Why Michelle Obama?

Part of my job as an author is to pro-actively find and connect with audiences for my book so when I got the invite to attend the MichelleOBrunch, a quarterly meet-up inspired by Michelle Obama's example of leadership and volunteerism, I asked the founder Chana Ewing if I could do double duty as a guest and author/vendor. She graciously said yes, but when I got to The Rising Arts Gallery and loft of artist Kennis Baptiste, I was a little apprehensive. These past few months of signings and festivals and events have turned me into a hardened shiller. I case the joint, look for the most optimal aka highly-trafficked place to set up, and prepare to pitch. Aggressively. But immediately, I could feel shilling was not the spirit of this gathering.

Though the women in the room were board members of non-profits, principals at foundations, and founders of companies and community organizations, the brunch wasn't about selling stuff or yourself. It wasn't even about networking really. Refreshingly, the women in the room could only talk about service -- and food. :-)

Together with her "Chef's Circle" our host Chana who launched the MichelleOBrunch series last year led the group in contemplating what we're currently doing to be effective community leaders and how we can grow in those roles in the new year. As we tucked into our catered Senegalese restaurant brunch -- banana pancakes, spicy blackened chicken wings, Eggs Benedict, spinach leaves drizzled with fresh carrot ginger dressing, french toast, Prosecco mimosas and wine -- we discussed skills and services we could offer each other to help take our respective volunteer and service efforts to the next level. It was a powerful, empowering, and satisfying experience.

Meanwhile, a photographer and videographer was capturing it all for posterity. The videographer asked those of us who wanted to share our thoughts on the brunch: "Why Michelle Obama?" I mentioned her realness; her admirable ability to keep her position and opinion poll standing in perspective, to cut through the faux impressiveness of situations to represent herself with honesty and truly connect with people e.g. hug the QE II when it's supposedly protocol to shake the monarch's hand; don a marmy sweater over her Narciso Rodriguez dress because, shoot, it was cold in Grant Park that January day when her husband accepted his victory as the first black president of the United States; her choice to place her children and family at the top of her priority list...

That realness was in full effect at the MichelleOBrunch and a reminder to me to keep it all in balanced perspective as I move into 2011. Yes, I must shill, but I also must chill.

The Kids Are Alright

The past few days have been all about the youngins.

On Thursday, I went to Philly as part of the Free Library's Field Family Teen Author Series where I spoke with two sessions of three classes of high school seniors. It was pretty awesome -- especially considering how anxious I was about the event beforehand.

I wasn't sure how prepared/formal I needed to be so I peppered my contact at the Free Library with too many emails I'm sure. In the end, I decided to bring some visuals. I figured if I bored the kids out of their skulls, they would have something else to focus on for the hour session I had with them.

My fretting turned out to be unnecessary. While the slide show of images looped via the projector, I spoke briefly about my inspiration for Powder Necklace and read a tiny excerpt. When I looked up after reading, no one was sleeping. LOL. Then I opened it up for Q&A. I was delighted to find the kids had not only read the text, but they'd read it closely.

One of the first questions I got in the second session was something like "So, do you still keep in touch with the dude your mother sent you to Ghana for messing around with?" :-) I also got: "Did you really have to cut all your hair off?" Followed by, "Your hair didn't look that bad." Some of the questions yielded important tangential discussions about the "Black" story (the black story is not only African-American, it's African, Afro-European, Caribbean...too); survival ("Did you really drink brown water?" One student asked. "I could never do that." His friend sitting next to him noted, "You would if you didn't have a choice.") Needless to say the Q&A was my fave part.

After the questions we posed for pics. "Are these pictures going on Facebook?" "No," their teacher assured. (Hence, no pics of the kids.)

On a high from Thursday's success, I went to Poughkeepsie on Friday to do a session with a 4th grade class from Krieger Elementary in Poughkeepsie, NY. Staring at the wide-open faces of these miniature people, I suddenly feared an expletive would fly out of my mouth causing the three parents on chaperone duty to escort me up the stairs of the Vassar College bookstore where the event was held. But again my fears were for naught.

Leaning on the workshop leadership training I got as a mentor with Girls Write Now, I led the kids through an "Ice breaker" exercise that totally warmed them and me up. They shared with each other where they were from and one thing no one knows about where they come from which became the perfect jumping off point for discussing the dangers of making assumptions about people and as a result being disrespectful and insensitive. The kids were immensely, enviably honest as they shared from their hearts -- and they were totally up on their vocabulary words. "Do you guys know what 'murky' means?" Yeeeesss, they chorused. "Know what 'assumption' means?" "It's like guessing, right?" Yes! They were great. And they got even better during the Q&A session.

