice Cameroonian gentleman in Miami. I had a great time and fell in love with the beaches there. I mentioned this to an Uber driver while I was out there and he said "the beaches in Cuba are better!" At some point after that I did the modern day version of putting your thoughts into the universe; I posted "damn, I want to go to Cuba" onto one of my social media accounts. Shortly after that my travel time adventure friend, Liz told me that she wanted to go to Cuba as well and she knew a group of people who were looking to go. About 2 months later, I found out that president Obama clearly reads my timeline because he lifted the travel ban to Cuba. The universe works its magic yet again!
By the first part of 2017 Liz, the group of friends previously mentioned and myself, were in Cuba and we are poppin! But no one would know because the internet situation there is complicated at best. So no Instagram flexing for me. Which was too bad because a member of our group arranged a tour of the valleys of Vinales on horseback and it was a beautiful situation! We saw the endless tobacco and coffee fields, learned how to wrap a cigar, at some point we even rode a boat through a cave. For what? Don’t remember. It was cool though.
There were a lot of marooned slave artifacts all along the tour. Snakes carved into stone in the caves to guide escaped slaves on the run, a small town for marooned slaves and natives of the island that were also on the run from the spanish savages that invaded the island. They have monuments to the slaves that fought back and gained their freedom there. I didn't know that was a thing beforehand. I was super caught off guard. My YouTube habit wasn't a thing yet. The only thing I knew about Cuba was that there were old cars everywhere (but not really, turns out), Communism and the extra 30 minutes of BadBoys 2 that nobody asked for, but I am extremely grateful for. I love over the top action movies!
During the horseback ride, our tour guide pointed at a huge tree in the distance. A tree, he said, is only found in Africa. Kidnapped Africans planted it there a long time ago. The tree stood by itself, towering over endless green planes, the only tree that big for miles. I stopped and stared. It looked like one of the trees you see in pictures of African sunsets. It was a beautiful scene. I took a picture and said to myself, in my best Liz Lemon voice, “I want to go to there…”
By the end of my Cuba trip, it's time to go to the airport but there was a part of me that didn't want to leave; I couldn't figure out why. There were no Lakers games, no Raiders games, there was almost no internet access, somehow there were no plantains in the whole country, marijuana is super illegal, no Uber, I don't speak Spanish; there is no way I should want to stay here a second longer. A mystery.
When I boarded my flight I asked a flight attendant "do you all have blankets available for this flight?" She turns around and says "we don't give out blankets for short flights." Something about her tone, it was all wrong. It was so wrong I openly overlooked the fact that we were flying almost 6 hours from Havana to Los Angeles. 6 hours in a small seat is a long time in my eyes, but her tone has captured all of my attention, so I decided to focus on that. Her response didn't contain a friendly or warm, "sorry for the inconvenience" tone. It was just a response. Which wasn't out of the normal. I didn't feel any type of way because she didn't lead with "sorry, sir.." it wasn't mean or nasty, not a hint of racism. But it definitely was not pleasant at all. She didn't have to be pleasant, but her tone, it was all wrong. This is a common tone that I have never been offended by one time in my life. I didn't understand why this time was different, but I knew I didn't like it. Just as a retaliatory condescending squint starting to form around my eyes, I understood why I didn't want to leave Cuba. The understanding felt like it came in the form of a creepy Joe Biden style hug from behind. Iit whispered in my ear, "hi. It's me, racism. Did you forget about me? I think you did, OJ." Indeed I had. Then to make the murder complete, this jerk didn't even welcome me back. Damn. Mystery solved.
I spent 5 days not having to deal with white people at all. There are no white people in Cuba that aren't tourists and there weren't a ton of white tourists there because a lot of people didn't know that Obama reads my timeline. It was wonderful! I was immediately devastated that I didn't realize it until that wasn't the situation anymore. I don't hate white people at all, but I didn't know I needed a vacation from them! For the first time in my life I wasn't outnumbered by white people and there wasn't a large number of white people for miles and miles. I’ve been to Detroit once and Atlanta a few times but it was nothing like this! A new experience that I didn't know I needed. It was a surreal realization as I sat there looking at all the white people around me. I thought back to how everyone in Cuba was nice to me. I felt very welcomed. It felt like they liked that I was there. I felt like I had a little bit of privilege there. Especially from Cubans that were a deeper brown than I. I felt like I was more than a guest. I felt relaxed. Most importantly I felt like I forgot I was a Black person for 5 days. I didn't realize it until I was on the plane. I've never felt that way one time, anywhere in America. I am reminded and have to remember that I'm Black every day; I have to take it very seriously at all times, even when I'm joking about it. It's a matter of life or death. I got a break from that reality for 5 days. I was instantly hooked. I can only assume that’s what hitting that crack rock felt like to pookie in New Jack City.
I do not believe all white people are racist or hold a passive aggressive poor opinion of Black people overall, not by far. But well over 50%, definitely, for sure, without a doubt are racist or hold a passive aggressive poor opinion about Black people over all. So it was amazing to get a break from that. A vacation from white people. A vacation from racism. A vacation from being outnumbered. I had no idea this could be a real thing in real life. From that point on, I thought about it a lot. I talked about it with all my friends and even a stranger or two. I've been bitten by the travel bug. I hate to fly, but I’ll figure it out. I need to take these trips.
2. Word?
Growing up I heard stories, from various sources, about how Africans in Africa don't like African Americans for a lot of the same reasons white people don't like us; for no real reason at all. They have a derogatory name for us and everything. I was told that Africa wasn't a place for African Americans. Most of the Black people I know believed the same thing. My father was in the Nation of Islam and I still believed this. That was my reality until 2019.
Despite that being my reality, I got an opportunity to go East Africa Yacht Week in the Seychelles and I jumped on it. How did that happen?
Cut to me being dragged by my friends to go to an event called "Brunch 2 Bomb" for my birthday. Me not wanting to go. Having a good time somehow. Signing up for their newsletter while I was there. Them sending out an email blast about a trip to East Africa Yacht Week in the Seychelles. Me seeing the pictures of all of the Black women on boats in beautiful waters, all over the Yacht Week website and me clicking "book it!"
Did I know anyone else who was also going on said trip? Nope. Was I going to let something like that stop me from island hopping on a yacht with a huge group of other Black people from all over the world? Nope! Parties and food and beaches and good times. I was in! I didn't know exactly where the Seychelles was in Africa, but I was in! I envisioned a situation a lot like Cuba, a vacation from white people. But with the internet? Would I need a translator? I wasn't sure. By the time these questions arise, my YouTube habit is in full effect. Let’s find out.
As I watch video after video about the Seychelles and how to be lit on a yacht for instagram, the greatest threat to free time everywhere, the related videos column on YouTube, is starting to fill with more and videos of different African tourist destinations. I tried to stay focused but eventually, the slipperiest slope to the deepest man-made rabbit hole you could ever fall down, won out.
