On July 7, 2007, I considered myself lucky because I was touring refugee camps in Northern Uganda. It helped keep me focused on why I had chosen to uproot my life and go live in a rural African village to help journalists improve their skills. It immersed me in a sense of perspective and gratitude, while other people were celebrating the allegedly "Lucky 7/7/07" in a more hedonistic manner.
Exactly three years later, I wound up standing in Kotoka airport in Accra, seven years after my first voyage to Africa in 2003....to Accra. I'll always remember that when I got off the plane back then, consumed by equal measures of excitement and anxiety, airport security guards kept directing me to the Ghanaian citizens' queue. Before they heard me speak, just by looking at me, they thought I was one of them.
Once I got past Immigration, I'll always remember being startled at seeing folks who looked exactly like members of my family. In an instant, I made a connection to the African continent in a way I could never have done solely by reading books or watching documentaries. In that moment, I knew where I came from, and it was one of the most powerful moments of my life.
It's why I keep working on the continent, and why I've almost reached the point where I feel at home on African soil. It's why on 7/7/10, 7 years after my first trip to Africa, I feel like one of the luckiest people I know.
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