Page 85 - Obruni In Ghana | Amber Lockridge

OBRUNI IN GHANA 83
India. I’m so surprised at the kindness. My father told me horror stories on his return to U.S. after only two weeks in Ghana. He claimed he would greet someone but they ignored him until he said what he wanted. Cold efficiency; just like last night in New York.
Ah! It’s like being back there. They announced the seating for first class and everyone rushes forward until the stewardess scolds them to sit back down. Passengers are arriving late and they’re (we’re?) all black again. Filled with childish irreverence, I feel like calling out.
“Obibini, Bye-Bye!”
This flight started with 5 hours to go and the minutes are ticking irrevocably down. Every person I see reminds me of someone else. I keep whipping my head around expecting to find Liselotte, Celeste, or Abigail. I even spotted my old high school teacher, Mr. Fedock. The sightings are so convincing that my heart begins racing and my breath quickens. Sweet anticipation is beginning to creep into my blood for the first time. There are so many people I have to