Now I’m watching videos about different places to vacation in Africa. I didn't know half of these places existed or had only heard about them and never seen them. I’m fascinated. I discovered that there are a lot of African YouTubers who tour the continent to highlight the beauty of Africa to help change the way the world looks at Africa. I knew that every African nation wasn’t poor and people lived in huts, starving kids, war, and all of the other negative things that people say, think and don't want to associate themselves with. I knew that wasn't it, but I didn’t know anything else.
3. Jackpot.
I booked my Seychelles trip in December 2018 for a trip that is scheduled for the end of August 2019. In between that time my YouTube watching intensified, I couldn't stop watching different videos about Africa. It felt like I stumbled upon the mythical “Starting Place” that every Black person, including myself, in America has been looking for. I found it by clicking on various related videos.
I watched videos that showed what regular life was like in various African cities; documentaries about pre and post colonialism; the trans-atlantic slave trade; Ancient African history; The different tribes of Africa; African news channels from various African countries; In my head I hit the “if you took the time to educate yourself about Africa” jackpot! I took the time, I made the time, I stole the time, I spent a lot of time educating myself about Africa. It became my new favorite TV Show. I couldn't turn it off. One of the first few African YouTubers I came across was Wode Maya out of Ghana. On his channel he visits different African countries to show the beautiful parts of those counties, things to do there, what life is like, what the people are like and the things they do. He has a few videos about what Africans think about African Americans. He asked “every day Africans” how they felt about African Americans.
This is what I really wanted; to hear how regular people walking the street really felt. And to my surprise it was all love! I was in disbelief so I checked the comments. Usually the comment section on YouTube can be a vile place where no one holds back. It was all hearts, sunshine and rainbows there too! I was truly shocked. I cried real tears watching these videos and reading comments. Most videos about Africans not liking African Americans, you will find the same thing. They do like African Americans. They do want African Americans to visit and possibly stay if we like it. They love African Americans and see African Americans as family. Africa is definitely a place for African Americans. That's the truth and everything I was told before was a complete lie. Africans can't understand why we think they don't like us and it saddens them to hear.
I tried to tell everybody I knew about this new revelation, the general feedback I got was “We dont believe you, you need more people!” I figured I’d ask real Africans when I got to the Seychelles and that would settle that. I didn't have a solid desire to go to Ghana until I started watching videos about Africa and how Africans don't hate us African Americans. I heard about The Year of Return and the Full Circle Festival on YouTube through different African YouTubers. The algorithms were focused. I didn’t think I’d have a chance to go in 2019 though, I had an upcoming trip to the Seychelles. 2 trips to Africa so close together seemed like a stretch in my mind. So I figured I’d try, but if not, next December 2020 for sure!
4. Damn.
Cut to December 2019 instead and OJ never stepped foot in the Seychelle islands. What happened? In April of that year, my father told me that he had pancreatic cancer. By July I had experienced the worst day of my life, so far. My trip was scheduled for August. I was in no shape for the island hopping or instagraming the flex turn up in the beautiful African seas. The death of my father coupled with month after month of very poor decision making by my former employer meant I had to cancel the trip. My father and I were very close. I am beyond devastated on multiple levels.
Over the entire course of 2019 I started to see more and more videos about The Year of Return on YouTube. The President of Ghana, Nana Akufo-Addo, declared 2019 as the Year of Return for all Africans in the diaspora; and it was gaining momentum. All year I watched videos of Black people in Ghana reconnecting with their ancestral homeland. I watched a couple of those videos with my Dad while he was in the hospital. He was happy to see an African leader call for Black people in America to come home. I dreamed of him beating cancer and us getting to participate in the Year of Return together. A few months after he passed away, I decided to go by myself for New Years Eve. I’ve always wanted to bring in the New Year in another country and this seemed like the perfect opportunity. Add to that I’ve always heard that there is a lot going on in West Africa in December. Perfect. “A lot going on,” is who I am as a person.
My plan was to leave 2019 behind in the United States and start 2020 fresh in Africa. I’ve never made a new year's resolution. I was never a “New year, new me, new stuff, fresh start” kind of guy. But I decided to give it a shot this year. I needed something to help me move on from 2019. I wanted to come back rejuvenated and optimistic about 2020. The Year of Return is the new plan.
When I went to purchase my plane ticket, I noticed prices were a lot higher than they were when I checked a few months back when I was only thinking about going. Damn. There were also a lot less flights with a lot less options. Double Damn. Since it seemed that seats were going fast. I booked the best available flight with the most internet access that would take the least amount of time. A flight offered by Emirates; 16 hours to dubai, 12 hour layover, 8 hours to Accra. That's an insane amount of time to be on a cramped plane next to a stranger. Could be a problem. I found a 7 day Ghana experience offered by tastemakers Africa as I was planning everything out, but when I went to purchase the tour package it was sold out.
Triple Damn. I’ll figure that out later since I already bought this ticket. There were decent hotel options when I first checked. When I go to decide on a hotel, everything is basically booked. I went to AirBnB to try to find something. It was the same story there as well. I prefer a hotel over AirBnB because I love room service and having my room cleaned every day. I’d have my house cleaned every day if I could. Being nice and friendly is in everybody's job description at a hotel. I get fresh towels every day. There's usually food available 24/7. I love the whole hotel experience. I’m also one of those “everybody doesn’t live how I live” people. What I’m trying to say is that I am indeed bougie as hell and I was worried about everything not being “comfortable” enough!
When I went to Cuba, I didn’t plan any of that trip, I went along for the ride. My adventure travel time friend, Liz, is also a Gemini like myself. We have the same standards in life, nothing to worry about. The Seychelles trip was all planned out, on a boat and there was a whole itinerary. Nothing to worry about. This Ghana trip was all on me since I missed out on the tour. I’m starting to get very worried about this trip. In the back of my mind, this flight is bothering me because I don’t like to fly. I’m tall and I usually get hurt on every flight, somehow some way. If I don’t get a premium seat, It’s going to be an uncomfortable flight. That means every flight cost an extra $200 at the very least. I used to be one of those kids who would cry when the plane takes off and lands because my ears pop. The pain let up a lot as I got older, but it will wake me up if I’m asleep. I also have some sort of ridiculous travel anxiety. Every time I go to another city, I have the hardest time eating. My appetite goes haywire and I have the hardest time staying still. I’m never my complete self when I travel. I always find a way to make it work but if I’m ever spotted outside of the greater Los Angeles area by plane ride, I really wanted to be there and it was a struggle.
With all of this I get discouraged and I cancel my trip, again. Usually I’m spontaneous adventure time OJ but 2019 beat me up and I wasn’t my normal self by the end of the year. About a week passes by and in this time my Mom and a close friend have convinced me to take another look at hotels and make it happen. Plus, the homie Panama mentioned he was going to be in Ghana around the same time. Panama is one of the only people to ever drink me under a table. I knew that if I did actually make it out there, if I ran into P, I was guaranteed at least one good night while I was there. So I put a little bit more effort into my search this time and I lucked up and found a room. But I’m still nervous about this flight in the back of my head so I decided to upgrade my seat to business class. It was expensive, but I noticed that those seats can lay flat. Seemed like a dream for somebody of my height. The other listed amenities lead me to believe that the flight would be a lot more comfortable than I’m used to.
