When I first moved to Europe (Norway), I lived in a house with five other housemates—two from Canada, one from America, one from Sweden, one from the Netherlands, and me from Ghana. All six of us were working in the same organization, but in different departments. I was the last person to move into the house. My co-workers, who quickly became my new friends and family, welcomed me warmly and showed me around, including where things were in the house.

We were all single, so each person had a personal cabinet in the kitchen to store non-perishable food, and we each had a designated shelf in the refrigerator.

Back home in Ghana, when we live in the same house and work at the same place, 90% of the time we go to work and return home together—unless we have other things to attend to before or after work. In such cases, we do our best to communicate with our colleagues so they know what’s happening and don’t wait unnecessarily. We’re basically accountable to each other, and it’s like that because of our warm and inclusive culture. We naturally invite others into our lives—unless someone intentionally wants to keep things private.

As the first African in my workplace, I wanted to create a good impression of Africans. Number one on my list was punctuality, because many in the Western world believe that Africans don’t respect time and are always late. This stereotype isn’t always true—many Africans are very punctual.

On my first day of work, I woke up early to get ready. When I was ready to go, I decided to wait for my housemates, assuming we would all go together since we worked at the same place. I sat in the living room waiting, thinking this was what we would naturally do—just like in Ghana.

To my surprise, the house was quiet. I didn’t hear any footsteps or sounds. I jumped up, wondering, “Where is everybody?” I started calling names, but there was no response. Then I realized—everyone had already left. I quickly ran out of the house and headed to work. I was late. The very thing I had wanted to avoid had happened.

The same thing happened the next day. I waited, and everyone was gone. That’s when I told myself, “Okay, this is not Ghana.”

When I got to work, there was a staff meeting in progress. My leader, who was leading the meeting, called my name and said, “We start work at 8:30 a.m. every day,” because they had noticed I’d been late for my first two days.

I apologized and explained that I had been late because I was waiting in our living room for my housemates so we could go together—something we do in Ghana. I shared this in front of my housemates. My leader replied, “Oh, okay, but here everyone is independent. No one waits for others, even if we live and work at the same place.”

My housemates said, “Oh! We didn’t know you were waiting for us. We never wait for anyone.”
I said, “Yes, I didn’t communicate that. I assumed people would let each other know when they were ready to leave.”

This conversation led us to agree that from then on, we would wait for each other and go to work together—unless someone had another commitment. Starting from the third day, my housemates and I began commuting together more regularly. We even started spending more time together and began having dinner once a month as a house “family.” They told me they had never done anything like that before—spending intentional time together as housemates.

This experience helped us see each other not just as friends, but as family.

Many people in the West talk about family and say they want deeper connection, but often do little to make it happen. Family is not just your biological relatives. Friends, housemates, and co-workers can also become family—if we’re intentional about it.