It’s been several months since my
last blog post. In those months, life has carried me on a roller coaster of
experience. One that I could only comprehend the true intensity of until
someone hears my story, sits back, and says, “You just sat the biggest roller
coaster in the park. Not the world, but definitely the park.” But I didn’t
know. I was just in the seat, hurtling around the curves and learning to throw
my hands in air after my initial scream of fear.
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| Canopy Bridges in Kalum National Park |
My work has deepened and grown. My
schedule, while never predictable, at least has settled into a 5:30 am – 9 pm
routine that feels like a concrete foundation under me. As is the nature of
transition and new beginnings, the period of beginning is always tumultuous and
fraught with scrambling moments. Running my Peer to Peer tutoring program,
while training for a management position, while taking time for Twi lessons,
and having the kind of position that made me prioritize the priorities. It’s
the kind the schedule that makes months fly by like hours.
So maybe I have deepened and grown
in response to all these events. Being 24 years old and the Director of
Operations of a small NGO, being responsible for the wellbeing of about 15
staff and volunteers – in all areas of their life – is the kind of
responsibility that one can’t conceptualize until you meet, eat with and sleep
in the same room with the organization that is your prime responsibility.
The last several months have made
me reassess several cornerstones of the question of “why I’m here.” It’s a
question asked to me every day, and I give different answers every day. But
that particular answer – or all 20 – is a blog for another time. For now, the
last several months deserve a triple-take.
In many ways, it’s been the
feeling of standing on the beach. The surf is strong. The sand is being pulled
and sucked from under your feet. With each wave, the retreating force makes
your flail your arms to stay upright, then you wedge your heels into the sand
to regain your foundation and wait for the next wave. You could retreat. Either
into the ocean, or back up the beach, but you don’t. There’s something hypnotic
to rhythm of wave – flail – dig – wait. Wave – flail – dig – wait.
So much of the last few months has
been in transition. In work, I’ve been learning the pulse of our organization.
How it beats, how it rests, and how it alters rhythms. I’ve come into this new
position with a unique perspective. We’re a young organization, with mistakes
and lessons being added to our belt. When something doesn’t go right, “we’re
young” isn’t a justified response anymore. We’ve moved up the ladder in terms
of what we can offer staff, students, and partner organizations. I’m lucky
enough to come on board to help shape that direction. I’m here to firm up the
system and process of the organization. There are growing pains, as our
talented staff pushes our budget and resource capabilities to the limits. But
it’s the kind of behavior that makes the organization stronger, and I’m
incredibly proud that I can be an instrument in the cultivation and implementation
of my staff’s ideas.
I’m also at the point of being in
the first month in my new position. I’m no longer in training. My ideas and
vision for the organization are being heard, considered, and (to my surreal
shock) approved and supported by my managers. My vulnerabilities are
innumerable, but it’s the vulnerabilities that allow me to keep perspective on why I’m here. When the vulnerabilities
vanish, hopefully I’ll still have the presence of mind to check the inevitable
hubris and pretense of character that will arise to replace them.
To highlight my experiences that
have comprised the last several months… I’ll have to resort to a “Top 10 List”.
Upon readers’ requests, these stories can be unpacked in future posts. However,
lined up side by side, I think it’s a more realistic canvas of my 3 month
absence from active blogging.
#1: Competition
A little over a year ago, I was snowshoeing up
the side of Mt Hood in Oregon with my friend Sarah…whose friendship started as
a result of our rival collegiate crew teams. The competitiveness was still
palpable in our relationship, even though we’d gradated. I took fewer breaks
with Sarah. Pushed myself harder. Two former team captains together going up
the side of a mountain don’t admit to weakness. We did, however, frequently
stop to extensively and strategically admire the panoramic view below us.
This flashback occurred to me, a little over a year later, as I took stock of
my fellow staff members – fresh off the plane in Ghana. There’s a very
different kind of competitiveness that ties together a group of new staff. Not
just any new staff, but a staff of several nationalities, with experiences on
many different continents. The question hanging over all of us “can you hack
it,” was palpable in our conversations. Polite conversation, sharing accounts
of life in Senegal, Uganda, Sri Lanka, Colombia, Thailand, Botswana, Peru, Denmark,
Chile, the United States, Puerto Rico and many other places had a subtle
undercurrent of analysis and categorization. This isn’t a competitive
relationship based on physical stamina, but the mental agility and dexterity
needed to thrive far from home.
