In a time where communities often feel disconnected and overwhelmed, one value is becoming increasingly rare—and yet, it holds remarkable power: volunteering.

Some cultural lessons are not learned through books or speeches. They are transmitted differently — through aromas, textures, and the age-old act of sharing a meal.

That is precisely what my partner and I experienced during our recent visit to Adom’s Delight, a restaurant located inside the Marché Africain on Jean-Talon West in Montreal. It was my first visit — and also my first time eating with my hands. A small detail, perhaps, but one that fundamentally changes the relationship between diner and dish. Here, food is not simply consumed; it is experienced.

Many people call me Kwesi simply because I was born on a Sunday, according to the Akan naming tradition of Ghana. But for us, a name is more than the day of one's birth. It carries expectations, character, identity, and a connection to our ancestors. Long before I learned about personality theories in school, I had already grown up with the understanding that our elders believed a person's day of birth revealed something about their temperament.

En fin de semaine, j’ai assisté à mon tout premier Pow Wow. Oui, oui, mon premier… même si ces célébrations sont ouvertes à tous depuis les années 1960. Disons que j’arrive avec un léger retard à peine quelques décennies! Dès l’ouverture officielle, au son profond des tambours, des chants et devant les vêtements éclatants sertis de perles, de plumes et de couleurs vibrantes, j’ai été touchée. Il y avait là quelque chose de grand, de vivant, de profondément enraciné.

This weekend, I attended my very first Pow Wow. Yes, my very first one—even though these celebrations have been open to everyone since the 1960s. Let’s just say I’m arriving a little late… only a few decades behind!

Every nation is shaped not only by its borders or laws, but by the stories it chooses to preserve.
Canada’s story is often reduced to statistics—economic indicators, migration figures, policy debates. Yet beneath these numbers live human lives: people who arrive with hope, people who open doors for others, people who quietly carry the country forward through work, care, and responsibility.

The ceremonial seating of the Paramount Chief of the Ghana Traditional Council in Montreal, Canada. In the heart of Montreal, far from the ancestral lands of West Africa, Ghanaian tradition continues to live, breathe, and flourish. These images capture moments of cultural pride, leadership, and identity in motion—celebrating a heritage that transcends borders.

This story came to us through a special correspondence from Toronto. It was shared by Kobena Ampofo, who performed the piece, titled "Bonsam Din," as a culmination of their time in the VUKA residency hosted at Theatre Passe Muraille.

Not all lessons arrive through policy papers, speeches, or national debates. Some arrive quietly, disguised as ordinary moments.

Yesterday evening, Susan and I attended an end-of-year gathering among friends. There was no formal structure. No agenda. Everyone arrived alone, each bringing food or drinks to share. In total, we were about twelve people—hardly enough to make headlines, yet enough to reveal something essential.

Canada is widely recognized as one of the world's most successful multicultural societies. People from every continent arrive here carrying their languages, traditions, beliefs, and histories. This diversity has become one of Canada's greatest strengths, enriching communities and contributing to the country's economic and social development.

After just a few weeks of care, the garden has transformed into a true little miracle. It has become so magnificent that it seems to have always belonged there, as if it had grown naturally amidst the existing vegetation. To my eyes, it enhances the setting in an almost magical way, creating the impression of being in the heart of a tropical rainforest.