Wendiana Jones

Far across the Atlantic Ocean—beyond the sandy shore line of Ghana, West Africa is a culture deeply ingrained but not limited by its red, gold and green insignia. Indeed, these colors characterize culture and tradition tainted by a bloody history but even so, the people of Ghana find pride and possession in their Gold Coast.

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For the last three months, I’ve had an immeasurable opportunity to explore the Gold Coast. My journey began with a flight departing from John F. Kennedy Airport in New York to Kotoka International Airport in Accra, Ghana—Ghana’s premiere international airport.

Upon reflection, I was more nervous landing “home,” for a lack of a better term, than leaving. This could be explained by one of several reasons. It could simply be a natural reaction to my hiatus from the Garden State or my sheer appreciation and acceptance of identity—a word I once could brand, but now I proudly wear.

You see, prior to my three month stay in Ghana, I thought I knew an inimitable degree of my culture. I measured my knowledge to my parents childhood stories; my own faint but fruitful memories of schooling in Takoradi at the age of four; the few traditional dishes I could conjure with substitute ingredients from the common grocery store; the modernized but African print dresses hung in my closet; and better yet, my broken grammarless efforts to fluently speak my native tongue.

In short, I’ve unknowingly spent most of my twenty-one years confining Ghana to a manmade box filled with such undertakings—a box that would close and open at my beckon call. But to my surprise this summer, I endured a reality shock of a lifetime.

Throughout my stay, I experienced a range of activities. From a tourist perspective, I visited historic landmarks like the Flagstaff House where the current president (is suppose to )reside during his term in office, Kwame Nkrumah Circle, National Theatre, Convention Center, Accra Mall (which is the only mall in the entire country of Ghana), Tawale Beach Resort, Essipong Stadium, and more. In addition to those landmarks, I learned to move with the hustle and bustle of the marketplace; I learned to bargain down prices (that were usually hiked once natives heard my foreign accent); I traveled around town with taxi’s and tro-tro’s (a small cargo van); I washed my dirty laundry with two buckets filled with water and a bar of soap in hand; I learned to pound fu-fu (a traditional cassava and/or plantain dish) with a large wooden stick that dipped into a large wooden bowl placed on the ground; I learned to cut and fry yams, and more.
It is effortless for me to reflect and write about all the great external activities that I forwent in Ghana, but the most substantial experience was internal. In spite of all that I was taught and shown while in Ghana, Ghana taught me this, “Identity is defined by that of which the eyes cannot see.”

For many of us, it is so easy and natural to find differences among your peers and those you come into contact with. I must admit, driving by mud houses, outdated cars, people with dirty clothes on, and better yet people lying on the streets made me think “I am better off.” And yes, though this statement is true we unconsciously but wrongly connect it with the ability to un-identify with such people. You see, identity lies within. It is deeply rooted in your heart, your energy, your spirit. Your struggles may be different but we all struggle.

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In Ghana, the reason why people are able to find pride and possession in their Gold Coast is solely based on their attitude, their perceptive. They have the ability to see past differences, their unwavering history of death and deceit and keep the spirit of their red, gold, and green insignia alive. Whether I personify my fictional character Wendiana Jones, or embrace my birth name Wendy Ekua Quansah, I’ve learned to seek a spirit that is able to identify without looking through the carnal eye. And for that reason, I too have found my Gold on this Coast.

Yours Truly,

Wendiana Jones