a story to be told

I am wearing the same clothes I wore 24 hours ago and I don't really even mind. I haven't slept in the past 24 hours either; Rachel and I made a pact to stay awake all night to watch the sun come up for our last night here. I had a few weak moments, moments where I about dozed off, but I made it!

Around 5:00 am, we headed towards the stadium, a short walk from out hostel, to watch the sun rise.

It was quick.

It wasn't particularly stunning.

But, at the same time, it was.
It's kind of like how Ghana has been, really. It wasn't always incredible on the surface. No, it was the intricate day-to-day experiences that made Ghana one of the most amazing experiences of my life.

But the sunrise was beautiful. And as it peaked over the horizon, it kind of hit me.

Have I been living a dream?

Did this really happen?

Is it really over?

Am I really going back to the United States?

How in the world do I adjust from Africa, from Ghana, to the United States of America?

It doesn't feel real.

It doesn't feel real to be leaving.

We said goodbye to my friend Paula last night, and that was hard.

Tonight, we are leaving Ghana.

My heart will be here forever, part of me will be here forever.

I have letters to finish, bags to pack, goodbyes to share, a few more tro tro rides, and one last cold shower to take.

And then, I will put on my pretty kente dress, with my matching kente bag and headband, and head home.

So many emotions, feelings, thoughts are running through my mind, and I don't really know how to put them together. One moment tears are ready to sprawl from my eyes, and another I can't help but laugh at every single thing because I am so giddy.

I guess I can be sure of one thing: this was a life-changing experience. I feel like the luckiest girl in the whole world to have lived in Ghana for 5 months. I've learnt more than you can possibly imagine, loved more than I possibly could, and laughed a ton along the way.

I couldn't have asked for anything better.

Ghana will be intricately woven into my story for the rest of my life.

There are many stories to be told, many experiences, that somehow are now part of my own story and that I look forward to sharing. 

That's a really beautiful, rare, amazing, and incredible thing.

Saying goodbye to Paula at the Accra airport

Gloria, Salem, and Rukia holding pictures of my family and friends from home. They each picked out a picture they wanted to keep. In a way, my family here can know my family at home.

These kids make me SO happy.

Beautiful Gloria, this is only the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Our last sunrise in Africa.

Hope Does Not Disappoint Us

It’s funny how you can literally feel hope leaving your body.

Your body tenses up. You want nothing more than to retreat into a state of apathy. You sigh. You feel utterly helpless.

It seems easier to turn away and create some distance from the situation. Scratch that.

It is easier.

Giving up though has never been an option for me.

Last week, with everything happening with the kids at Kissemahn, I was exhausted. I was so drained, and just so tired. I wanted desperately to understand the situation better, to know perfectly well what we could do to help, and more than anything, I wanted the kids to be okay.

When you realize your own limitations though, it’s hard not to want to remove yourself entirely. I almost reached that point. I was on the edge of wanting to call it quits; I was thinking that there was NOTHING I could do to help. I figured that this was above and beyond my understanding and that being the hero of this situation was not only grossly off the mark, but quite frankly, inappropriate. How dare we come into a community assuming we have the answers, assuming we could make things right.

Much of this, I believe is right. I still believe that this is beyond my understanding and that we can’t be the heroes and end all of the pain in this community. It realistically just can’t happen.

So, I prayed. A lot.

I think I got my answer today, as Rachel and I had some quiet meditation in the courtyard of our hostel. I found a little piece of affirmation. I reflected on the past week I had at Kissemahn—making a solar system with the kids, spending time with Rukia, walking around Christian Village, and teaching, really teaching—and realized that the last thing I can do, or want to do, is to retreat away from this community. Yes, I want the community to work on solving these serious issues, even seeking our help when appropriate, but the best thing that WE can do is to just continue to support these kids. Even more than that, support them by believing. We have to believe that problems like this may never fully disappear, but that with hope God will provide. It’s not simple. But, in some ways, it kind of is.

Hope does not disappoint us.

I read this from Romans 5:1-5 and made this my prayer today.

When the girls from Kissemahn came over today—Gloria, Akos, Rukia, Maame, Margaret, and Sala—I repeated this in my head. Hope does not disappoint us. Today, we painted the girls’ nails, danced to our favorite Ghanaian music, ate a ridiculous amount of jollof, chicken, and egg at the night market, let the girls shower at our hostel, and tried to chat with the girls about boys. We tried to gauge an understanding about what they know about boys and babies, just to see if they even understand that rape is a bad thing. We made a little progress, not very much in the grand scheme of things, but it’s the first step in trying to help these girls, I think. We came back after taking the girls back to their homes and I was just so tired.

But, I was hopeful, which means a lot to me these days.

I am hopeful that the girls will be okay, I am hopeful that the girls will one day be educated and can do big things in their lives, and I am hopeful that these girls will one day understand how loved and wonderful they are. Yes, tonight I will go to bed hopeful, a feeling I have been missing and needing this entire week.

Hope does not disappoint us.

