From Ghana to London: A Journey Told Through Food
My earliest memories of growing up in Ghana are filled with excitement, warmth, and a deep sense of belonging. I had a great upbringing—spoiled even! As the last-born child in a family of nine, I enjoyed all the perks of being the baby of the house. We lived in Cape Coast, a historically rich town famous for its role in the Gold Coast era and the transatlantic slave trade. But to me, it was simply home—a place full of life, traditions, and an incredible sense of community.
We had a big house with a sprawling compound where my friends and I would play from sunrise to sunset. My family was well-known in Cape Coast; just ask anyone about Badu-ba back then, and they’d point you straight to our house. My father was a renowned building contractor, respected and loved by many.
When I think of Ghana, four things come to mind: Family Traditions, Vibrant Culture, Football, and Food. Ah, the food! Ghanaian street food, in particular, is unrivaled. The smell of freshly prepared waakye (rice and black-eyed beans wrapped in banana leaf) or the spicy aroma of kelewele (seasoned fried plantains) is something you can’t forget. My love for food was born on those streets and nurtured at home, where every meal was cooked fresh—from breakfast to dinner.
Sundays were sacred, not just for church but for the food that followed. My favourite dish? Omo Tuo (rice balls) with Abenkwan (palm nut soup). Every Sunday, we’d visit a local spot called Solace for this incredible meal. If you’ve ever been to Cape Coast, you know about Solace. And if you’re in Cape Coast reading this, do let me know—does Solace still exist? Is the food still as good as I remember?
Life in Ghana was rich and full, but everything changed when I turned 12.
The Big Move to England
Life in Ghana was good—so good that the idea of leaving it all behind was unthinkable. But in a typical African parenting style, life-changing decisions are made for you without much discussion. One day, my dad told my brother and me we were heading to London to visit our mum. No warnings, no goodbyes to friends—just “pack your bags; you’re going in two days.” At 12 years old, you don’t question your parents, so off we went.
On September 30, 1994, we boarded a British Airways flight from Accra to London. It was my first time on a plane, and while I was excited, I was equally terrified. But nothing could’ve prepared me for Heathrow Airport. It was massive, fast-paced, and full of people who looked and sounded nothing like me. The immigration officer spoke English, but it was so rapid that I struggled to keep up. I wasn’t unfamiliar with the language—we spoke English at home and school in Ghana—but this was something else entirely.
We were greeted at the airport by my mum and my late uncle Kofi, their faces glowing with joy and excitement. London was impressive—stunning buildings, wide roads, and an air of development that was hard to ignore. But the cold? That was a shock to my system. Still, it was only for two weeks, so I thought, “I can handle this.” Or so I believed.
Fast forward two weeks, and it was time to go back to Ghana—or so I thought. The day before our supposed return, my dad called us into the living room and dropped the bombshell: we weren’t going back. England was now our new home. I was heartbroken. I loved my life in Ghana—the warmth, the food, the big house, and my friends. Leaving it all behind felt unbearable.
Adjusting to a New World
The early days in England were tough. I hated it. The culture was different, the school system was strange, and I felt like an outsider. Kids my age smoked, swore at teachers, and lacked the respect we were taught to uphold in Ghana. I was quiet, shy, and academically behind compared to my classmates. It felt like I was navigating an entirely new world.
But over time, I learned resilience. Three things helped me find my footing: Music, Sports, and Food.
In Ghana, it was Highlife and reggae; in England, I fell in love with UK garage, R&B, and hip-hop. Music became a universal language, a way to connect and express myself. Sports were another lifeline. Football was my thing, and I was pretty good at it. In fact, my friend Shazad and I were the only immigrant kids on our school team. He was the goalkeeper, and I played centre-back.
And then there was food—my anchor, my connection to home. Cooking became my way of holding on to my Ghanaian roots while navigating this unfamiliar world. I’d watch my mum prepare traditional dishes, each meal filled with the love and care that reminded me of Ghana. Over time, I started experimenting, blending the bold flavours of West Africa with the new ingredients and techniques I discovered in England.
Pinch of West Africa: Where My Journey Meets Yours
This love for food and its power to tell stories is what inspired Pinch of West Africa. Food is more than sustenance; it’s a bridge between cultures, a way to preserve traditions, and a tool for connection. Through Pinch of West Africa, I aim to share not just recipes but the stories behind them—stories of family, culture, and resilience.
Whether it’s a jar of shito, a supper club event, or a blog post like this one, my goal is to bring a pinch of West Africa to your table and your life. This is my story, told through food, and I’m so excited to share it with you.
This journey—from Cape Coast to London—has shaped who I am today. It’s a story of adaptation, resilience, and the unbreakable bond between food and identity. Thank you for reading, and welcome to Pinch of West Africa. This is just the beginning.