5. Hotdamn!!
I was right! It turned out to be the best flight experience of my life! Except it took an unbelievably long time. At one point I was asleep on this plane, woke up and still had 10 hours to go. I wanted to ask them to land the plane so I could settle down and make a new life wherever we were at. The plane was amazing but this flight feels like it will never end and I want to cut my losses wherever I’m at. There is a long list of problems that would come with that move, the biggest among them was the fact that we were flying over the real life North Pole at that very moment, on Christmas day, ironically. I'm stuck on this plane.
But oh my God was I comfortable! Not to mention the back of the plane was filled with free liquor and a mini lounge. The wifi was free. The food was top notch, fancy and free. The food, drinks and liquor were all free in the airport lounge, where they make you feel like a valued customer. The customer service experience was several times better than any other airline I’ve ever flown on ever in my life. Top self from top to bottom. They gave me a blanket, which was awesome. A travel mattress to make the seat and laying down even more comfortable. And a Bvlgari branded wash up kit with soap, lotion, toothpaste, toothbrush and a few other goodies to clean yourself up with. It was basically a high-end mini ho-bag and I definitely kept it. I have 3, in fact. For my 12 hour layover, Emirates gives you an option to book a hotel with them. I took said option and the room was awesome. I win again! This flight was one of the best experiences of my life; I wish they flew to every city in the world.
6. Wait, what? I’m what? Me?
On the plane ride from Dubai to Accra and it started to hit me that I was really going to Africa. I started saying all the lame things that people say such as “Wow, the motherland!” and the like. However, at the same exact time I could not help but notice that almost everyone on the plane was darker than me. My skin tone is a “regular brown”. In my mind, my skin tone is the same as most Black people you will find. It’s not common in the United States to see a lot of people in large numbers that are several shades darker than me. Growing up, my Dad would always say “the darker the skin the closer you are to the earth.” So I never thought being “dark skinned” was a bad thing or ugly. As far as my skin tone, in my head, I’m right at the earth. Turns out, nope. I got a very rude awakening on this plane. I was honestly starting to get jealous. I thought to myself “Wow, I wonder if this is how light skinned people feel?” Then it suddenly occurred to me that most of the people on this plane could call me light skinned and they would, technically, be right!
Oh no! I started thinking about all the jokes I tell my friends to their face and all of the jokes that people make about light skinned Black people. I was horrified. Partly because I couldn’t think of any sharp comebacks and I know I’ve heard plenty of solid comebacks. If anybody on that plane pointed to something I did and blamed it on me being light skinned (technically), I had nothing! I say all of this in jest, but there is a bit of truth to all of this. In this moment of realization, I thought back to that Richard Pryor special where he said he visited Africa, came back and didn’t want to use the “N word” anymore. I hadn’t even been in African air space before I swore off making light skinned jokes ever again.
I’m still joking, but I am going to work on it; in real life. It’s not funny; but sometimes it is. Except that now I feel super bad for laughing and making jokes. When I realized that I was a light skinned person (technically, in that particular situation) I came to see that those jokes are hurtful and mean and I’m surprised that more light skinned and mixed people don’t take more offense to these awful jokes. It would make me want to fight somebody that came with the right joke at the wrong time. Browner Black people like myself are all trash for making light skinned jokes. Us browner people need to make an effort to make lighter skinned people feel just as Black as we do. It’s the right thing to do.
It was all funny to me at the time but I still felt some kind of way. I felt like I wasn’t as Black as I thought I was and everyone around me is Blacker than me. I’ve never felt like that before. A new experience. I didn’t like it. I eventually got over it because I was starting to get more excited about being on the continent more than I expected. But that feeling of guilt and knowing I’m not as “Black” as I thought, will definitely stick with me for as long as I am Black.
7. Has OJ Landed Yet?
Eight whole hours later the plane finally lands in Accra, Ghana and I step foot on African soil for the first time. I was honestly overjoyed. I didn’t kiss the ground, I didn’t cry but there was moisture on my face immediately in the form of sweat. A lot of it. I’m not sure if it's more hot or humid but it is definitely both and it’s intense. As a native of Los Angeles I’m accustomed to experiencing absolutely no humidity for years at a time. So my version of how hot and humid it is in Ghana is far more dramatic than most people. It was humid in Cuba, but this was different. I immediately accepted this as an ongoing theme of my trip. I also immediately had to accept the consequences of my lack of preparation for this trip. I chose the path of Visa on arrival, that meant I had to see the good people at the visa on arrival station. I noticed there wasn’t a long line and there weren't any more than 40 or so people waiting around. Not crowded at all. This shouldn’t take long.
Cut to 4 hours later, I was super wrong, it did take super long and had to also get a yellow fever shot because it would have been too much like super smart to do before I left. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was also introduced to another ongoing theme of my trip, wait times. I assumed it was because there were a lot of people visiting and they were swamped. I did know about Ghana getting hundreds of thousand visa applications, due to the popularity of The Year of Return, before I arrived. I don’t know if it was the real reason, but that’s what I kept telling myself. I had to keep that mind set throughout the duration of my trip. I did and I’m proud of myself. Normally things go a lot differently in the United States. I had to drop that whole mindset for this trip. I was mindful to accept the way they do things. A lot of people talked about the wait times in Ghana, but that didn't ruin my trip or anyone else's that I know of. But it is funny that the wait times in Ghana make “Colored People's Time” look like a single candle light in the noon’s sun.
I get to my hotel. Something like a boutique hotel. I like a good boutique hotel but this wasn’t the good I was expecting for reasons that were very avoidable. So I spent one night there and luckily found the last available chalet (something like an apartment) at the Fiesta Royale hotel. It was the only place I could find with a king size bed. A necessity that made my trip a lot harder than it had to be. There were a lot of places with queen sized and full size beds. But I refuse to sleep 7 days in a queen sized bed. Nope. They also had a restaurant that was open 24 hours which was super clutch because my sleep pattern was off; by a lot.
Every day that I was in Ghana, there were multiple parties and events to choose from during the day and night. It was a “lit-uation” all month. I hear this is normal for December in West Africa and that’s one of the reasons I was there. I didn’t want to go to see or do anything slave related. I was trying to go on a vacation from white people, not to remember why I needed a vacation from white people.
8. Ain’t no party like an African party, because an African party don't stop!
After I checked into my new hotel, I called up Panama and met him and his wife at the Labadi Beach Hotel. A huge compound that stretches about a quarter mile down the coast line. It sits right on the beach, the only thing on the opposite side of the front of the compound is sand and water. In the very back corner of this huge piece of property, is the Polo Beach Club that sits on the sand and is an awesome situation. Open air, tons of cabanas, a huge pool that steps into the sand on the beach, deck space so you didn’t have to be in the sand and no matter how loud the music is, you’re close enough to the water that you can always hear the waves crashing in the background. They had a party there every day.
