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Do New Yorkers even have time for stories to be told this way anymore?There were moments so beautiful that I needn’t have even written them down in my journal to make sure I remembered them.There was the first morning I woke up in Cape Coast (a smaller town southwest of Accra), and ate breakfast just steps away from the Atlantic Ocean, almost paralyzed by its beauty.Later that day, we toured the Elmina Castle, which brought me more intimately and inescapably close to my ancestral history than any book or documentary could even attempt.(I once walked into a shop expecting to pay 10 cedis for a highlife CD. I paid 18, and walked away feeling satisfied for about two seconds.) Back in New York at the time, I wouldn’t dare leave my apartment without at least four layers of clothing, but I was comfortable in Accra in a simple sundress all day long. An unmistakable pang of wrongness washed over me as the plane took off at the end of our trip. To this day, I haven’t changed my watch back to Eastern Standard Time from Ghanaian time. That’s because I spent my highly anticipated vacation not gallivanting at South Beach or watching , but across the Atlantic Ocean in Ghana, assisting a professor on a class trip.

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In front of a small dance floor, there was a live band playing highlife music (a jazzy, horn-heavy style that originated in Ghana in the 1920s).For example, when you search for a film, we use your search information and location to show the most relevant cinemas near you.We also use this information to show you ads for similar films you may like in the future.When I exited the plane at Kotoka Airport in Accra (the country’s capital) and was immediately cloaked in a warm, thick, balmy air that stayed with me the rest of the trip?Or was the real beginning of the story the following morning when I stared outside the tour bus window, watching the city yawn and unfurl its limbs as the markets came alive?

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