#2. Mirabella
My dog. Mirabella has proven to be Ground Zero
for a bundle of experiences worth a good story. Whether it’s taking her on
tro-tros, through markets, giving her a basket in the office behind my desk, or
waking up every morning with her nose pressed into my eye socket, Mira has
become a natural part of my life. She has an affinity for shredding (mostly
Scott’s, we can’t figure out this singular attention) prized belongings, and
hoarding pizza crusts in a corner of Nora’s room. She’s gotten big enough to
feasibly stalk the large lizards in the back yard – as opposed to them stalking
her. She can sit, lay down, and comes when she feels like it. I can leave the
gate of the compound open and she’ll studiously guard it against intruders. In
the event of the frequent and sudden monsoon rains, she’ll break into a
dead-out sprint to launch herself onto my bed (even if I’m on it) before the
rain hits. When I first saw her on the morning of my birthday, huddled in the
cardboard box in Prince’s arms, I had no idea how this whole “motherhood” thing
would go. But my little Ghanaian local breed dog and I have worked out quite
the partnership, and the last few months have been a wonder of frustration and
adoration as the bungles her way through our hearts.
#3. Valentine's at Lake Bosumtwe
One weekend my friends and I visited Lake
Bosumtwe, about an hour outside of Kumasi. It was Valentines Day weekend, and
the single ladies of Oduom were going out in force. We arrived at the lake and
negotiated our way past the “tour guides.” We then walked a little over a mile
around one side of the lake in pursuit of the quietest lake-side resort we
could stumble upon. We had a lavish lunch consisting of various plates from
prawns marsala to fried chicken with fresh fries, all paired with blissfully
chilled Cokes. Seeking sun and the company of our books, we wandered down to
the private beach and stretched out on lawn chairs in the sun. Some local boys
knocked coconuts from the trees next to us, and piping yellow and red birds
were bustling around making their nests. On my left, was a sassy Danish
spitfire, on my right was a wise, fiercely intelligent woman from Indiana, and
next to her was a wildly quirky and highly empathetic woman from the Connecticut.
Last year on Valentine’s Day I was sitting alone in my apartment, waiting for
my then-boyfriend to come home. I hate Valentines Day. It’s a fake holiday of
corporate love that exploits the American consciousness into forcing love on everyone.
It alienates single people and falsely glorifies the matched ones. Valentine’s
Day had always been a joke for me, a day to suffer through before I could buy
cheap chocolate on February 15th. But it meant a lot to
then-boyfriend so I made an effort to do something special. I ended up waiting
all night. Then half the next day, until he came home, to have nothing
reciprocated.
And now here I was, stretched in the sun between friends who understood that we
don’t need a national holiday to celebrate each other. Between friends who not
only say we’d drop anything to make
each other happy, but we actually do.
I was in a position directly opposite to where I was last year, and I was
damned happy about it.
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| Paduas, used by local fishmen, on Lake Bosumtwe |
#4. The River God
The moment my toes sank into putrid, bloody,
murky water. The silt immediately wrapped around my toes and I devoutly hoped
that that slippery murk would be the only thing my feet encountered in the
sacred pool. I took exactly three steps across the pool before I stood before
the shaman to request permission to pray, to be heard, on behalf of my sick
friend. “He won’t wake up, he’s sick.” Permission granted, I took part in a
ritual of sacrifice, of prayer, a shot of schnapps. Then the marking on my
face, stomach and back. I stood in the sacred water, scattered with chicken
feathers, my face marked with the putrid, bloody mud and prayed like I had never
prayed before. To no one in particular. To the cosmos in general, for Andrews
to wake up. I didn’t want him to leave like this.
#5. RFP
My ongoing garden ambition has done nothing but
sink under my skin and take root. So to speak. I’ve acquired aloe, an
accidental tomato plant, and marigold. I recently received a package of seeds
from my mom, and I plan to convert our back patio to a seating area ringed with
pots overflowing with fresh herbs and assorted vegetables. I’m resisting the
urge for chickens. I truly am, but it’s a force of will. Fortunately, RFP (see
previous post for full details) is contagious, and one of our new staff members
is as enthusiastic as I am to create and cultivate a more expanded diet.
