Today, we visited Dr. Kwame Nkrumah Memorial Park and the Accra Arts Center. Our time in both places made me reflect on how connected the people of the African diaspora are and how I fit within that diaspora.
As my mother, Marc, and Ashley made their purchases, my sister and I stood outside the mall at the Accra Arts Center, watching a football game. We talked about random things when a Ghanaian gentleman approached us and said, "Hello, sisters from another father." We smiled. With a very gentle voice and in a friendly way, he began to share that he was a carpenter and made various carvings, had a shop nearby, and that we could walk to it to see his art.
“Forward ever, backward never” - Kwame Nkrumah
Dr. Kwame Nkrumah Memorial Park
Football @ Accra Arts Center
After an exchange about his artwork, which lasted a few more moments, he asked our names and told us his, Henry. My sister, standing to my left as Henry was turned, facing both of us, but who stood closer to my sister's left side, gently tapped my forearm. I smiled while continuing to watch the play of the football game as I heard my sister say to Henry, "That is our father's name." Henry smiled and laughed. He shook our hands and then continued on his way to his shop.
My sister and I walked toward the football game to get a better watch, settling on standing about 10 feet from the soccer goal. We stood there for several minutes, watching one team take a particular defensive formation to prevent the opposing team's efforts to score a point. We talked about how Ghanaians were beautiful people and wore the most amazing color-rich clothing. After several more minutes of watching the game, we figured we should find Mom, Marc, and Ashley, so we turned and started walking toward a Mall entrance. As we headed in the direction of the mall, we spotted Henry as he spotted us as he walked across our footpath. He smiled and lightheartedly shouted as he walked by, "That's my family; I'm their, Dad." My sister and I both smiled.
Spectators of Accra football game
I am the younger of Henry Lee Harriel's two daughters. My sister Lee (affectionately nicknamed Bunnie by our father) is four years my senior. My sister and I are insanely like our dad in distinctively different ways: she through her love for kinesthetic-tactile expression, music, food, and writing, and I through my love of adventure, sense of style, and confidence.
We lost our dad in 1988. Over the years since his death, there have been rare occasions where my sister and I were physically together in the same place, and the presence of our Dad emerged.
Today, it did, here in Accra.
It was a powerful moment connecting my sister and me to one another and to our Dad, Henry.
