Growing up in Belize, there were many reasons I felt like I didn’t belong; for example, I was wrongfully racially categorized as Garifuna: Belizeans of West and Central African, Arawak Indian and indigenous Caribbean descents (Soule). Besides, being wrongfully racially categorized, I had no extended family living in Belize, hence I saw having extended family as significant because I wanted to get to know my family and be exposed to more of the Ghanaian culture my parents tried their hardest to get us to experience. After a friend from school ended up in the orphanage because of her mother’s death and the inability to locate any of her extended family, hounding my parents about visiting Ghana became a pastime of mine. I suppose
…show more content…
Every time the subject of Ghana came up, my parents would flat out refuse me and this led to many questions I struggled to answer internally. Why did my parents not want to visit Ghana? Why on earth would my parents decide to move across the Atlantic Ocean to Belize where they had no family? I suppose my parents had many reasons for saying no but a few of these reasons were: their jobs, how much it would cost for a family of six to travel to Ghana for vacation and who would take care of our house while we were away. In 2001, a few months after the birth of their third child, my younger brother, my father received an offer to work for a disaster management company which was too good to refuse. To my father, Belize was the most logical choice for commuting to Haiti, a disaster hotspot a little over two hours away. My father’s job as a disaster manager requires preparing for whatever natural disaster could strike and respond by providing relief such as food and mosquito nets. In January 2010 when Haiti was hit by a magnitude 7.0 earthquake, my father and his colleagues flew to the country and stayed for a fortnight, providing relief and helping to rescue workers to find survivors and tell families of the …show more content…
The deafening sound of running feet and excited children frightened me, as I thought something bad had happened. Everywhere I looked, people were grabbing plates and setting them around the spread and taking their seats around the thirty-person table. In my grandmother’s home, no one is allowed to serve themselves because certain people would take more and leave less for others. Also, children were served first which was totally different from what I was used to. After she dished out the food, everyone would take their plates and return to the table and would not start until the grace was said. Thirty people, sitting together, making jokes and laughing was an exciting time for me. I liked that everyone was included in this experience because jokes were made about everyone. The joke made about me was about my slang. In Ghanaian terms, a slang is one’s accent. According to my cousin, my slang amused her because it reminded her of musician, Rihanna. I found this funny since Rihanna was Barbadian (“Rihanna”). Besides, laughing about accents, it was during my trip that I learned about the one thing that could drive Nigeria and Ghana to war; jollof rice. You see, jollof is a tomato-infused orange rice that is usually eaten with vegetable salad and fried chicken. When my grandmother said we were to be thankful we
Every time the subject of Ghana came up, my parents would flat out refuse me and this led to many questions I struggled to answer internally. Why did my parents not want to visit Ghana? Why on earth would my parents decide to move across the Atlantic Ocean to Belize where they had no family? I suppose my parents had many reasons for saying no but a few of these reasons were: their jobs, how much it would cost for a family of six to travel to Ghana for vacation and who would take care of our house while we were away. In 2001, a few months after the birth of their third child, my younger brother, my father received an offer to work for a disaster management company which was too good to refuse. To my father, Belize was the most logical choice for commuting to Haiti, a disaster hotspot a little over two hours away. My father’s job as a disaster manager requires preparing for whatever natural disaster could strike and respond by providing relief such as food and mosquito nets. In January 2010 when Haiti was hit by a magnitude 7.0 earthquake, my father and his colleagues flew to the country and stayed for a fortnight, providing relief and helping to rescue workers to find survivors and tell families of the …show more content…
The deafening sound of running feet and excited children frightened me, as I thought something bad had happened. Everywhere I looked, people were grabbing plates and setting them around the spread and taking their seats around the thirty-person table. In my grandmother’s home, no one is allowed to serve themselves because certain people would take more and leave less for others. Also, children were served first which was totally different from what I was used to. After she dished out the food, everyone would take their plates and return to the table and would not start until the grace was said. Thirty people, sitting together, making jokes and laughing was an exciting time for me. I liked that everyone was included in this experience because jokes were made about everyone. The joke made about me was about my slang. In Ghanaian terms, a slang is one’s accent. According to my cousin, my slang amused her because it reminded her of musician, Rihanna. I found this funny since Rihanna was Barbadian (“Rihanna”). Besides, laughing about accents, it was during my trip that I learned about the one thing that could drive Nigeria and Ghana to war; jollof rice. You see, jollof is a tomato-infused orange rice that is usually eaten with vegetable salad and fried chicken. When my grandmother said we were to be thankful we