On this particular night, Mrs Jackson had a ton of friends in attendance. She introduced Panama and I to everyone, they were all friendly and welcoming. They had their own section with bottles and the whole nine. All the hits songs within the last 20 years from Black American popular culture played all night, mixed in with music that was clearly Black from other parts of the world. I had a very good time. At one point, Panama and I both turn around to look at the ocean behind us, the Gulf of Guinea. We took a moment to acknowledge how we African Americans were taken from this area in chains; now here we are, returned, but on vacation. Back in our ancestral homeland for the first time, but on vacation. In my mind, I imagine that European Americans feel similarly when they visit Far West Asia, except the circumstances surrounding the situation are completely different. Right as we were in the middle of talking about that, the DJ decided to crack that Soulja boy. Turn up! If it wasn't a party before, it is now! I don’t care what anybody says, King Soulja changed the world. Twice. Just as I thought the night was coming to an end, Mrs Jackson magically manifested passes to the Afronation concert just down the road. She was the plug for fun all night!
That whole night was the start of one of the most life changing events I’ve ever experienced. First, I started to see the origins or American “Blackness” in Africa. At the same time I could see American “Blackness” influence all over the place. It makes the whole environment feel very comfortable and strangely familiar. I felt like I felt in Cuba, but better somehow. Could have been that I had constant access to the internet. Could have been that I had a lot less trouble communicating with everyone I met. I’m sure it was both of those things and a long list of other reasons.
The next day was Afrochella, it started at 2pm. I got there around 8:30pm. When in Rome, right? I was supposed to link up with the P man again and a few other people I knew in attendance. But that didn’t happen because I had no cell phone service at all while I was there because the place was filled with people with cell phones. Flashback to 15 year old OJ trying to explain how he didn’t want to go to the mall by himself to his father and him replying “Well, Pimps and Drug Dealers hang out by themselves all the time”. Comforting words to a young Los Angeles native in the 90’s, somehow. I had VIP access so I wandered around the enormous VIP section of the concert with a big red cup full of Hennessy because there was no Tequila and the line for the bar was out of control. After an hour or so of wandering around, I found out that there was a mobile WiFi booth at the back of the concert that was selling WiFi access for concert goers. Score! I had free access with my VIP ticket. Double score! As luck would have it, the P man and friends weren’t far from said booth. I took them to a spot at the concert I found earlier. It was all good times for the rest of the night.
The VIP section of the concert was split into a center section that was basically standing room traditional concert situation, closer to the stage. On both sides of this special fenced off area closer to the stage were VIP Cabana spaces where people who paid the cost to be the boss could sit down and enjoy the concert. The right side of the VIP featured an Essence Year of Return special set up where celebrities and their friends were taking pictures and mingling and what not. This special space created a gap of space on the right side of the stage. I found a view of the concert from behind the catwalk on the right side of the stage. So every artist walked to the right of the stage (which was their left, mine too), there I was behind them with a handful of other people who knew that area wasn’t supposed to be open and we probably shouldn’t have been over there. We were standing on huge wires, cords and all kinds of other equipment. There was no way we should have been over there having the time of our lives. But we did!
All of the unspoken rules of Black culture in America also apply in Ghana so the “nobody told us to move” rule was in full effect. We all saw the concert from backstage without actually being backstage. It was amazing. I saw the crowd get hype time after time again. I basically saw what the artist saw without being on stage. I wasn't facing the artist, I was facing the crowd. Every artist had their back to us but they all came over to acknowledge us, the whole nine. I’ll never forget it. I could never be an entertainer, but I can see why people do it now. I can totally see how someone could love the stage but hate the fame. I wanted to hop on that stage and sing a song myself!
9. Slavery: The Prequel
It’s 7:58 am the next morning. I’m sitting on a small wall in front of a big hotel on a quiet side street in the middle of a random neighborhood, in the sun. Every taxi that passes by slows and honks to see if I need a ride. Every time I signal that I’m not looking for a ride, I think to myself “No thanks bruh, I’m headed to Cape Coast with Sandra and friends.” Flash back to 2 days before I leave for Ghana. Liz notices that I have put out into the universe that my Ghana trip is definitely going to happen. She tells me that her friend Sandra and a group of her friends planned to take a 2 day trip to Cape Coast, Elmina castle and some other activities. She followed that by informing me that Sandra and I had met before at a party I had at my house. Sandra nor I remember this interaction, but we believe Liz. So here I sit on this wall at now 8:37 am, participating in 2 of the ongoing themes for this trip. Lots of humidity, lots of waiting.
I had zero intention of making an effort to do anything slave related while in Ghana. I watched a few videos of tours people took on YouTube and I decided that shedding tears watching these videos at home was enough for me. Also, I’m tired of being sad and somber at this point. Things have been rough enough. But despite all that, when Liz presented me with the opportunity, I could hear my dad's voice in my head saying “You never know, OJ. Might not be what you think.” So now I’m off to see “Slavery: The Prequel” up close in real life with Sandra, Vee, Krissy, Shayna, Sabrina and Cyesha. I honestly could not have asked for a better group of complete strangers. They are part of a group of globe trotting Black women. They do stuff like this all the time in different parts of the world. Things like this are their normal swag. When I met everybody for the first time, I could immediately tell these are women who live like I live or better than me just like I suspected. Perfect. Our tour guide’s name is Felix. A local Ghanaian man and the owner of Ghana Eco Tours. An older man, almost 60, but you wouldn’t know that if he didn’t tell you. Our driver's name, I don’t remember. He didn’t talk much, if at all. Sorry to that man.
The ride to Cape Coast Castle is 3 hours. But that’s not our first stop. Our first stop is Assin Manso, the last bath which is about 35 miles from Cape Coast. The purpose of going to Cape Coast first then to the slave bath is to show how far captives had to walk barefoot in chains, from the last bath to the castle. In the movie “Slavery: The Prequel” the opening scene would probably be Africans raiding African villages, kidnaping people who have been trying to avoid them and dragging them to the Assin Manso slave market to be sold to Europeans. If this movie was funded by the right people in Hollywood, they would definitely push that narrative that Black people sold each other into slavery and that America did not start slavery. They would also leave out the fact that back then “Africans” / “Black people” didn't see themselves as the same as we do now, nothing close. Every tribe or nation saw themselves as different from one another. For example, if I’m from Tribe A and someone else is from Tribe B. The person from Tribe B is basically a White person in my eyes and it's totally OK for me to capture said persons from Tribe B and sell them to Eurpoeans or anyone else. I’m also confident that this movie would highlight the fact that me, a slave raider from Tribe A, also ended up as a slave somehow, some way. Because it’s true. There are plenty of Black people walking around who are the descendants of slave raiders who ended up slaves themselves. A big “Yikes!” moment from me when I discovered this during the tour. It was a complicated situation. Luckily it was all explained to me while I was in Ghana.
10. Slavery: The Prequel - Assin Manso
After about 5 hours of driving, good conversation and a few naps, we arrived at Assin Manso. One of the first things our tour guide for Assin Manso, Koffi, said to us was “Welcome home”. That wasn’t the first time a Ghanaian said “Welcome home” to me. Almost every Ghanian that asked where I was from said ‘Welcome home”. It made me feel pretty good every single time, honestly. He then went on to tell us that we are African just like he is African despite being born outside of Africa. We had family members kidnapped from somewhere in West Africa a long time ago. So basically all of our Grand mothers and fathers, several times back, have family and communities that they were separated from by force. Therefore we are African and Africa is our home.
