Letter to Ghanaians Who Grew Up Abroad

“Between Two Worlds: A Letter to Every Ghanaian Who Grew Up Abroad”

I’ve always said that being a Ghanaian abroad is like having two passports one for where you live, and one for where your heart secretly belongs. You move through life with your accent shifting depending on who you’re talking to, your food cravings jumping from jollof to pizza, and your identity balancing like kelewele on a fork.

My name is Ama Dromo, and if you’ve ever felt too foreign in Ghana but too Ghanaian abroad, this space is for you.

I was born in Homerton Hospital in East London, the child of parents who carried Ghana with them in their suitcases, their accents, their discipline, and their cooking pots. My childhood smelled like jollof on Sundays and sounded like “Have you swept the hall?” followed by an immediate “Don’t roll your eyes at me.” And yet I grew up in a world where people asked me if Africa had WiFi, where my name was always mispronounced, and where my identity felt like it had to be explained rather than lived.

It took me years to realise that having two homes doesn’t make you divided, it makes you double.

But here’s the thing no one tells you when you grow up Ghanaian abroad: there’s a quiet loneliness that comes with it. You’re always trying to be something to someone. At home, you’re expected to act like your cousins in Ghana speak Twi fluently, greet properly, and carry yourself with “respect.” But outside, you’re expected to fit into a world that wasn’t built with you in mind.

So you code-switch. You adjust. You become fluent in two cultures but entirely comfortable in none.

I know how it feels to land at Kotoka and instantly be called obroni not because you aren’t Ghanaian, but because your vibe gives away the fact that you weren’t raised here. I know the guilt of not speaking your mother tongue well enough. I know the pressure of parents who sacrificed everything. I know what it’s like to feel Ghanaian in your chest but foreign on your tongue.

And yet there’s a beautiful rebellion in claiming both identities.

There is power in being the child of two worlds. You can move in ways your parents never could. You see life from two angles. You understand Ghana beyond the stereotypes, and you understand the West beyond the assumptions. You are a bridge, a living connection between where your family started and where they hoped you’d go.

And if you’re reading this and wondering where you belong, let me tell you this plainly:

You belong exactly where you are — and you are Ghanaian enough, just as you are.

This column will be our meeting point. A place where we can laugh about the aunties who interrogate our relationship status, cry over the pressures our parents never talk about, unpack what it means to be Ghanaian today, and hype up the beauty of reconnecting with home. I’ll be talking about identity, family, culture, dating, travel, and this thing we all feel but rarely admit, the longing to understand where we fit.

Because we may not have grown up in Ghana, but Ghana grew up in us.

So welcome.
To the diaspora kids, the second-gen wanderers, the December-in-Ghana explorers, the ones finding home in two places, this is your space. Our space.

Let’s figure this life out together.

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