(10/12) “Growing up in Ghana, I’d never once had to think about...

(10/12) “Growing up in Ghana, I’d never once had to think about my skin color. I saw myself as African. I saw myself as Ghanaian. I saw myself as Asante. But never black. Because all of us were black. And to become sensitive to your skin, for the first time, at the age of thirty, it messed me up. One morning I was greeting my fellow students in the lounge, when one of them said the strangest thing: ‘I’m too white to shake your hand,’ he said. I was so confused. Another student rushed to defend me. ‘That was a racist comment,’ he said. Others dismissed it as a bad joke. But the comment stuck inside me. I’d been rejected so many times in my life: for being too poor, for not being good enough, but never this. On that day my soul began to change. I thought: ‘Maybe my kindness is the problem. Maybe if I’m less friendly, and keep to myself, I will never encounter this again.’ I’d spend hours walking around the city alone with my camera. When I wasn’t doing that, I was collecting photography books. I went to every bookstore in the city. It was something positive to focus on. I filled up an entire bookshelf in my apartment. Then another. My goal was to gather enough books to open a photo library in Ghana. It gave me comfort knowing that no matter what happened to me, my time here would be useful to someone. After I spoke to my daughter each morning, I would call my mother. We’d read the Bible together. She’d pray over me. We called it ‘Morning Revival.’ Sometimes I’d be calling her to complain, and she’d be singing, rejoicing. It made my problems seem so silly. My mother grew up in a small town. She had no clue about life in New York. ‘You are an Apostle,’ she would tell me. ‘You have so much more to write.’ One morning after we spoke I jumped on the subway to go to school. Maybe I looked a little sad that day. I’ve wondered so many times, if I looked sad. Or if my clothes were dirty. I’d bought my coat at a discount store. But it was a Columbia coat, and it wasn’t dirty. I’m sure of it. I’ve thought about it so many times. Because when I got up to leave the train, a woman tapped me on the shoulder. She handed me a dollar. ‘Buy yourself some food,’ she said.”