Not going to lie, that hit me right in the feels. I knew all of this, but it felt different being told while I was actually on African soil by someone who was born on the continent. He knew our story and what we have been through. It felt like I went from knowing that's what happened to feeling it. My perspective of this entire situation was starting to change. I felt a different kind of happiness to be in Africa. Koffi’s intro speech continues; he told us that we are the descendants of survivors, not slaves. Our ancestors survived being kidnaped and captured. Then had to endure the trip to the slave bath, a lot of people died on the way. They had to survive the slave bath process. They then had the trip to the slave castle. Being in the slave castle. The brutal trip to the Americas and everything that happened after that led to us being here now. A lot of people didn't survive that journey. The people who survived were the strongest of the strong. We are the descendants of very strong people. Unselfish people. Our ancestors could have taken their lives instead of enduring the horrors that were ahead of them. Some people chose to take their own lives to avoid a life of bondage. He said that means that it's our destiny to return back to where our ancestors were taken from. This survived so one day, we could be able to come back. Another solid falcon punch to my feelings. I fought back the tears and emotions.
He said all of that as an introduction. Before we went down to the slave bath, he asked us to take off our shoes for a few reasons. To make a solid connection with your homeland. To honor our ancestors for not being selfish, choosing to survive; because we could never show the same strength they did and also to give our ancestors, that did not make it, a way to identify us. The descendants of the family and friends that did survive.
I saw this whole tour on YouTube before I planned to go to Ghana. I knew about them asking to take off your shoes to go down to the slave bath. I thought to myself “if I ever make it over there, I can’t see me taking off my shoes, we might have to figure something out.” The video I saw was a tour with Wode Maya, a Ghanian. We are Americans, so our message because our path and situation is different from someone from Ghana. Makes sense. I did want to give my ancestors a chance to identify me. I did want to connect with my homeland, especially since everybody kept welcoming me home. I definitely wanted to honor my ancestors for not being selfish. I felt totally different standing there than I did when I was watching this on YouTube back in Los Angeles.
Looks like we figured it out. I, nervously, left my J’s behind, and began to walk the path of my ancestors; bare foot. After a few steps the phrase “I’m not my ancestors'' popped into my head. I am definitely not my ancestors. Walking through the forest and the trees barefoot does not feel good at all and they did this for miles in chains. I wouldn’t have made it. When we got down to the cliff that overlooked the river that captives were bathed in, Koffi told us that there were untold riches in the river. When I looked down, I noticed there was something that looked like mud streaks from a flood. But I thought to myself “Is that gold?” It is gold. When you look step into the water, you can see tiny gold flakes dance across your toes here and there and the water feels great. We all took a minute to soak it all in, then tossed a coin into the river. Because as Koffi explained, “when you make a wish on gold, your ancestors must grant your wish”. I won’t share my wish, but I will say that I didn’t make a wish for myself alone. I will share that I felt like I bathed in the African version of the waters of Lake Minnetonka. It was amazing!
On the way back to the van, I saw a picture of Malcolm X they had in the courtyard and his famous words “Even my condition has been conditioned” started to echo through my head. That statement always said to me that Malcolm was aware that he was getting different and slighted versions of the truth. Truth that is truth, but still is a loss in the end or followed up with an insane lie. Truthiness. As brother Malcolm’s words echoed through my head, I realized that I wasn’t sad like I was prepared to be. I actually felt pretty damn empowered! Felix and Koffi talked about the atrocities that Black people had to endure but they also reinforced that only the strongest of the strong could have survived said horrors and atrocities and that's our true origin. Not slaves or victims, survivors; the strongest people on earth. Now you’re talking my language! That’s what I call “winner talk”. I’d watch this movie! There is absolutely no space for any white saviors in this movie at all. All of them were complete monsters in this story, 100%. A cast of random Popes, Kings, Queens, Captains, Colonels, and all of the various Randy Randkowskis that worked for them. Even the guy who wrote the song ‘Amazing Grace is a terrible person! Over hundreds of years, a long line of awful people at every level. It would be a movie everyone could enjoy. The Greatest Story Ever Told.
11. Slavery: The Prequel - Cape Coast Dungeon
On the ride from Assin Manso to Cape Coast, the realization that I was retracing the steps of history that led to my existence as a person and everything I know and thought I knew, hit me and became real to me. Not only that, but I was getting the real story of what happened from the people who were there and know what really happened. It was their family members that were kidnapped (Black people throughout the Americas) at the end of the day. When we reached Cape Coast, I immediately thought to myself “This is a long walk to take barefoot in chains'' because when I stepped out of the van my feet were still feeling the effects of walking barefoot for the little while that I did.
The tour of the castle started off with us being Welcomed back home and more examples on how African Americans are Afrian descendants of the strongest people the world has ever seen. They really drove that message home; I never got tired of hearing it. It felt something like a pep talk. As we walked through the castle, we are taken from dungeon to dungeon, while the tour guide explained to us how slavery started and how europeans were allowed on African soil in the first place, then all the crimes against humanity that they were responsible from the time they got there until the slave trade ended. The dungeons have a smell that will never leave me. It smells like blood and old sweat. It kind of stinks but at the same time it’s not over the top repulsive. It smells like nothing but bad things happen in there. I made sure to take it all in. I touched all of the walls I could. I made sure to remember the smell and the way it felt in there. It was hot and stuffy without the room being full.
A close friend described the experience as “Inhaling the blood of our ancestors.” That's exactly what it felt like. I felt my perspective change in those dungeons. I went from knowing what happened to feeling it. It didn't feel like pain, it felt like strength, determination and pride. It was slowly becoming more and more insane that I could have had a family member pass through here under the worst circumstances hundreds of years ago. Not only me, I thought about all of my family, my friends, their families, all of the Black people I know. We all could have had a family member pass through here and they endured all of this. Not only that, but this wasn’t the worst part and they had no idea. The tour guide made sure to stress the point that it only got harder for their family members after they left the dungeons.
Next was Elmina Dungeon, except it was dark. The intensity of this whole situation picked up a lot once the sun went down. After a few minutes inside the castle, I heard Sandra say “Elmina hit different in the dark!” A very potent fact.
By the time the tour was done, I felt like my Grandmother told me the story of how her Grandmother was kidnapped and taken from her home somewhere in West Africa. The story hit a lot closer to home after “inhaling the blood of my ancestors”. When I walked out of Cape Coast Dungeon I felt stronger than I did when I walked in. I felt like I was more than a Black man, I felt like I was officially African. A West African. I felt baptized.
12. Slavery: The Prequel - The Last Scene
The Elmina Castle tour is now over; I have reached the end of “Slavery: The Prequel” and I came out a different man afterwards. Everybody I know that has been to these sites are the people that say “Every Black person should visit Africa,” I am now one of those people. Damn.