Their little hands shot up and they started firing questions at me: "How old are you?" (They were shocked to here I was more than two decades older than them. One kid generously said I looked 15. That young man is going straight to the top if I have anything to say about it.)

"In Ghana did you get a lot of presents for your birthday? What kind?"

"In Ghana did you ride on horses?"

"What did you wear?"

"What did you eat?"

"You were bald?!"

They were adorable. It all ended too fast. The good news is I got to catch up with a great friend from college who works at Vassar now, and meet her gorgeous little girl too.

Today, I returned to the Valley Stream Borders Books in Green Acres Mall for an in-store signing. Many a parent was corralling his/her kids through the pre-Black Friday semi-calm before the storm so I had to make my pitch fast as younger kids alternately squirmed out of their parents' grasps or launched into the store for the fantasy books on display. In many cases, parents would ask their older kids if my book sounded interesting. If they nodded yes, I was in; if not, they'd sashay away. LOL. It was great fun.

Charleston, I'll Come Back Now, You Hear?

Last week, I took Joe Biden's favorite mode of transportation -- Amtrak -- down to Charleston, South Carolina for the Capital Bookfest's last 2010 date. I've never taken Amtrak overnight before, but flights to Charleston were running at near $700 when I was ready to book, and I figured the night I'd spend on the train would save me a night's hotel charge. Also, after my "doobie"-precipitated pat down and luggage debacle in Maryland/DC, I was excited to be able to skip the whole airport metal detector process and keep my little roller bag tucked right under my sneakered feet.

I've always loved road trips for the scenic shifts so I settled into my seat, head trained out of the window trying to absorb all I could before the afternoon sky faded to black. But the real scene was happening on my train car.

My neighbors plugged in their portable DVD player, pulled out a buffet of Dunkin' Donuts coffee and sandwiches, and commenced to chomping and watching a Martin Lawrence movie with the volume on loud. As I watched them eat and cozy up under the comforters they'd brought with them, I looked down at my flimsy pink wrap that was doubling as my duvet (and covering my growling belly), and realized I had brought a knife to a gunfight, as it were.

After they polished off their packed dinner, I ventured into the snack car pissed at myself for not thinking to pack any food. I also wondered what would be on the menu in this car right next to the pissy restroom. But it was actually pretty palatable. Nothing scary at all. I ordered a DiGiorno pizza and a beer. While I waited for the pizza to be microwaved, a slurring, splotched-faced, bloodshot-eyed woman tried to convince the snack car attendant to sell her a screwdriver. "Ah cah walk a straight lih," she boasted. Very responsibly, he advised her to return for her orange juice and vodka once we got to DC -- two or three hours away at that point.

Bus stop near the train tracks in Charleston

DC is where the train had to refuel/switch to Diesel and apparently, the train we were supposed to get the fuel from had derailed. I never got he details on what exactly happened, but we were stalled for two hours. I believe the conductor who'd been with us from Penn Station also ended his shift and so, for the new conductor, we had to show our tickets again. This was a problem for the old man sitting behind me.

He was traveling on a Thursday ticket, but we were on a Friday train. Lawdamercy, the new conductor argued with this inebriated 76 year old man (I'd overheard him tell his age to the guy sitting next to him) about the ticket for damn near the entire two hours we were waiting for the fuel change to happen. My Martin Lawrence movie neighbors even offered to pay the difference in the ticket just to end it all, but in the end, the conductor let it go with a warning and soon we were back on our way.

As we approached South Carolina in the wee hours of the AM in the pre-Daylight Savings pitch black, panic suddenly seized me. I was originally scheduled to arrive in Charleston at 5am. It would have been black as night and I was alone; thank God for that that unexpected two-hour layover! I ended up getting to Charleston station just as the lights were turning on in the sky.
It was going to be a 40-minute wait for a taxi -- "It's a Saturday morning," the station attendant explained, helpfully calling other cab companies for the packed station of haggard travelers -- so I followed Mike, a vet who grew up in Charleston, and "Mike" (Michelle), the Baltimore-raised wife of a Nigerian man who was surprising her son, a student at Citadel military college to the nearby busstop.

