First Days in Ghana: Unexpected Echoes of Home

By Kalani Chai-Andrade

Before flying to Ghana, I didn’t know what to expect. I mean, sure, we had weekly classes where we would discuss the history and culture of the place, and I even spoke with someone from Ghana who worked at the place I’m interning at. But all that did nothing more than plant a small seed of what the experience would actually be like in my mind. 

All I knew about Ghana was that it was close to the equator, just like Hawai’i, where I’m from. I was happy to hear that it wouldn’t be hard adjusting to the climate. Little did I know that a country 10,000 miles away and across two oceans would feel a lot more familiar to me than just the temperature. 

It starts with my day of arrival. Flying over Ghana, I couldn’t help but stare out the window. As I studied the scenery, I realized it wasn’t foreign at all. Lush forests spanned for miles, roads were made of dirt, and large farms were everywhere. It was as if I had gotten on the wrong flight and was landing at the Hilo International Airport on my island instead. It was a pleasant surprise, and that feeling of déjà vu would only grow stronger as the days went on.

Fast forward to Tuesday. We had our usual breakfast and then headed to the Aburi Botanical Gardens on the bus. On our way there, we drove through winding roads high up in the hills. At several points, the road curved into sharp U-shaped turns that followed the natural landscape. They reminded me of the same U-shaped turns I would make almost weekly, driving through the Hamakua Coast. We even call them Horseshoe turns because they are a significant feature of those cliffs. 

Before I could even process the connection, we reached the botanical gardens. Home to native plants from all over the world, the gardens were both enthralling and nostalgic. Underneath giant trees I had never seen before were plants like the Song of India, Birds of Paradise, and bushes that resembled hala trees. Though these plants weren’t native to Hawai’i, I had grown up using them for weaving and lei-making. It filled me with joy knowing that Ghana was so similar to my home, which I had not returned to for some time. That connection between Ghana and Hawai’i continued to surface in the most unexpected ways.

The next day, we visited Anani Memorial International School, which taught children from around five to 14 years old. The conditions of the school were difficult to witness. The campus, just a short distance from streets filled with trash and wildlife, was no larger than a small American family home, and the children sat on small benches in a classroom made of concrete with little ventilation. Once we settled into the classroom, we were greeted by a group of students wearing colorful outfits. Another small group of men sitting nearby had begun to play the drums, and the students danced in rhythm. 

As I watched their traditional performance, I was overwhelmed with a feeling of joy and reflection. Many of the dances had similar motions to Hula, traditional Hawaiian dancing, which I had practiced throughout my childhood. The drumming was very similar too. It made me reminisce about my past, when I lived back home. Now, I rarely get to visit Hawai’i because of college and my parents moving to Nebraska to support my older brother, who’s dealing with health problems, but I once was a kid too, spending weeks going over dances to make sure I got it right when the time counted. Despite being in different contexts, the students’ energy, pride, and joy in their movement reminded me of my own childhood. I saw reflections of myself in them, and it reminded me how deeply movement and tradition can connect us across distance.

Just when I thought I couldn’t feel any more connected, our overnight trip to Cape Coast took that feeling to a deeper, more emotional place. On the ride over, whilst others struggled to get comfy enough to sleep, my eyes were locked onto the passing countryside. The further we got from the city, the more I saw my home. Vast areas of greenery stretched across the ground, interrupted here and there by a few small homes. As we entered the fishing port of Elmina, I once again was met with a feeling of familiarity, only this time it was one of heartbreak. 

Visiting the Elmina Castle was the first thing we did once we got to the coast. We had an excellent guide, Ato, who has shown University of Oregon students around the castle for years. He talked so vividly that I could envision the horrible things that had occurred there a century and a half ago. After our tour, Ato ended with a saying that Ghanaians had: “The past gives meaning to the present and protects the future.” This stuck with me because we Hawaiians have a similar saying: the future is in the past. What they both mean is that by learning from the mistakes of our past and our ancestors, we are able to make better choices today and therefore create a better tomorrow. 

Now, as I sit here writing this, I can’t help but see Ghana, and my home, in a new light. Two different Indigenous communities on completely different sides of the world, yet our stories were so similar. When I look outside, I don’t just see Ghana, I see what Hawai’i could have been if it weren’t for a few small factors. My people experienced exploitation through plantations, yet it is nothing compared to the tragedies that Africans faced during the trans-Atlantic slave trade.

I came here expecting to be a visitor. Instead, I found echoes of home in the land, in the culture, and, most importantly, in the spirit of the people. Maybe these connections aren’t a coincidence. Maybe they remind us of how connected we all are, that adversity transcends our differences. As I begin my internship and work through these next five weeks, I carry these newfound feelings with me. Not just as observations, but as reminders of resilience, kinship, and shared history. Ghana has already given me more than I ever expected, and I know there’s still so much more to learn.

Home, I’m learning, isn’t always a place you return to. Sometimes, it’s a place you find, thousands of miles away, in the stories, songs, and people that feel like your own.