I’ve been asked if this experience made me hate white people a few times. Nope. I was surprised by this because I thought I would, which was part of the reason I didn’t want to go. In my mind, I had enough feelings towards the situation and I didn't want them to possibly intensify to Killmongor levels. I definitely didn't want to leave there hating white people. That's not why I went to Ghana. Vacation, not hate. I just want to not be bothered with racism for a little while. However, I was disgusted with Europeans afterwards. No real anger or hatred, just disgust. It's clear that these people were some of the worst people to ever walk the earth that we all love. It's very clear that the bad guys won. The things we saw in those castles could only be done by people with no soul and pure evil in their hearts.
I appreciated finally getting this story from the source. They know the truth from start to finish. I learned a lot on this tour. Mainly that I’ve heard a ton of lies and truthiness about Africa and the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade. I never thought much about how Black people got to the Americas. I’ve only been concerned about what happened to Black people once we got to America. Why? I don’t have a real answer.
But what I do know is that once I got to the other side of those Dungeon walls, I felt like Will Smith in one of the “aliens in a locker scene” in Men In Black. Will Smith’s character, Agent K, opens a random locker door in a train station to see that everything he knows to exist in the universe and life itself is in another small locker in an even bigger world. There is a lot more to my “Blackness” than I previously thought and it was very clear to me once I walked out of both of those dungeons. That's Blackness I didn't have before and I want it all.
I’ve had a lot of discussions about Black people in America “getting over slavery,” with people of every race. At the end of these discussions I’ve landed on “absolutely not” every single time. However, after this experience, I feel like I have a weird sense of closure. I’ll never “get over” what happened to Black people. I’ll always keep the feelings I’ve always had. But now with closure. That closure has given me a feeling of freedom I didn't know I wanted or needed. At Cape Coast Dungeon, I walked through “The door of no return,” back through that same door, then out of the front door. When I got on the other side of that front door, the spell was broken. Did I go through some sort of ritual? Maybe? Maybe me “inhaling the blood of my ancestors” then walking out of the front door free as a bird meant something? Maybe I took an ancestor out of there with me? I know that I’m African and I love it. I love everything about it. I feel more connected to every African around the world. In my mind, we are one big group of people. I wasn’t born in Africa, but I’m African; just like Chinese people who weren’t born in China are still Chinese.
13. "These scars are the only real proof they couldn't kill Gods."
That night we stayed in Elmina. On the way to our hotel we passed through a mini procession, which was the second of which we made our way through that day. I don't know what the occasion was, but it looked fun. I wanted to go where they were going but I was super tired. Luckily for me, I was with people who lived like I live. The hotel we’re staying at is at the top of a very steep hill and it was amazing! The Golden Hill Hotel.
A collection of fourplex bungalows with large patios around the property. My room was on the edge of the property, it overlooked Elmina at night. I could hear parties and music playing in the distance; the water was dimly lit by the moon. It was beautiful. There was a restaurant and a pool that also overlooked all of Elmina. The hotel is outdoors so the soundtrack of nature was sounding off at full blast. Mostly the frogs. They were super loud and seemed like they all auditioned to be a Budweiser frog at some point and none of them got the part because they were way too loud and off beat. There was a warm ocean breeze going. I got to know a few of the women I came with a little bit better while I put my feet in the pool and enjoyed a kebab and fries from the restaurant; it was delicious. That whole scene was a nice cap to a long emotional day.
When I woke up the next morning, I discovered that I underestimated the view of this place and my room; by a lot. In my head, I opened the curtains to my balcony door and James Earl Jones voice said “This… is AFRICA!!” Horns of glory and victory played as my jaw dropped and eyes widened. I had a very clear view of the ocean, Elmina Dungeon, the salt pans, Ahomka Fie fort and the rest of Elmina from a birds eye view. I instantly wanted to stay another day or two. I sat on the balcony bench and I made sure to take it all in as much as possible. As I stared at the Dungeon and the Fort, I could only imagine what Africans were thinking as they watched different Europeans nations fight over the right to kidnap them and force them into their own particular human trafficking ring. One of the things I learned from the dungeon that stood out the most in my head was how Europeans would hold church services at these places. Black people could hear them singing the gospel above them; singing songs of praise and salvation. Europeans could hear them screaming and crying below during services. They were unaffected. These same people had the nerve to refer to Africans people as savages. I’ll never forget that.
Hearing about this, I could not help but wonder “If they were praying to Jesus above us, why didn’t he want to help the people they were hurting below them? Did he not hear us down there? Were the soulless individuals above us blocking his view? What did we do to deserve this? Does he even care?” From where I stand, it looks like he let the bad guys win and write the history books in their favor. Maybe some people get to petition the lord with prayer. Others? Nope.
Before I got to Ghana, I saw this castle as a symbol of European dominance and victory. But after “inhaling the blood of my ancestors” and being properly educated on the matter by Africans born on the continent; looking out at this castle / dungeon, I see a monument to the strength of Black people. We have survived or overcome everything that has been thrown at us by anybody, anywhere we go or have been kidnapped and taken to on this earth. We may have been down, but never have we been totally out. I came to Ghana fearing that “Slavery: The Prequel”, would leave me feeling sad, but the exact opposite happened. I found closure I did not know I needed or wanted and it felt good.
Pusha-T, the great African American poet, once said “These scars are the only real proof they couldn't kill Gods.” I felt that in my heart when I first heard him say that. This feeling was validated while I sat there enjoying the view. I was looking directly at the truth in King Push’s proposition.
14. New Years Eve in Accra.
When I finally got back to my hotel in Accra, I ordered my go to meal, Chicken Kebab with french fries and salad, then caught up on all the sleep I sacrificed to the adventure fun time Gods over the past week. When I felt I was rested enough to get going again, it was 8pm the next day, New Years Eve; my favorite holiday. I was excited to be in Ghana for New Years Eve, but I didn't have any solid plans. There were several parties going on but I elected to go back to the Polo Beach Club. My love of Ralph Lauren may have a little but to do with it but mainly because of the beach and their whole set up. Normally I refuse to go to the same club or party situation 2 weeks in a row. I think it's over the top lame. However, I knew this would be my last chance to go to a party on the beach with this set up. Nowhere in Los Angeles is there a club on the beach with a pool and tons of cabanas. No where on the southern California coastline, in fact.
When I stepped out to call a cab, I ran into 2 guys that appeared kind of irritated. They were trying to get an Uber but the driver was doing the Ghana half step. My plan was to tip the doorman so he could magically make a taxi appear minutes later. While the doorman was working his magic, the 2 guys and I talked for a bit and figured out we were going to the same place. Might as well share this taxi that was about to magically appear. CJ, Albert and I are on our way. This ended up being a very eye opening experience. Albert and CJ are from London but they are Nigerian. I’m OJ, from Los Angeles and I don't know where in Africa I’m from, but I know Im West African for sure after living out “Slavery: The Prequel.” However, a few months back I ordered a DNA test from AfricanAncestry.com. This service is different because they aren't the feds, as far as I can tell, first and foremost. Secondly, their results would give me both a country and ethnic group. This appealed to me because I know that Africans did not draw the current country borders of Africa; Europeans did when they put together the Berlin Conference in 1884. I didn't want to have to keep on guessing what my true heritage was, nor deal with the feds. AfricanAncestry.com seemed like the most logical choice. But I didn't get my results back before I left. I explain all of this to CJ and Albert, during our ride and they were really supportive. I love this damn place!
