All with a Bar of Soap

“Grace, where’s the dish soap?  There’s only hand soap here.”

“Oh you can use it!”

“The hand soap…?”

“Yeah.  It works.”

In my household in Ghana, soap is soap.  You use the same bar of soap for washing dishes, doing laundry, washing yourself, mopping the floor and anything else that needs to be cleaned.  At first, this was very confusing to me.  I knew from experience that if you used laundry detergent in the dishwasher, it makes a mess.  I guess specialty soap only applies to machines, because it’s been a good eight months now and everything is still pretty clean.

Dishes:  The soap should be placed in a cup with a wet sponge rag.  Rinse the dish with water, rub the sponge rag on the soap and scrub the dish.  Rinse all the soap off, dry the dish and put it away.

My host sister doing her washing

Laundry:  Fill one bucket halfway with water (Bucket 1) and another ¾ full (Bucket 2).  Put the clothes in Bucket 1 and move them around until they’re nice and soaked.  Drop the bar of soap in the same bucket and move the clothes around again until the water’s a little sudsy.  Find the bar of soap and the first thing you want to wash.  Rub the soap on the dirtiest areas and main surface areas.  Put the soap back in the bucket.  Clenching the material in both hands, rub vigorously.  Do this until the whole clothing item is clean.  Then ring it out, and place it in Bucket 2.  Bucket 2 is for rinsing.  After washing everything else, rinse everything.  If you want, empty Bucket 1 and use it as a second rinse bucket.  After you rinse everything, ring it out and hang it on the line.

Mopping the Floor: Put the bar of soap in a bucket and fill it with water.  Stir it around with the mop until the water gets sudsy.  Mop away!

I feel like everything is pretty clean still.  I’ll probably have a major adjustment to make when I can’t use one kind of soap for everything back in the States.  Oh well.

Judge a Book by Its Cover. Then Read It Anyway.

“Ama, I pegged you wrong.  I guess I usually peg girls like you wrong and it didn’t help that you’re a white…but you were nothing like I thought you’d be.”

At every one of the many orientations that were required before coming to Ghana, the question consistently asked was, “What are your expectations?”

To which I would always reply, “I don’t think I really have any.  I expect it to be hard.  I expect it to be different.  Besides that, I can’t really say.”

It was a lie.

I didn’t know it was a lie when I said it, but now I know it was a lie.  I think as humans we all have some kind of expectations for everything we encounter – it’s in our very nature.  We make judgments based on our past experience and prepare ourselves accordingly.  That’s why we lower our heads when we hear someone yell “Duck!” and not immediately search for a waddling bird.  We need to make judgments every day of our lives, but that shouldn’t stop us from looking at other alternatives.  Look at it this way: if a ball doesn’t fly over your head, there may be a web-footed friend nearby.

Experience:
In places where the sun shines a lot, sunscreen is sold there.
Expectation:
Sunscreen will be sold in Ghana.
Lesson Learned:
Places that have a majority of people whose skin doesn’t burn do not have a demand for sunscreen and it isn’t sold.  Do not take the sunscreen out of your checked luggage because it’s heavy and you’d rather take Nutella.

Experience:
Dairy is a major component of the food pyramid and therefore dairy products are abundant everywhere.
Expectation:
There will be milk and cheese in Ghana.
Lesson Learned:
The food pyramid is used in America – not every country in the world adheres to its counsels.  Milk and cheese are not abundant in every part of the world.

Experience:
Being called fat is an insult.  Weight is a sensitive topic.
Expectation:
People wouldn’t talk THAT much about my weight or get excited when I gain a little or worried when I lose a little.  (I was told being fat was beautiful in Ghana, but I didn’t think it would be so blatant.)
Lesson Learned:
Beauty is something unique to every culture.  Don’t be offended when a stranger comes up to you and happily says, “You’re nice and fat!”  She has the best intentions.

Experience:
Most foods are meant to be eaten with utensils.
Expectation:
Most people eat the majority of their food with a fork, knife and/or spoon.
Lesson Learned:
You can eat anything, including soup, with your hands.

Experience:
I had always fit in nicely with my community.  I didn’t stand out in any particular way.
Expectation:
I’ll be in the minority.  It’ll take time to get used to, but I’ll find my place and it’ll seem normal.
Lesson Learned:
Being in the minority is never easy and while I found a way to cope with it, having everyone call out the color of my skin does not ever seem normal.