We waited by a train track for like 20 minutes before a bus came, during which time Auntie Michelle explained how she got the nickname "Mike" growing up in B'More in the '60s and '70s then leaving America behind in the '80s for Nigeria without knowing a soul in the country. "I always knew I would go to Africa, from a young age, and it's where I am. Whatever you want, wherever you want to be, speak it, and you will get there," she told me before we parted ways.

Mike & "Mike"

When I got downtown, the city loudly advertised the book festival. A banner streamed above Calhoun Street, and people were already streaming toward the Charleston County Library which was hosting the event. By the time I'd finished my southern breakfast of "fluffy" pancakes and made my way to the venue, the library was packed. One of the officiants said the library clicker broke at 300 people; the Charleston Post and Courier got the final headcount at 5,000! The place was packed as parents corralled their kids through the book-lined rooms for face painting and storytelling sessions while booksellers and vendors set up. And many many many people were already buzzing about the marquee guest: Nikki Giovanni!

I co-hosted a panel on "Getting an Agent and Getting Published" with publisher Lily Herndon-Weaks that was really well-attended, and had the good fortune of doing my post-panel signing right next to the table Ms. Giovanni was scheduled to sign at. People had already started lining up so I got up from behind my signing table and took advantage of the crowd, pitching just about everyone on that exponentially expanding queue about Powder Necklace. I was just a pitch machine. My goodness. I don't think I've talked that much or that fast in my life. LOL. I thank God that I was able to give my pitch unbroken on camera for a local Charleston magazine. A gentleman watching not only bought a copy of the book, but invited me to visit his church afterward as his priest is Ghanaian and he thought it would be nice if we could meet.


I was hesitant at first. I was exhausted and also didn't know this man from Adam, but I saw him chatting with the festival founder and many people who looked respectable greeted him warmly, so I went with him to church which ended up being a nice break from the non-stop my day had been. I'd spent the past to weekends out of town so I had missed my own church, perhaps God sent this man my way. After the service, I met the priest (who ended up randomly knowing a family friend!), and joined the congregation in the basement for chili and gumbo (!) for a fundraiser. I was so psyched to have some authentic gumbo and chili in the South! I gobbled my gumbo up and took the chili as a doggie bag for the Amtrak ride back.

The following day, I was the one chomping my chili and rice loudly as my seat mate expressed regret at not packing a snack. He grew up on a farm so he became my unofficial eco-tour guide, pointing out tree types and explaining water tables and patiently letting me lean over him to catch a shot of the cotton fields that were whirring by. The cotton looked like marshmallows! So fluffy and white standing on those straw-brown stalks. I got chills imagining great-great-great cousins and aunties and uncles plucking the white blossoms, marsh and swamp nearby...

Cotton!

As the lansdcape slowly changed from cotton and cattle, colored weaves, clapboard houses, and covered cars to tall buildings and bubble jackets, I marveled at how it always seems to go faster when you're returning home than when you're leaving home. I got a little wistful as we drew closer to New York. I felt my guard going up too with each stop, especially as the gentleman in the opposite row of seats loudly expressed his desire for some "f*ck and s*ck" action to whomever he was speaking with on his cellphone. When the train doors finally slid open at Penn Station, I split for the subway, making sure Mr. F*ck and S*ck was nowhere near -- familiar territory for the NYC Girl that I am. It felt great to be back home and know exactly where I was going, but I'd definitely like to visit Charleston again with more time to be a tourist.

(I've got more pictures on my Facebook page.)

Thank You, African Women's Book Club of Boston!

When I think back on the sheer awesomeness of my lunch with the African Women's Book Club of Boston, my face hurts from smiling, and like the sap I am, my eyes well up.

These women welcomed me into their sister circle with the warmest bear hug. Many of them traveled from far flung suburbs of Boston, one came from Pennsylvania, and one made it with her gorgeous newborn to congregate with each other, and congratulate and indulge me as I rattled on about the book, and read a short passage.

But lest I think it was all about the book or me, one of the organizers pointed out, the food had a lot to do with the awesome turnout. :-)

Seated around the glossy wood tables of Teranga Senegalese Restaurant on Boston's South End, we each tucked into our respective plates of grilled tilapia, stewed lamb, ripe plantains, croquettes, and vinaigrette-drizzled salad as we discussed what it means to be African in America. (Barbados, Botswana, Belgium, China, Congo, Cote d'Ivoire, Georgia, Ghana, Haiti, Jamaica, Kenya, Malawi, Massachusetts, New Jersey, Nigeria, New York, Senegal, and Tanzania were in the house.) We recounted personal tales of being sent to an Africa we didn't know or leaving home in Africa for Europe and the States. We discussed parental expectations; traded business cards; talked babies, husbands, and dating; then cracked up about the bad hair weave Auntie Irene (one of the characters in the book) had.

