Growing up as an immigrant kid in rural Michigan isn’t easy. Actually, allow me to rephrase: growing up as an uncool bookworm kid in “whereamIarethoseAmishpeople” Michigan is downright rough. While I was never made to feel excluded, there was a certain discomfort that came with the obvious disconnect between my family and the families of the majority of my peers. Different hobbies, different conceptions of family, but most obvious were differences in food. To be quite honest, Ghanaian food was not super accessible to people around me. Most people can get down with Chinese or Mexican food, but being the kid to show up with palm nut soup and cubed goat never gained me much cafeteria popularity.