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In the spring of 2005, I spent a month in the West African nation of Ghana, the fulfillment of a decade-long dream. I went in search communities of houses made of earth, to document their beauty, and to learn new building techniques. Although I had studied my African history, I had never stepped foot on the continent, never had a direct, unmediated African experience. I knew that I would either fall in love, or have my bubble burst. I had learned how to build houses from earth out of choice. I grew up in North America with every possible privilege, and had I wanted to be a captain of industry, and live in a mansion with a white picket fence, I surely could have. But I envied people in the so-called "third world" because they spent their days doing meaningful work, acquiring food, clothes, and shelter, living close to the land, and close to each other, sharing and caring for one another. When you live in the heart of empire, in the industrialized West, those are things that you never have. But did I want those things because the grass always seems slightly greener on the other side? Was I romanticizing and exoticizing the 'Oriental', the 'other'? Or was I realizing my birthright to live a life of health, equality, and freedom, as a human being that came out of Africa, and just wants to return home? Ultimately, these photographs cannot possibly change the way you look at Africa. They're only a series of really small red, green, and blue light bulbs turned on and off in sequence to create an illusory experience. But I was there, and I lived and breathed it. And now I know for a fact that all of the riches on Wall Street and all the power in the Pentagon are not worth the love that you feel inside and out, when you're living in a village. A real village.
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