It was effortless and it was excellent.

And yet I know a lot of effort went into the event. My friend, talented filmmaker Thato Mwosa suggested Powder Necklace as a read for her book club, organized the venue and event, and emceed. As I mentioned above, the members of the book club traveled from near and far to attend and support me, sharing three precious Saturday hours with me -- the day before Halloween, when many of them had activities planned for their kids. Also sharing with incredible generosity was my dear friend who hosted me in her home. Like the super-mom, wife and producer that she is, she added my agenda to her and her husband's packed itinerary, making sure I was picked up and dropped off exactly when I needed to be.

I have the most amazing friends -- and I just made new ones.

Planes, Trains & Really Expensive Cabs

It started with my wrap. I had gotten my hair done and because I didn't want it to lose its bounce once I slept on the curls, I asked the Dominican stylist to swirl and pin it up into a "doobie" cone on my head. When I got to LaGuardia I knew the pins would set the metal detectors off, but I was prepared to deal with the expected light frisk to keep my hair intact. All I can say is "Wasn't worth it."

After shrugging sheepishly at the security guard, pointing to my head, and explaining, "It's the pins," I was asked to stand in some glass case-looking contraption, then moved to a seated area just off to the side of the X-Ray machine where I was given a full patdown and wanded over with that light saber looking detector. Okay, whatever. A few passengers shot me nervous glances, but once I moved to the boarding gate, my little roll-on carry-on suitcase in tow, it was cool and my precious wrap was still in tact.

Anyway, you know how tickets have designations like "Zone 1" and "Zone 2" etc? Well, make sure yours says "Zone 1", if you can. Mine said "Zone 5" which means I was among the last batch of passengers to board the flight. Usually I don't care when I get on the plane, and actually prefer to board after people have, for the most part, settled themselves and stowed their overhead luggage, but this time, because this plane was such a little clipper, by the time I got to the plane door, an airline rep stopped us to tell us there was no more room in the overhead compartments. We would have to check our things.

I had a bad feeling. I NEVER check my things because I hate waiting for my stuff at Baggage Claim -- I like my travel experience to end as quickly as possible when I get off the aircraft/vehicle. But I forced the negative premonitions of lost luggage away and took my window seat. So when I saw that empty baggage carousel conveyor-belting in circles I was pissed. At the airline lady who'd insisted my carry-on would be checked all the way to Maryland's BWI airport, and at myself for not insisting that I could tuck my bag under the seat (which I prolly could've).

Anyhoo, the baggage complaint lady at the airport was really assuring as I described my situation. She was so cool I almost asked if I could borrow the comb on the counter next to her. Because YES. Along with my emergency copies of Powder Necklace (in case there was a mix-up at the festival and my books didn't show), my Powder Necklace banner which I hoped to hang at the reading I was doing later that night, and my heels and dress for the event, the COMB I had planned to use to unravel my doobie into a bouncing shiny shawl of hair was in the missing bag. GRRRR!

I couldn't fix my mouth to ask for the comb so instead I asked for the cab stand as my panel was in an hour and I was officially cutting it close on time. Another "Wasn't worth it" moment. LOL. That cab from BWI to the Largo, MD Borders where the Capital Book Festival was in full, glorious swing, was $100!

Whatever, I made it to the festival and it was great. Outside the Borders Bookstore, book tables were set up and a good-sized crowd of people were milling between the tables and the events taking place inside the Borders. Even though I felt I looked crazy with my finger-combed hair, and was shorter than I like without my heels on, I went to say hi to the familiar faces I'd met in Harrisburg, greet festival founder Kwame Alexander, and get ready for my panel.

Once I saw that the bookstore had several copies of Powder Necklace on hand, I relaxed a little and wandered over to soap opera actress and activist Victoria Rowell's panel at the front of the store. She was fantastic and inspiring. Promoting her book Secrets of a Soap Opera Diva, she spoke passionately about the racism she experienced working on The Young and the Restless. I couldn't believe some of the things she said my favorite characters had done! Wow.