Once I was talking to an exchange student who was on the verge of leaving.  She was in tears -- living in Ghana is really hard.  Don’t let anyone trick you into thinking otherwise.  I asked her why she came.  Wasn’t she happy back home?  Why did she want to leave that to come to a developing nation?  Did she think things would be better here?  Her response:  “I guess I expected to be happier here.”

I talked to this girl before we had come.  She said she had no expectations.  She did though and Ghana did not meet her expectations.

The trick to expecting things is to not let disappointment overcome whatever good can be found.  Expect whatever you like on whatever basis you want, but expect your expectation to never be completely accurate.  Don’t let that discourage you.

Judge a book by its cover.  Read it.  Learn from it.  Tell a friend what you learned.   

On the Court

"I wish I was a little bit taller.  I wish I was a baller..."

--Skee Lo

Being white in Ghana means I’m always the foreigner. I can learn the language, know all the customs, dress in all the local styles and go to school with them, but the color of my skin is too bright to be overshadowed by any of these. For a long time I felt like this was stopping me from integrating at all; wherever I went, Obruni, the Fante word for foreigner, was shouted around me.

At first, being placed on the basketball team didn’t seem to change any of this. The coaches were excited to have me because I was one of two players on the team who had any previous experience. The other girls were interested, like everyone always is, but that’s where it ended.

As the season went on, we got better and better and we all became more and more comfortable with each other too. Basketball practice was something I looked forward to every weekend. We were winning every game. Other schools started noticing me and I began making friends who were interested in getting to know me for a reason other than my race.

After taking first in Central Region, we had a team meeting. While we waited for the Sports Master (the Ghanaian equivalent of an Athletic Director) to arrive, everyone started talking to each other. The conversation was in Fante, so I didn’t have much to contribute. I turned my head though when I heard “…yɛ obruni.”

Joana, the team captain noticed. “Oh! Did you think we were talking about you? You’re not obruni. You’re Lisa.”

We went on to the National Tournament and took second. Those words were worth more than the prize money or any certificate to me though. I was a part of the team. I was no longer a foreigner.

Thoughts from the Mat

“Thank you is for weak people. I’m doing this because I can. I don’t need gratitude.” 

--Ahmad 

I spent Easter weekend in the Eastern Region for a festival taking place in the Nkawkaw/Kwahu area. Laura, an exchange student from Belgium, lives there and her host family graciously allowed seven of us to stay there. 

On Saturday night we went out to a “street carnival” where there was a lot of music, food, drinking, and dancing. We stayed out until a little after 11 and then decided to come home. We were out with Laura’s host brother, Ahmad; he had wanted to stay until early the next morning, but with some convincing he came with us. 

When we arrived at the *compound, Laura’s house was locked. She had the key, but her host mom or dad had used the deadbolt from the inside. It was late, we were tired, and we didn’t have any beds. Laura, in desperation, went to her brother’s house and asked him what she should do. Ahmad and I had become friends during the festivities and he called me over as they were talking. 

Ahmad’s room was small and had only a mattress in the middle of the floor, a suitcase full of clothes in the corner and an ironing board pushed against the wall. He asked me if he pushed the mattress against the wall, laid a mat on the floor and gathered up his things, would it be possible for the seven of us to sleep there. He would sleep on the floor in Ishmael, his brother’s room. Laura would sleep on one of those sun reflectors that are used in car windows. He was so nervous in asking me – almost as if he were sure I would say it was beneath me. 

In reality, I was touched. He gave up his room and bed for a group of exchange students locked out of the house. I told him that it would be perfect and that it was so kind of him. Laura and I helped him get everything arranged and I was sent to tell the others. 

They weren’t happy about it, but they all agreed. We fit four on the mattress and two girls and I took the mat. Ahmad came in one last time asking if everything was okay. I thanked him profusely for the sacrifice he had made. He refused my thanks, and went to bed. 

I didn’t sleep that night, but it will forever remain a night I will look to with gratitude toward a person I had only met that day. 

*Compound Homes are common in Ghana. One family will build separate houses all facing each other. It creates sort of a courtyard. They are ideal because a tradition of extended families living together still stands here.

Meanwhile...in the Kitchen

“Ah! I just really burnt my hand.  Lisa, it really hurts.” 

*Sammy curls up in the fetal position on the kitchen floor*

“OH.  Okay.  Um…here.”

