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Once you see the stone walls, smell the unique mixture of blood, sweat and metal that still hover over the castle six centuries later, and feel the closeness of the quarters slaves were forced into, you cannot un-see, un-feel, un-smell. There was the group of siblings who asked me to take their photo after crossing the tree canopy bridges at Kakum National Park in Ghana’s Central Region.

One of the younger sisters ran over to peer into my digital lens afterwards, leaning her head against my chest to get a better look.

It was the simplest gesture, but in that instant I felt how trusting and refreshingly open Ghanaian culture can be. We spent our last night in Ghana at Chez Afrique, a huge, roofless restaurant and nightclub.

In front of a small dance floor, there was a live band playing highlife music (a jazzy, horn-heavy style that originated in Ghana in the 1920s).

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I immediately thought about the young boys who sell fruit snacks on the uptown A train I take to work, and realized that poverty and hustle are universal.

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Every emotion I felt in my five days in Ghana was completely saturated, like when you leave a tea bag in your mug and let it steep all the way.

That’s not to say each of those emotions was positive; the highs and lows were equally extreme.

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