Adwoa

Some days, I speak English so well I forget I used to have an accent. I slip into quick conversations, raise my hand in class, give presentations like it’s second nature. And maybe it is now. But there’s still a part of me that gets stuck when I speak, like something’s missing, like I’m holding back.

That part is Twi.

It’s the voice I hear when my mom yells, “Adwoa,” my Twi given name, from the kitchen. It’s the prayers at church, the ones we say before we eat, before we start the day, before anything important. It’s the background of phone calls with family, filled with laughter and homesickness. Twi was never just a language. It was home, it was connection.

It’s not gone, not really, but I don’t speak it out loud much anymore. Not here. Not in front of people who pause when they hear