When the Vibe is Off. A Reflection on Expat Spaces and the Privilege of Belonging

I’m sitting in a cafe that I hate. I didn’t know that I’d hate it after reading online reviews. There’s a strange feeling I get when I walk into spaces that cater exclusively to expats and rich locals. At first, it might present itself as a beautiful rooftop bar with panoramic views of the city I’m visiting. Or maybe it’s a concept café with an all-day brunch menu, slick branding, and a playlist that feels algorithmically tailored to Spotify’s “Global Citizen” crowd. It’s clean. Curated. Comfortable. And yet, something feels off.

It’s not that I’m above an oat milk latte or don’t appreciate minimalist decor. I love a well-poured adult beverage and a sunset view as much as the next gal. But when the language spoken is predominantly English, when the pricing is clearly set to exclude the average resident, the security measures are very noticable and, when the culture of the host country feels like an accessory rather than a presence, I start to feel like I’m in a bubble floating above the very place I came to experience. 

I’m sitting in the Labone area of Accra, Ghana. This café is on a well-paved road in a residential enclave. Outside Range Rovers, Audis, and Forerunners line the street. At the table next to me, real estate developers are discussing numbers that make no sense to me.

“We will be done in 5 years. It will cost $1.5 million. It’s a steal really!”

I’ve noticed that the conversations are more about networking than human connection.

A very lovely oat milk latte. Photo- Diana O’Gilvie

So what am I doing here? I’ve benefited from these spaces. I’ve ordered, posted, and even recommended them. We all want a little taste of home, a little air-conditioning, and robust WiFi. But I can't ignore the irony that I often feel most out of place in the places designed for people like me, upwardly mobile, digitally connected, passport-holding members of the global Black diaspora. I feel like a hypocrite. I tend to keep a close eye on the staff to see how they are being treated. If I see one flip of the wrist from a patron done in a dismissive manner, I'm ready to come to their defense, as I have in the past. I also tip more than usual in these places. Penance? Privileged guilt? Maybe a little bit of both.

I think it feels weird because it reveals something uncomfortable about travel and privilege, how easy it is to reproduce class divisions and cultural distance, even when we look like the people outside the gate. It reminds me to check myself. To seek out spaces where I’m not just a consumer, but a participant. Where I don’t just eat the food, but understand the stories behind it. Where I listen before I speak. Where I don’t need to perform my worldliness to feel like I belong.

So no, this isn’t a cancellation of the chic café or the co-working space. It’s a reminder that real connection requires more than just aesthetics. It demands presence, humility, and a willingness to step outside the curated comfort zone.

Because travel isn’t just about where you go, it’s about how you show up.