Retracing My Family’s Past in Accra
I can’t know the spot where an elderly lady always sold them fresh sugar bread or the field where they played ampe.
I can’t know the spot where an elderly lady always sold them fresh sugar bread or the field where they played ampe.
My dad called me while we watched in silence and I said, “I don’t want to live here anymore.”
There are single family homes and giant, shiny apartment buildings and about six 7-Elevens in my square mile.
The Moscow transit system looks more like a jellyfish than Ursa Major looks like a bear.
Instead of making the trek up the mountain, Alfonso and I, along with our crew of fellow naturalists, researchers, and organic farmers, decided to bring the night life to us.
She shakes her head once, before looking up back at me with holy certainty. “You have no idea who you are,” she declares.
I felt the grit on my teeth and imagined it in my lungs.
I never found out if the kid’s shenanigans were purposeful.
I’m not the only one desperate to find the lost episode.
Grog is like a heightened version of a scavenger hunt combined with freeze tag—all taking place in the dark