As we are talking we pull up on a police stop. Police, no problem, I do this all the time in America. I do what we Black people in America usually do to survive the encounter when the police officer looked in the car with his flashlight. Hands up, you can clearly see I’m not hiding anything, I’m being cool and I’m not a threat to you at all. I looked the officer in his eye, said hi; friendly OJ in full effect. But for whatever reason he looks like he suspects something but confused at the same time. I look over at the taxi driver, he hasn't looked over or moved once. Eyes forward. The officer then moves his flashlight to the back seat, Albert and CJ look up at this man and both openly do not want to be bothered. They go back to Instagram or twitter or whatever they were doing with their respective lives. The officer then comes back to the front seat and opens the door. We have to get out of the car.
Damn, same thing here too? Alright, I don’t know what's going on, but whatever. I’ve been through this enough times. We all got out of the car except for the driver, which I thought was strange, but alright. We get patted down and the officer asks us if we have any drugs. Nope. He checks the car again with his flashlight. Meanwhile the taxi driver has not moved one inch. The police officer asked him one question I couldn't make out, shrugged his shoulders and told us we could go.
I’m super confused. CJ and Albert are unbothered by this and shrug the whole thing off like it never happened. The driver wasn’t annoyed. At this point I didn't know what to think, but I have a few questions. I have to figure out why all of this just happened the way it did. Albert and CJ explain to me that probably happened because the officer thought my behavior was suspicious. “Wait, what? Suspicious of what exactly? I showed him my hands and everything,” I replied. It turns out they too were confused as to why I was showing my hands and making it clear that I didn’t have anything I wasn’t supposed to have and not breaking the law. Everybody is confused, even the driver, it was the only time he showed any interest in our conversation.
Then it occured to me that they might not be familiar with the special relationship between Black people and the police in America and how awful it is. So I explained how most police officers in America are racist, hate Black people, will get violent with Black people and even shoot them if they can find a reason to say their life was in danger. They are looking for a reason most times. Sometimes there is no reason. They don’t even care if they are on camera when they do it. So I did what I did so he could see I wasn’t a threat and I was visibly unarmed. That usually reduces suspicion and certainly lowers the chances of us getting pulled out of the car like we did.
Everybody in that taxi was in disbelief. They heard about Black people being killed in America by police officers, but they didn’t know that's how it went or how often it happens. My reaction shocked them and threw the police officer off. They didn’t know how Black people in America behave or react that way when interacting with the police. Then CJ says, “Damn man, I’m sorry you have to live like that.” I wasn’t offended, but I was definitely very embarrassed. “Yea, it sucks.” That's all I had. But now, I too, cannot believe I live this way! I’m now sitting in that front seat partially in shock myself and slowly realizing that I have to go back to that in 2 days. Damn.
All of a sudden, from the back seat I hear “... he is such a bitch ass nigga!” I’m nosey, so I turn around and ask “damn? That sounds serious! Who’s a bitch ass nigga?!” When I turned around initially, they gave me a look that gave me the impression that they weren’t sure that I felt that they could use “the n-word” until I made my inquiry. I’ve never gotten that reaction from any Black person before. I couldn't believe that they thought that for one second. I didn’t know it was a thing; I didn’t think it was possible. But here I sit, surprised.
That's when I decided that I was pretty much over having eye opening experiences, new realizations, chances of perspectives, all of it. I’m done. Im mentally exhausted. Two back to back in less than 3 minutes? Nope; I'm finished. I have reached a limit I didn’t know existed. Figuring out I hit my limit was too eye opening itself! Dammit! I cannot endure another one for the rest of the time I’m here. Nope. I'm totally over it. I have enough to last me until I come back. I need time to process how I feel.
I then decided to be the decider and decided that if I have another eye opening experience on that night I was going to drink it away. I definitely had another eye opening experience that night, I definitely drank it away with another cup full of Hennessy because, again, no tequila in sight somehow. I can’t remember what happened. I only remember thinking, “Not again!?? Pour up!!” It’s New Years Eve! It’s party time! The only thing I wanted in my life at that point was good times and for Africa to somehow be introduced to one of my good friends, Don Julio. Not that Patron situation, Africa has been through enough.
Tequila being impossible to find isn't the end of the world so I definitely had a very good time! Fantastic, in fact. Top 5 New Years Eves ever. The whole scene was perfect. The club had a lot more people than the first time I was there. I chatted up Black women from across the world all night. I gave the bartender a big tip so I got the last cup of hennessy before they ran out, completely.
I split that with Albert, I didn't want to drink away every last memory from that night. I did drink away some crucial information, however. Such as CJ’s name might not be CJ at all. It might be some other form of an abbreviated name with a J in it, like my own. I’m terrible at remembering names on top of the fact that I was very drunk. I hope I got it right; but if not, sorry to that man.
In the movie of my life, a good portion of the movie would be scenes of me having the time of my life with strangers I’ll never see again. That’s who I am as a person.
15. An African American Soft Parade.
On the way back to the hotel, I'm sitting in an old Datsun hatchback, marked as a taxi. It may or may not have had seat belts, my windows are down. It's about 3am. It's warm, I'm very drunk and loving the warm wind blowing through the car. Riding through the city I start to wonder if I could actually live in Accra. I was asked a few times by locals the days before in random conversations. I always replied that I would know by the end of the trip. While knowing that I’ve only been to one African country, with what I’ve experienced so far I think I could live in Ghana for about 3 to 6 months out of the year. Or maybe another African country? Who knows?
Everybody has heard a Black person say that visiting Africa feels like visiting home. I think it’s because all of the unspoken rules of Blackness apply in Ghana. It felt like I was experiencing some of the origins of Black American culture. At the same time I could see the impact of Black American culture everywhere; plus everybody speaks English. It wasn’t hard for me to adjust at all. I was really comfortable, even with it being so humid. The only thing I had a problem with is that native Ghanaians talk with what seems like the lowest possible tone before a whisper. They aren’t loud at all. They are all “soft talkers”; even when they have to be loud. When they talk, I could see they said something, I know I heard it for sure, but somehow they speak so softly it’s like the words faded into dust by the time they reach my ears, so I’d often be unsure of exactly what was said.
I do like what I’ve seen of Accra and Ghana. It seems like a place that's about to step into the future. It feels like a place that could be any American city, except I didn’t notice any solid gang activity, the police seem cool enough, no “systematic oppression” and no crack that I’m aware of. I’m not saying that Ghana is some kind of paradise. The Lakers don’t play there and there aren’t any marijuana dispensaries on every corner. There might not be anything like that on the entire continent. But it does feel like a soft asylum for African Americans. I think Ghana would get a lot more African American tourists if they found a way to turn that into an ongoing marketing campaign.