*Lisa drags Sammy across the kitchen floor, sticks Sammy’s hand in the freezer and finishes cooking the egg Sammy started making*

Cooking has always been a bit of an adventure for me.  Cooking in Ghana is about ten times the adventure.  Cooking in Ghana with Samantha Myette is an indescribable experience.  We have no measuring cups, spatulas, can openers, or a microwave.  (Actually we have a microwave, but my host family didn’t know how to use it when they got it and it is therefore used as a cupboard.  You can find tins of milk, powder mixes, spaghetti noodles, and various photographs inside.)  The gas stove is a little scary (I burn my hand more often than not lighting it) and only the largest frying pan has a handle. 

Lessons learned from the kitchen:

1. Milo (a kind of chocolate drink powder) is a great mix-in for porridge.  I make excellent koko (porridge made from maize dough, water, and groundnut paste/peanut butter) and one morning I was really craving a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup.  Since none were available, I decided to add Milo to my koko.  It was delicious.
2. Cocoa beans come from a fruit.  One day my host mom gave me a big yellow fruit about the size and shape of a football and tells me it’s cocoa.  Sammy and I were both dubious because it didn’t smell like chocolate at all, but we decided to give it a try anyway.  After hacking at it with a knife for a while (it was surprisingly difficult to open), we split it.  Inside there was white fruit surrounding a lot of seeds.  It turns out cocoa beans are not beans at all, but seeds from the cocoa fruit.  The fruit tastes nothing like chocolate, but is still quite good.  We laid the seeds out on the roof of the chicken coop to dry out and are planning to make our own cocoa powder. 
3. Fruit Slice Ninja is a lot harder to play in real life.  We cut up all the hard peels (banana, plantain, cocoa, cassava, etc.) into small pieces and feed them to the goats.  Sammy had this great idea to play Fruit Slice Ninja instead of just sitting around and cutting it up like usual.  Neither of us were very good at it.  It was probably because we were using kitchen knives instead of a specialized fruit slicing Japanese sword.
4. Indomie Noodles (the Ghanaian version of Top Ramen) fried in egg with onion and pepper is good.  One day Sammy turned to me and said, “I think we should fry this Indomie.”To which I replied, “Okay.  But let’s fry it in egg.  Because then it will be like eggy noodles.”She said, “Should we add onion and pepper too?  And have a side of fried plantain?”I agreed and I’m glad I did.
5. If you can’t cook the brownie batter your mom sent you in America because you don’t have an oven that works very well or baking pans, using the batter as bread dip is a good alternative.  I don’t think this needs any further explanation.

As you can see, we’re going to make a great team on the next season of Iron Chef when we return to the States.

If You'd Rather Not Walk...

*car horn*
“Obruni, eroko ehen?”  White person, where are you going?
“Moroko Moree Junction.”  I’m going to Moree Junction.
“Bra!  Bra!”  Come! Come!

Getting around in Ghana is fun.  You can get pretty much go anywhere you like around town for under 2 cedi (equivalent to 1 USD).  You have three valid options for getting to where you need to go:  trotro, share taxi, dropping taxi.  Each has its own little quirks.

Trotro:  Trotros are big 10-15 passenger vans with a sliding door.  It’s the cheapest form of transportation and the most exciting.  Every trotro has a mate who is responsible for getting passengers, notifying the driver when to stop, collecting everyone’s fare, and quickly moving passengers in and out of the trotro.  The mate sits first row directly behind the passenger seat by the driver.  They keep their head out the window and call out the trotro’s route or do the hand signal.  If someone on the side of the road signals or calls to take the trotro, the mate bangs on the door to stop the driver.  The passenger is then hurried into the van and the process starts over.  To get from my house to town by trotro is 70 pesewas (35 cents).  Things get interesting when the trotro can’t stop where you are because the police are monitoring (and that part of the road is zoned for no stopping) so you have to run to keep up with the trotro and jump in when they feel they’re far enough from the police not to be caught.

Share Taxi:  Share taxis are a little more expensive than a trotro and generally much more straight forward and less stressful.  Share taxis are normal four passenger (five including the driver) cabs that drive a specific route and like a trotro, pick up passengers anywhere along the way.  The driver will put out his hand in a way that means, “Where are you going?  Do you want to take a car?”  To pick a car, you signal where you’re going and the driver will stop if he’s going to the same place.  Make sure you double check where the car is headed and if the car is empty, that the driver understands you want a share taxi and not dropping.  To take a share taxi from my house to town is 1 cedi (50 cents). 