I sat on a panel with three other authors -- Kea Taylor, Tracye McQuirter, and Kevin Wayne Johnson -- moderated by Miss Ella Curry. Our panel was on "The Writing Life: Stories on Getting Published and Selling Books" and it was a lively and informative discussion for me as well as the attendees I think. We had all published different genres of books so I think we all had something useful to share. Kea's book is called I Still Do: A Celebration of African American Weddings and its a beautiful coffee table book of photographs. Tracye wrote a book called By Any Greens Necessary sharing recipes and other useful tips to transitioning to a healthier plant-based diet. Kevin was the veteran among us. His book Give God the Glory is part of a nine-book series that's been translated into a gazillion languages.

After the reading, and post-reading signing, I did my usual: stalk the shelves and make my sales pitch to customers. I was selling books, and checking my cell furiously for word from the airline about my bag. I was anxious about the the time and cab to DC too! I had a 6PM reading in Georgetown and if the cab from Maryland Point A to Maryland Point B was so expensive, I was freaking out about how much the cab to DC would cost. Anyway, so I was selling books, and around 4:30 I got the good news that my luggage had been delivered. I left Largo shortly after guided by a WONDERFUL angel of a woman who put me on the train from Largo to DC and then got off stops earlier than she needed to, to put me in a cab. The cab was normal-priced (thank God!), but it was like five minutes to 6 when I got to my hotel.

I checked in, changed in lightning speed, and raced to Presse Bookstore for the reading which was thankfully three blocks from my hotel. Turnout was low, but the energy was high. Some great friends I hadn't seen in AGES were sitting patiently waiting for my late ass to show. (It was so good to see them.) The good thing about the intimate setting was I could take a load off and engage on a deeper level. We spoke about everything from the process of getting Powder Necklace published to my second book. One attendee, a Ghanaian textile historian, then gave us an impromptu history lesson on the origin of the kente cloth. It was fascinating!

Anyway, after a long day, we all went out for dinner and yakked it up into the night. The next morning, I got on the plane headed back to LaGuardia and don't you know they made me check my bag again. The good news is my carry-on made it, as did I.

To PA with Love

This past Saturday I went to downtown Harrisburg, PA for the Capital Book Fest held at the State Museum of Pennsylvania. After speaking on a panel with fellow authors including Tinesha Davis and reading a short excerpt from the book, I went to work. I laid my table with my banner and books, then stopped every book lover that passed by with a "Can I tell you a little about my book?"

The college summers I logged as a retail sales assistant came in handy as I stood in my 4 1/2 inch wedge heel platforms for the next six hours pitching passersby. I must have spoken with over 100 people working hard to connect with each person for the few minutes they gave me their attention. By the end of the day, I found that my most successful pitches got to the point quickly (what the book is about); revealed my humanity (why I needed to write it); and made no assumptions about who the story might resonate with based on their look.

Whether they were wearing the modest long sleeved maxi dresses and bonnets of the Mennonite/Amish; tugging children and grandchildren behind them; or boasting tattoo sleeves, I approached every person that passed with my story and they returned the favor. I met a woman who could identify with the "broni" feeling I detail in the book because she had lived in Japan for years; a Finnish man who marveled at the American race problem even as he recounted stories of his school days with a Nigerian mate; an English teacher on the hunt for stories that would boost the self-esteem of her youngsters; a woman wearing impossibly high wedge heels too...

The story was the same on Sunday at my in-store signing at Willow Grove Mall. I spoke at length with a woman who hosted a Ghanaian family and had been in Ghana in August too visiting them. It turns out that her family friends know my Uncle Abeeku (the one I thank at the end of my acknowledgments). I met a man who had traveled across West Africa in the '90s overseeing the maintenance of road works machinery. I signed a book for a professor who teaches a course on chocolate. And I listened as another man shared that he had never thought he would amount to anything -- but he did and he have God the glory for it. I wanted to keep connecting with this generous cross-section of people and ended up staying in Willow Grove two hours longer than I'd planned.

I'm looking forward to my next scheduled Capital Book Fest date in Largo, MD and reading/signing at DC's Presse Bookstore.

Bringing Powder Necklace Home

I just completed a 10-day tour in Ghana promoting Powder Necklace! It was a truly amazing experience. I was on radio, morning television, evening entertainment segments all leading up to the book launch at Silverbird Lifestyle Bookstore in Accra and for each event my mom & I gently discussed what I would wear.

