I just turned 23 years old and I’m about to embark on a personal self-journey.
For the past few years, I have been awaiting an exploration to an African country that I personally felt was rich in heritage and would be spiritually rewarding. Although there were tons of countries to choose from, opportunity would lead me to travel to Ghana for 10 days. My flight takes off this upcoming weekend.
As I begin to look forward to what awaits me in the Motherland, my Facebook timeline and social media accounts are filled with ignorance and caution about any and everything African.
Ebola is the reason for the season this time around. And while my nation’s typical American panic grows around a disease that has only been reported of infecting way less than a double digit of citizens — I have gained a sense of rebellion.
To be quite frank, I’m so damn tired of hearing Western civilization and all its media folklore define the legacy and history of my heritage.
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