Dropping Taxi:  If you’re nervous about one of those two, have a lot of cash on hand, in a hurry, and/or going someplace not on a trotro or taxi route, you can take a dropping taxi.  You signal you want a dropping taxi by repeatedly pointing at the ground in front of you.  If a cab is empty, the driver will stop and you begin negotiations.  You tell him where you’re going and ask him how much he’ll charge.  Around Cape Coast, you shouldn’t pay more than 5 cedis ($2.50).  If it’s obvious you are a foreigner, he’ll quote you something around 10 cedis.  Just laugh and tell him you’ll give him three and then settle on four or five.  Bargaining in Ghana isn’t contentious and you shouldn’t make it so.  From there it’s just like a normal taxi you’d take in the states.  They’ll take you exactly where you’re going and you pay them what you agreed.

That will get you around locally.  You can also take a trotro for long distance for pretty cheap.  From Cape Coast to Accra it’s 9 or 10 cedis ($5).  If you want to pay 13 cedis ($6.50) you can take a Ford car which is similar to a trotro, except a little roomier, in better condition, air conditioned and a bit faster.  They also always happen to be made by Ford.  You can also take the MMT (Metro Mass Transit) which is like a Greyhound bus.  I’ve never taken it, but I’ve generally heard positive things.

Driving in Ghana is something else altogether.  Speed limits are not taken seriously and if you know you can go faster than the car in front of you, you are welcome to drive in the other lane (keep in mind 90% of the roads in Ghana are two lanes, so you’re driving in the lane of oncoming traffic) and pass them.  Drivers brake fast and start faster.  People honk not to express annoyance or fear, but just to let everyone know that they’re there.  If you’re going around a blind corner or not sure if someone sees you as they are turning, just give your horn a tap.  Trotro and taxi drivers also honk to let you know they have room.  If you’re crossing the street and a car is coming, they’ll honk to let you know you should move or you’ll be smashed (because in Ghana, cars have the right of way). 

And that’s transportation for you.

School Life

"We will beat the Form Ones when they come.”

“What?  That’s sounds terrible.  Why would you do that?”

“Oh, no it’s not.  The Seniors did it to us when we came.  It’s nice.”

“Nice?  I don’t get you.”

“When you go back home, you have to have stories to tell to your friends.  It’s School Life.”

In my school uniform

I’ve been a student at Aggrey Memorial A.M.E. Zion Senior High School for about a month now and really enjoyed it for the most part.  It’s a three year high school and I was placed in Form 2 (second year).  This placement wasn’t so much based on my academic ability, but rather out of practicality.  The Form Ones started much later than everyone else and have all sorts of restrictions for a while since they’re brand new and the Form Threes spend the last half of the year preparing to take their final exams (WASSCE).  So I’m in Form Two.  For the most part, I’m miles, or should I say kilometers, ahead of my class.  This is actually a very positive thing because it means I can forget about the subjects I’ve already covered and just focus on the newer subjects like Fante and such. 

I’m learning what School Life really means.  It’s often referred to and I’m slowly piecing it together.  I’m mostly excluded from it because I don’t live in the boarding house, but I can give you a small idea. 

School Life involves going to bed around midnight and waking up around 3:30 in the morning because you’re sharing a bathhouse and ironing board with about 150 other students. 

School Life is learning from your School Mother or Father and being disciplined by them. 

School Life is trying to live like a teenager while still giving the faculty the impression you’re following all the rules. 

On your birthday, School Life is getting mixtures poured on you or your bed and having everyone give you a friendly beating.  (When I learned about this one, I could hear my brother’s voice chiming in, “It’s a love pat!”) 

A group of Aggrey students at the
 basketball tournament

School Life is going for morning prep at 5:30 and evening prep at 6:30.

And because this is School Life, the students embrace it.  Otherwise, what stories would you have to tell?

Me Ka Fante Kakra

I speak a little Fante

“Lisa Ama!”
“Yes Mum?”
“Lisa Ama!”
“Yes Mum!?”
“Lisa Ama!”
“Mereba!”  I’m Coming
*Lots of laughter*

So my Fante is coming along -- slower than convenient, but quick enough to not be discouraging.  A couple days ago Sammy and I met up and took a taxi into town.  It dropped us at central town and my mum’s laundry shop, our final destination, was a little farther from there.  We decided it was close enough though to not take another taxi, so we did what anyone who isn’t a boy scout would do: we asked directions. 