With all I’ve learned in the past 6 days, combined with all of the things I’ve learned on YouTube, I can see that African American history and culture is only 20% of the African story, if that. It definitely means something, but there are thousands of years worth of history that came before the Portuguese decided to pull up to West African shores. I need as much of the other 80% as I can get. Every other group of people in the world have the other 80%. I feel like the closure I got has given me a hunger for the history that was taken from Black people in America.
16. The 30 extra minutes that no one asked for.
The next day, it's time to leave the Motherland. The words “I only love my bed and my mamma” by Drake, mean a lot more to me than when I first heard it. This is the longest I’ve ever been away from home. The 6 days in Ghana, plus the 2 day trip, to and from. I was ready to be at home. I couldn’t wait to be at home. However, I also couldn’t wait to come back. I was excited to come back before I actually left. There are a lot of things I didn't see and experience. A lot of my friends and family expressed genuine interest in visiting Ghana through comments and direct messages on Instagram. Coming back with more friends and family would be amazing.
My long journey home involved a trip from Ghana to Dubai. Dubai to Seattle, Seattle to Los Angeles. During the layover in Dubai, news broke that the 45th president of the United States of America, who is not named Barack Obama, decided to murder Qasem Soleimani an Iranian top military official. I’m confused and have a ton of questions. I thought Reuters got it wrong somehow. Couldn't be. That could mean war, right? Suddenly it occurred to me that I have to fly near Iran, in the next hour or two. Hopefully God wants me to visit Africa again. In the movie of my life, at this moment I would break the third wall and say something catchy like “That’s all I got.”
On the short ride from Seattle to Los Angeles, I sat blanket-less on a plane full of white people very satisfied and content. When I got back from Cuba, I was irritated that I had to be around white people again for a solid two weeks. It was very hard to go back to work. The only white people I could talk to were my friends when they called me to ask about Cuba. I shared my thoughts on how irritated I was with their brothers and sisters since I had returned. They are well traveled; they all understand. But here I am on this flight not feeling the same way at all. This time I realized I was getting away from the things I forgot about last time and I enjoyed it. I took it all in and I’ll never be the same. I wasn’t irritated being around white people at all. A complete relief. Being irritated because I was around white people is surprisingly exhausting. I usually walk around with the perspective that “white people think about me more than I think about them and I am constantly aware of that fact”. Experiencing that in reverse is something I never want to happen to me again. I don't know how “some people” do it but it won’t be me. Not this time.
However, I couldn’t help but feel a little bit dumb coming back to a place where Black people are openly disrespected. Back to racism and everything that comes along with it. But my Mom and my bed are here. Also, marijuana practically falls out of the sky in Los Angeles, so that settled that. I’m just a little bit of dumb. Not completely dumb.
Two weeks have passed since I got back from Ghana and I have not come down on my African high at all! A lot of that has to do with me sharing my experiences with my family and friends that would call and text. They’ve all seen the pictures and videos I posted to Instagram throughout my trip. When I was in Ghana, one of the ways I managed to get through the long wait times was posting to Instagram. A lot of people I talked to had no idea what Africa was like and what they should expect if they ever visited. Most of them knew that all the images they’ve seen of Africa wasn’t the full story. But the rest of the story was blank. The images and videos I posted filled in a lot of those blanked and inspired the majority to visit an African country or go with me when I go back. Mission Accomplished.
17. Knowledge of self.
When I got back, I checked my mailbox for my AfricanAncestry.com results, every day, no dice. They were right on schedule, but I’m excited. Then out of nowhere, I get a little freaked out. My life is about to be changed forever; I didn’t realize that when I decided to take this DNA test. I was already feeling connected to Africa, but now it's going to be official. I’m about to have another flag I can raise like everyone else in America. I feel like I’m going to meet my long lost family for the first time. I’ve always tried to guess what my bloodline is when I watch different documentaries and YouTubers from Africa. But all that is going to come to an end soon. No more guessing. Not long after that, my results were at my door.
Flashback to the moment I put the DNA kit in the mail. I said to myself “damn, it would be crazy if I was Nigerian somehow.” In the movie of my life, at this moment, pictures of my Nigerian friends; a handful of very beautiful lovers from the past; my barber; the first person I met that was from the continent, whom I don't remember at all, but I know they were from Nigeria for sure. CJ and Albert would also make an appearance in this montage, even though they would be out of sync with the timeline. But I could see myself asking the director to include them because I feel bad that there is a very slight possibility that I am wrong about “Albert” being “Albert’s” name as well. I say this for comedic reasons, but it may also be true. Hopefully not, but if it is, I hope that them having a role in my movie would somewhat make up for it.
I don’t know everything about being Nigerian, but I’m definitely familiar. I know that these results will forever determine my stance on the great jollof rice debate. I’m either on the wrong side of history or I’m not. I also know that they have a land reclamation project in Lagos that looks amazing. However I do not know anything about the ethnic groups of Nigeria or any other African nation and that’s what I truly cared about.
Back to the moment of truth. Turns out that I don’t really have a long lost family to meet, under the circumstances I originally thought. They’ve been in my life for as long as I can remember. God has been dragging me through a long troll for my entire life up until the moment I cracked open that envelope with my family on facetime. African Ancestry traced my DNA back to the Yoruba people of Nigeria. I was truly shocked.
I would have been happy to be from any ethnic group in West Africa but the fact that I’ve had Nigerians in my life for so long, caused a moment of pause in the middle of all of my excitement and joy. A piece of me felt like I wanted to turn to God and ask him “Foreals player?! You could have led with this, years ago. I could have been making friends at soccer rehearsal this whole time!” I used to feel like an outsider around other Africans from the continent when they would talk about or do things specific to their countries. But now when I’m around my Nigerian friends, I don’t have to feel like such an outsider anymore. When my Nigerian friends explain to me how Nigerians do things, they also explain to me my own history and culture of the people group my family was taken from a long time ago.
I used to feel alone as far as being Black. I felt like it was Black Americans against the world because no one loves us. We don't get the same love we give. I don’t feel that way anymore. I feel like my family got bigger. I feel like I have real options outside of the United States. I truly feel a deep connection to Africa. As lame as it sounds, I feel like I’ve broken free of the mental chains of slavery. The mention of slavery doesn't feel or sound the same as it did before I went.
I know and accept Africa isn’t perfect and has its problems with corruption, poverty, wars and a list of other negatives. But I don’t care. That's going to be a problem anywhere on this planet. The United States Congress and Senate is saturated with corruption. I come from a place where there is poverty every where. That place is within the borders of the United States and there are several just like it. I don’t see anything wrong with “romanticizing” Africa. If loving Africa is wrong, I don’t want to be right! Africa is my ancestral homeland. My family was involved in one of the biggest human trafficking ring the world has ever seen hundreds of years ago; that’s 1000% the only reason I wasn’t born there. When I go to Africa I’m treated like I am at home. So in my eyes it’s foolish to deny Africa. As an “African American” I feel like I can enjoy the amenities America has to offer and have a happy life in Africa at the same time. Other races from other parts of the world go back and forth between their respective ancestral homeland's and America all of the time. There is no reason why I can't do the same.
God willing, I will be (“back”) in southwestern Nigeria at some point in the near future. Cuba as well, I really like it there.