Ah akwaaba, a word that I have heard many times already. Welcome, welcome to our country. Sweet abruni, will you marry me? Ah, oo, no...no thank you! I say as I continue on my way to be greeted and thanked and asked to buy by another. Ghana hits you as you as a wave of heat and smell. The sharp almost bittersweet sent of fresh cut sap, gasoline and sweat. From the moment we got on to the plane from Amsterdam to Accra I could tell things were different. The plane became a village, a global village with babies crawling down the aisles being scooped up and played with by strangers. Little girls and boys sharing toys and cultures. Conversations held over seats and clustered in the front or back in Twi, German, Da, English, Duch,
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