I SIP AND THINK AFRICA

Travel Log:So at a pace, I sip and think Africa .

In my cup is a deep black tea from Kenya — bold as the soil, smooth as the stories passed down through generations. I sit in my favorite chair, the one that seems to remember me, that contours to the rhythm of my thoughts and the shape of my silence.

And as I sip, I reflect.

Africa is on my mind.

Not just the Africa in headlines or charity campaigns — but the living, breathing continent I’ve walked. The Africa I’ve laughed in, danced in, learned from. The Africa that held up a mirror and said, “Look again.”

I think of the words of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie — the danger of a single story. That narrow, tired narrative we’re too often fed. One thread, frayed and incomplete, presented as the whole cloth.

But Africa is not a single story.

She is thousands of languages whispered in marketplaces.

She is high fashion sewn by nimble hands under a swaying tree.

She is tech innovation rising in Nairobi, poetry blooming in Dakar, and jazz floating through the night air in Accra.

When I was in Ghana, I saw it all.

I ate at exquisite restaurants — not out of place, but very much of the place — where spices told the story of the land, and every bite was memory and invention. I sat with women whose brilliance cracked the sky open — women who build businesses, run clinics, write code, raise futures. I walked through galleries where the art pulsed with history and possibility, where Blackness was not just seen, but celebrated.

I saw communities that are deeply rooted, yet reaching.

I saw joy — unapologetic, unfiltered, unshaken.

And I saw myself. Reflected not in fragments, but in fullness.

Africa reminded me that I am many things.

Not just what the world imagines.

Not just what pain has made of me.

But what love, legacy, and liberation continue to shape in me.

So I sip.

And with each sip, I honor her.

Not a caricature, not a charity case — but a continent of fire, of genius, of grace. A continent too complex to be summarized, too sacred to be simplified.

We must tell all of her stories

Not just the ones that break our hearts,

But also the ones that mend them.

Because Africa is not a single story.

She is a symphony.

She is a rising sun.

She is home.