“Me pa wo kyew, Wiseway Cleaners ewohenfa?”  Please, where is Wiseway Cleaners?

Usually this was met with a laugh or a smile and then they would give us directions in English.  Occasionally though, the person didn’t think twice and started pointing and talking in Fante.  The trouble is, I don’t know the Fante words left and right yet…so I just gave a nervous smile and nodded.

“Me daase.”  Thank you

Another tricky thing about Fante is that it’s tonal.  Since I have never spoken a tonal language, two words which sound exactly the same mean completely different things.  The most frequent trouble I have with this is when I’m studying or reading for my classes back home and someone asks me, “Ere suasi?”  Are you learning?

Me re suasi -- Me re soasi

 “Me re soasi.”  I am carrying something on my head.

The only time this didn’t cause me trouble was when I actually did learn to carry something on my head.

Pounding the Fufu

“When you pound the Fufu, the plantain and the cassava mix together and cannot be separated.  That’s how it will be.  Our culture and your culture will mix to make Fufu.”

--Dad Joseph

I’ve now been in Ghana for just over one week.  I’ve been with my new family for just under one week.  Ghana is such a beautiful country—not only because of the scenery, but because of the culture.  When Edmond and Sandi, two AFS volunteers, dropped me off last Tuesday my new mother ran out to meet me with open arms.  “Akwaaba. You are welcome,” she said.

That’s how everyone is here.  I’ve never felt more sincere interest and concern from so many people as I have in my short time here. 

At Orientation in New York.
Left to right:  Sammy, Allie, Me,
Avery (our cultural resource), Audrey,
Imani, Lauren

Orientation was a good segway into my new life here.  It was ran by AFS volunteers and returnees and although most of the information was again repeated from our other orientations, it was good to hear it from the perspective of Ghanaians.  It also gave us a chance to really bond as a group.  I knew the other Americans: Sammy, Allie, Audrey, Lauren and Imani, but I also became good friends with the six Belgians and two French exchange students.  The day we went to meet our host families was bittersweet.  All of us were excited to meet our host families, but saying goodbye to each other was hard.

My host mom and my two host sisters

My family is wonderful though.  They let me jump right into life and try to help in any way they can.  Grace, my 12 year old sister, asked me to teach her Spanish, to which I happily agreed to do in exchange for Fante lessons.  (English may be the official language, but it’s not the spoken language.)  Mom, Dad, and I get along great.  I’m pretty sure we understand each other better every day.  Gladys, my four year old sister, thinks it’s so funny that she has an obruni (white person/foreigner) sister now.  She laughs about it all the time.  Yesterday she was stomping around the house yelling, “Sister Lisa! Sister Lisa!”  It’s hard to have a conversation with her though as her English isn’t very good yet and neither is my Fante.  We’re both learning.

My host sister (Gladys) and I

Everything is well.  A few days ago I got very homesick and it upset the whole household.  But I explained to them that nothing was wrong, I just missed home very much.  I think they got it in the end.  Mom Kate kept saying, “I know.  It’s natural.  It’s natural.”  She spent some time in the Ivory Coast so she knew a little what it was like. 

Since then up to this very moment, I’ve been very happy.  I’m adjusting to the different style of life and the family dynamic.  I’m working with my contact person to figure out when I’ll be starting school.  I’m taking it one day at a time and am grateful every day for the opportunity I was given to live here for this short time.

Pounding the Fufu on Sunday

The plantain and the cassava is mixing together to create a new kind of Fufu.

Here and There

Today I received the email I've been waiting for since April.  My host family information came just shy of one week before departure.  

My host family information

This was all that was sent to me.  My mind is running rampant with different scenarios of how next year will play out.  It will be a drastic change.

• Here, I have not once worked on a farm.*
  There, I might be living on one.
• Here, I am the youngest of seven.
  There, I'll be the oldest of three.
• Here, I live eleven and a half hours away from the ocean.
  There, I'll be on the coast.  

But I honestly couldn't be happier.  It's like finding out Santa Claus is real.
Ghana.  Cape Coast.  The Egyir Family.  8 days.  

8 days.

*I vaguely remember visiting a farm for a class field trip in the first grade.  I think I might have milked a cow.

It Wasn't the Orient...

...but rather orientation.  National Pre-Departure Orientation (the PDO as we so affectionately call it) was just this last week in Washington D.C.  