It’s true. I know it’s true because I have lived that while I have been in Ghana. I came to this country, hoping to have my eyes opened, hoping to understand a totally different way of living, and hoping to embrace this journey as much as I could. Everything has been exceeded. I came to Ghana, carrying only 2 suitcases and a backpack, with lots of questions, assumptions, and worry. Here I am, with a month left to go, realizing that I am not that same girl who stepped off that plane into the intense and humid African heat. It’s a good thing, really. I have gotten used to everything here, and with that, comes change. The weird things that I found the first month or so here are just a part of everyday life. I say “no shakin”, I snap my fingers with the other person when greeting someone with a handshake, I run even more late to things and never worry because there seems to be an unspoken adherence to “Ghana time”, and I will even test my Twi abilities with people in the market by speaking one of my four go-to phrases. You know, your basic “Ete sen?” (how are you?) or “Medasse” (Thank you). I’m not very good, but I will certainly try.

More so though, I have spent a lot of time thinking about why I do things I do, and why I want to do the things I do later in my life. I think about what really matters, honestly. I think about the painful things I have witnessed, and wonder if such a thing as justice really does exist. I question what I have spent my entire life believing in. I try and understand more about the place I come from, a place that I think I have come to understand a little better since being away. I don’t know, but being here in Africa has encouraged me to ask the hard, difficult, painful questions. I don’t really have a lot of answers, at least fully developed answers, but when I reflect on being in Africa months and years from now, who knows what I might find.

Yes, in many ways, this place has become a home to me. Catching tro-tros, eating mango, sitting in the hostel for hours talking to my friends, and living without air conditioning has become a part of the routine here. It’s become comfortable. I hoped for that when I stepped on the plane to leave Denver back in January, a few short days after turning 21. I hoped to find a home. I did.

Hope does not disappoint us.

Rukia playing field hockey

Hanging with the kids, getting ready to watch The Lion King

Kissemahn--Salem, Gosway, and Forgive

Gosway

Red, Gold, Green, Ghana Colors

My heart is all over the world tonight

Let your face shine on your servant; save me in your unfailing love. Psalm 31: 16

We are all feeling it here in Ghana.

We are all just finding this week a little difficult.

I can't exactly pinpoint why it's been especially hard this week. I can't tell you why I feel the way I do. It's just been hard.

I wouldn't say I am homesick. I mean, I do miss my home. I miss my family, I miss my friends, and I miss America. But, by no means am I ready to go home. I think because I am officially half way through this experience, the "honeymoon" period is over, and I am starting to fully adjust to living here. I want to fully embrace that, but it's hard to be vulnerable and attach myself here when I know it's temporary. I think I might be afraid too, because I know I'm attached, and I'm afraid of how it will feel to leave.

But you know what?

I just can't be afraid. I can't keep how I feel inside, because that just isn't me. I've always worn my heart on my sleeve, and I don't want to miss on being vulnerable because I'm scared. There is just so much more to living in Ghana than that.

Maybe this week has been hard because the emotion is finally catching up with me.

I'm burnt, I'm worried about the Kissemahn kids, I am disappointed that we can't spend time in Togo because of the riots, I want nothing more than a hot cup of coffee, I am frustrated with how my classes have been going, and I wish to see the faces of people I love. I've been more negative this week than I usually ever am. I had to end class in Kissemahn early on Tuesday because I was practically in tears. I was teaching all alone, the kids were fighting, and I felt like it was completely out of control. I felt like a failure, here I was, trying to teach, and in over 2 hours I barely helped the kids learn anything at all. I try so hard to find the positive in everything. Yet, this week I felt only exasperated, anxious, and stressed by the end of the week. It hasn't been a good feeling, and I absolutely dislike negativity. It's an emotion that sucks you in so easily and then proceeds to take you absolutely nowhere. Negativity is not what I, nor anybody else needs right now.

This is Africa. And that's a beautiful thing.

It hit me today after we were leaving the Accra mall and attempting to catch a tro back home to Legon. We looked ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. The mates usually scream out the window where they are headed, but instead today they barely muttered the direction of their tro. That left me, Taylor, and Rachel running around like idiots. It took us well over 30 minutes to catch one home, and we were laughing the whole time. It was what I needed. A moment to ground me. To help me relax. After all, this is Ghana. At the end of the day, I can't have what I want. Nor do I need what I want. I am here to experience this place, this wonderful country.

After this, and talking to my best friend over skype last night I have been feeling better today. No, I'm not leaping for joy. But that's okay. I've realized I don't have to be shouting, laughing loudly, and being obnoxious to be happy. I can be content. I can be working through the challenges, doing the best I can, and still be happy.

I've taken a leap already, just by coming here. I thought about this earlier in the week at Kokrobite Beach. The sand, the people, the sun, it was just a genuinely pretty day. I felt so lucky, and I knew, somehow, that I was going to be challenged the upcoming week. I was.

Now, it's about what I do with that. I can certainly be negative and allow that to seep deeply into this experience. Or, I can learn from it, embrace it, and take every moment of being in Ghana as a gift. Few people get an opportunity like this. I took the jump. And it's okay if I fall. I can get right back up.

Michelle told me,

"That peace is God, and I know it is still inside of you, and I know it is SO hard to feel God sometimes. I know he feels SO far away sometimes and you wonder how you can ever pray or feel close again, but I just want you to know that he is inside of you and he's not going anywhere and he's with you and he's always been with you and every step you take in Ghana he is in your heart."

Thank you for being by my side. Thank you to my friends, my family, to everyone for just loving me. I know I'm going to be okay.