Why am I experiencing homesickness for a country I’ve spent so little time in? That question has been sitting with me ever since I came back from Ghana this August. I’ve only been there twice in my life, once at 7 years old, and again this year, but somehow this second trip felt like discovering a version of myself I never knew existed.Â
Funnily enough, I dreaded going. I begged my mom to move up my return ticket, complained about being away for a whole month and didn’t pack until eight hours before the flight. When a friend of mine told me, “Trust me, you’ll feel a pull to learn your culture. It’s like you feel your ancestors calling for you,” I laughed. It sounded dramatic and fictional. And after 16 hours on a plane, all I felt when I landed was unfamiliarity.Â
Yet when I stepped outside the airport and hugged my aunt and uncle, it felt warm and comforting. Suddenly, I thought to myself, maybe this won’t be so bad.
Over the course of the month, I found myself enveloped in a culture that has shaped me in many ways I hadn’t realized. Watching my grandmothers and aunts move through their everyday life, seeing my cousins play, and witnessing the bond of my home family was beautiful. But, it was also painful. My parents built a life in Canada, away from the majority of their loved ones. My mother came alone. Seeing the harmony and similarities we all shared made me realize how much life we missed by growing up thousands of kilometres apart. Â
When it was time to leave, my mom told my family, “Don’t cry, we’ll come back.” I laughed, wondering why anyone would cry. Yet as we stood in line for security minutes later, I couldn’t help but start to tear up. I cried because I already missed the bustling streets, the screaming goats that woke me each morning, the culture and the family. Most of all, I missed the country that stole my heart when I desperately tried to run away from it.Â
Being a second-generation immigrant means growing up in a unique cultural split. I was born and raised in Canada, yet my name, my food, my language, my humour, and my manners all came from my Ghanaian roots. Many of us carry a quiet guilt, never feeling like we’re “enough” for either side of our identity. That feeling gets even more complicated when relatives come into play. Many of our parents came here with few relatives, or none at all, so we grew up with a lot of chosen family. We call many people our aunts, uncles, and cousins even if there is zero blood relation. I used to find it odd, but I’m starting to see it differently. The variety of locations in your family and of your identity is not a weakness; it’s proof that you carry multiple worlds and experiences within you.Â
Now that I’m back home, I’ve found myself saying, “I miss Ghana, I want to go back.” Maybe my culture is truly calling to me, asking me to lean in and immerse myself more. Regardless, I no longer feel the need to question why I miss a country I barely know. Because it’s quite the opposite; it’s a place I’ve always known, in my own unique way.Â
Even if I’ve spent only two out of the 238 months of my life in Ghana, it is still my home, and I cannot wait to go back.