For my first appearance on eTV's "Awake", I wore a Ghanaian print dress with flirty ruffle action on top. That got a nod of approval. But I got a partial side eye when I wore my cigarette pantsuit - also Ghanaian print - to appear on TV Africa's "Daybreak", but my mom let it go, as she did when I wore a Ghanaian print jumpsuit to a radio appearance and an impromptu television interview.

When I wore the woven batakari that once belonged to my Dad as a minidress, my mother was none too pleased. "In Ghana we don't wear it like that," she bemoaned, just as she has in the States when I've worn this same outfit. I probably should have listened to her and just worn something else because I got more than a few looks of confusion, surprise, even irritation in that get-up. My grandmother also gave my parents a talking to for letting me out of the house wearing it. Lol. Oh well, I wore it on the popular TGIF hosted by a tres cool cat who goes by his initials: KSM.

So come launch day at Silverbird I didn't want to show my mom the white buubuu I planned to wear. "In Ghana we don't wear buubuus for things like this," she reminded me when I showed up in the flowing white dress with embroidered collar. To appease her I took the pin out of my hair and let it fall in dolly curls to my shoulders even as I let my mom know a new Ghanaian was in the building.

That ended up being the refrain of this trip for me. In interview after interview I found myself defending/defensive about my Ghanaianness. I published the book in the States versus Ghana because I live in New York. Minus 1. I came to Ghana to launch my book even though I could have left the word to spread online. Plus 1. I attended secondary school in Ghana. Plus 1. I left for the States to go to college. Minus 1...

Wearing the batakari on TGIF KSM

Off camera, it was the same thing. When I tried to negotiate with a cab driver or a seller in the market - forget it. Even when I spoke the Twi or Ewe I could muster it was a mess. I was being charged the broni tax for not understanding that you don't wear a batakari as a dress for example.

That said, there were some things I didn't understand that worked in my favor. Apparently, at book launches in Ghana books are auctioned off. Nice! I was able to raise a good chunk of change for my alma mater Mfantsiman Girls' Secondary. My experience at Mfantsiman was utterly life-changing and in celebrationof its 50th Anniversary it felt great to be able to give back in some small way.

Speaking of Mfantsiman, returning to the school to commemorate its 50 years was a full circle moment for me in pretty much every sense of the word. First of all we stayed in the dorms and for two days I slept on a bunk and fetched water for my bath in the bathhouse. I almost left after day one as the, accommodations were a little too nostalgic for me. But once I reconnected with some old mates, I decided to get into it. Besides the dorms had vastly improved and we were staying in the newly built Yeboah House. An old dormmate remarked, "I'm so glad you wrote the book as none of the current students know what we went through."

Indeed 17 years later the school appears to be in MUCH better shape. There are two more dorms to alleviate the crowding and that well - the hideous well that we fought to fetch from in my day - has been broken down as there is no longer a need for it. Water tanks are all over the place - a few for each dorm. And water even flowed from the taps though water pressure is still an issue on some parts of campus.

The chapel is still the same size as it was when I was there, but they've added adjacent patio seating that seems to work okay for now. The dining hall is still the same size too so the girls eat in shifts. They've built sinks just outside the hall though so girls can wash their flatware and cutlery before heading off to classes or evening prep.

There's still room for improvement though. There are only 40 computers for nearly 2000 students and the computer room which was recently broken into is kept locked up. A student told me they only get in about once a week. How can these girls compete when they don't have regular computer access? Additionally, for all the renovations going on, many of the classrooms are in worse shape than they were when I was a student. As I walked the campus though I silently commended the unseen peeps who made sure those water tanks were put in place for the current students and realized that things don't just get better, we make them better. To that end, I'm committed to doing what I can to help make things better. I don't know how exactly yet, but I'll keep you posted.

On "Day Break" hosted by Esi Arhin

Anyway, my final event in Ghana was a reading that Binyavanga Wainaina helped hook-up for me with the Writers Project of Ghana, an awesome organization of Ghanaian artists that threw their arms open for me. I read a few snippets of the book on their radio show on Ghana's Citi FM, and read more at the Nubuke Foundationa really peaceful outdoor space where I'm told they have open mics and other art events in Accra. It was a highly interactive reading as the audience peppered me with tough and insightful questions. "Why'd you call it 'rural'?" "What did you expect to find in Ghana when you first came?" But not one person in the crowd asked me to prove my Ghanaianness.