Those Documentaries Lied
A Ghanaian Childhood in Full Color
“Mummy, where is Africa?”
Five-year-old me asked my mother this question as I watched a BBC documentary about the “deplorable” state of Africa.
“Africa is where Ghana is,” she replied.
“Then where exactly is Ghana?”
“It’s in West Africa.”
I was completely confused. For all my five years of living, I thought Ghana was the most beautiful place on Earth. A place full of laughter and peace. Well, I also thought it was the only place on Earth — but still, it was beautiful.
I didn’t want to believe whoever BBC was. To me, they hadn’t even been to Africa to know what it looked like. Even at age seven, when I understood that Africa was a whole continent, I still imagined it as a place of towering buildings, smooth roads, and oceans like Labadi Beach in my beloved Ghana.
Those documentaries lied.
Get Bibiniiba’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
Kids all around the world saw muddy rivers, dusty villages, and children with runny noses — still smiling at the camera. I’m sure people wondered, “Do those kids even understand the state of their environment? If they did, wouldn’t they be crying instead of smiling?”
But I saw things differently.
Eight-year-old me gazed out the window as we climbed the Aburi mountains. One daring glance downward and there it was: the most magnificent view. I saw what I believed was all of Accra. “Light-years of Accra,” my mind whispered. I didn’t want to blink.
Then came Aburi itself. Vibrant. Colorful. Palm wine on my left, juicy fruits on my right. “So much time and so little to see — scratch that. It’s the other way round,” as Willy Wonka once said.
How could anyone think Ghana is an eyesore?
Those documentaries lied.
Ten-year-old me woke from a rough nap en route to Cape Coast. Stuck in Mankesim traffic, I was surrounded by food. Women of all ages balanced trays on their heads — fried octopus, “abolo”, “one-man thousand” fish — calling out to us. My mum bought some, and I thought:
Who could ever say Ghanaians are starving?
Those documentaries lied.
Fourteen-year-old me stood at a lakeside camp in Gomoa, staring at the water. Peace. True peace. I didn’t want to leave. Campers moved quietly around me.
“Where else can you find this kind of calm?” I thought.
Who could ever say Ghana is all struggle?
Those documentaries lied.
We are not what they say we are. Ghana — my Ghana — is more than the snapshots they use to tell one story. We are joy, we are color, we are life. And that deserves to be seen too.