After a 5 hour flight I had finally landed.  Brianna (another student from Utah) and I got off the plane to meet up with the rest of the group.  We were all shuttled to the 4-H Center where we received our room assignments, a T-shirt, a tote bag and the official agenda for the next four days.  

Somewhere during my travels, my jeans had ripped.  I'm not usually one to be prepared, but by some form of inspiration I had packed a mending kit and so I spent the couple hours we had before the opening meeting repairing the slit.  I'm no seamstress, but it held and I was pretty happy.  (This really had nothing to do with orientation, but it was probably one of my finer accomplishments of the week...so I'm including it anyway.)

    o-ri-ent
      [v. ohr-ee-ent]
    to familiarize (a person) with new surroundings or circumstances, or the like

The purpose of the PDO was just that.  There are 65 of us.  We're placed among ten different countries.  Each country group was assigned a group leader who had recently returned from the country we were placed.  Logan was ours.  He was fantastic.  He was so open and honest about the culture and his experience in Ghana -- he was the most helpful person I've yet to talk to.

Lauren, Logan and Lisa
Logan was the group leader for  Ghana.

 Most of the PDO was spent with our group.  Someone from one of the implementing organizations (American Councils, AFS, Amideast) led a general discussion that we would discuss in context of our country specifically at the end.  We talked about every topic from how to be an effective ambassador, cultural norms, and health and safety.

The highlight of the PDO was our visit to the Ghanaian Embassy, the State Department and Lincoln Memorial. We met up with Ghanaian students who had spent this last school year in the US on the YES program.  They were all so friendly and so excited we were going to Ghana.  On the bus, Anyass (one of the Ghanaian students) turned to me and asked where in Ghana I'd be staying. I told him I didn't have a host family yet, to which he replied, "Oh don't worry! My family will host you.  I will take care of you!"

The YES students from Ghana and the YES Abroad
students going to Ghana outside the
Ghanaian Embassy.

He was joking...I think.

The Ghanaian Embassy was such an amazing experience.  We were served a traditional Ghanaian meal, which was delicious, but I could not even nearly finish.  I was surrounded by people who were so eager to help and answer all my questions.  And the ambassador was much more warm and relaxed than I had expected.  He insisted on us staying seated when he entered and as we introduced ourselves.  He'd laugh and make a joke here and there throughout the afternoon. Honestly, it felt more like a really big family dinner than anything else.

Afterward, we visited the State Department and listened to the man who started the YES program ten years ago speak to us.  He was such a charismatic and insightful speaker, which was also a surprise to me.  Perhaps I need to break down my stereotype of government officials. 

The YES Abroad group in front of the Lincoln Memorial

To top the day off, we visited the Lincoln Memorial and saw the reflecting pool.  Again, such a cool experience.  There I was, actually in the place I've seen so many pictures of.
  
 
The next day was filled with the orientation workshops and Saturday we all returned home.  

Well, not all of us.  The Thailand and India groups stayed in DC for another couple days for their Gateway Orientation and then they left for their host countries.  I leave in two months.  The time will go by so slowly in some regards, but so quickly in others.

The Countdown

When I was younger I began multiple tunnels in my backyard thinking that one of them would eventually lead to either China or Africa, depending on how straight of a tunnel I could dig.  Throwing dirt about with a plastic shovel meant for a sandbox was not only very ineffective, but also very tiring and my quest was abandoned.  A tunnel could not get me there, a written application and a couple of interviews would.

September 3rd.  I leave my home in 92 days for almost a year.  People ask me every day if I'm nervous or scared or excited or almost any other emotion, and the answer is yes.  Yes, I am all these things.  I'm also ready.  I'm ready to be thrown into a new culture with a new family, thinking I know so much and feel as though I don't know anything.  I'm ready to love the people of Ghana and make it my second home.  I'm ready to open this new chapter of my life.

Saying goodbye.  I'm seeing so many people for the last time before I go.  It's not an easy thing.  While I don't see my siblings much during the year since they all live in different states, leaving the country seems different.  I won't be there for Thanksgiving in San Francisco.  I probably won't be there for my sister's wedding.  I'll miss so much.  I'll have gained so much, but life will still go on here.  I can't change that.

So I make the most of every moment I have.  I saw my brother get his PhD from Harvard last week.  I'm flying to San Francisco on Wednesday.  I'm incredibly happy.  Every moment is *bittersweet.

92 days.

*Speaking of bittersweet, for my brother's birthday we all took little tablets which had extracts from a berry local to West Africa which made every bitter thing sweet.  Oh the analogies...