#6. Solo (kind of) in Togo
I’m nursing a gloriously chilled Coke, on the
beach, under a palm tree. I’m in Togo, solo, for a day. I realized I’ve sunk
easily back into the francophone accent I briefly adopted while living in
Senegal, like that part of me was just under the surface of my consciousness.
It’s amazing how humans can adapt and flip a language switch in their brain to
activate a whole new set of behaviors. I had just successfully crossed the
border by myself, without paying for the visa (not entirely sure how that
happened, but I imagine it was after the “I don’t have a place to stay” kerfuffle
with the immigration officers. A word to the wise: they will be baffled when
you plan to enter their country merely for an afternoon). I left the
immigration office, walked to the nearest hirable motorcycle driver, said,
“that way!” and sped off into Togo. Which sounds dramatic but it takes 45
minutes to cross the entire country going from west to east, so opportunities
for getting lost were pretty slim. I dismounted from the moto at the most
secluded beach bar I could find, and accepted the heavenly Coke from the
waitress. “Bonjour! Comment allez-vous?” My peaceful daydream of other solo
travels was shattered. “Uh, bien, merci…” And it began. The only thing I can
equate it to was involuntary speed dating. After Man #1 left, he was followed
by #2, #3, #4, and #5. My journal sat next to me on the table – beckoning me
with the promise introspection. But the journal didn’t get a word in edge wise.
An hour and a half later I was fed up. I drained my luke-warm Coke, bought a
bag of papaya from a friendly vendor, and escaped the “secluded” beach bar for
the sandy streets of Lome.
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| The "quiet" beach bar, between the involuntary speed dating candidates. |
#7. The Lily under Amadzofe
I was in the Volta Region overseeing a program,
and I took an extra day to go with a couple friends to a waterfall. The Volta
Region is the kind of place I would gladly stay in…forever. The Amedzofe falls
is particularly stunning. The water freefalls nearly 200 feet, pools for a
moment at our picnic site, then throws itself over the edge of a second
200-foot drop-off. It’s a water route that is the only break in dense forest
with vines and giant leaves obscuring the sky. The path itself was so steep
that the local forest ranger hung ropes from trees so hikers can swing their
way down the mountain to the pool. I didn’t think of the consequent assent when
I was swinging joyfully down the slope. It ended up being a hand-over-hand
affair that left our legs on the verge of mutiny. The joy and adventure of the
day was harshly juxtaposed with the day of Andrews’ funeral in the US. A
beautiful, indigenous lily was blooming at the base of the waterfall. We sat
halfway up the waterfall and said nothing, mostly. I remember wishing I could
pluck that lily and put it in Andrews’ hands before his family closed the
coffin lid.
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| View from Amadzofe Falls |
#8. Coming Home
I walked into my neighborhood after a week-long
absence. The concrete and brick walls, tin roofs, chickens scattered around and
dogs in the periphery. In the beginning of the term, the walk from the road to
my house was 15 minutes of steady trekking. Up and over the hill, past the
hospital, cross the train tracks, take a left, then a right, down a small alley
and I was home. 3 months later it easily takes me 45 minutes. Greetings trail
after me as I wind through the neighborhood. I pass my “people.” My “mango”
lady – with the 3 small children and perpetually sleeping husband outside their
shop. My “spot” where we sometimes stop for drinks has a small group of people
anxious to hear how my travels went. The local football field has a mess of
young boys kicking a ball around. I think I’m in the clear until I hear my name
and turn to give a 9 year old a hi-five. My “veggie” lady - who knows exactly
how many tomatoes, onions, and green pepper I want. Last, and longest of all, I
sit on the bench in front of my neighborhood cold store to stock up on the
basics and chat with the neighborhood women. I leave in time to catch a ride
with my neighbor to my front gate. I’m home now.
#9. From E to C
On the last day of the term in April, I had my
final meeting with the Junior High School teachers whose students are in my
peer tutoring group. We’d been meeting all Term. Every Monday at 10 am we
traded teaching material and insight on students. On an A-E class rank (which
is how they divide classes) we discussed my students in the D and E classes. We
became friends. On that last meeting, one of the English teachers, Ama, told me
that three students had improved so much they were moved from the E class to
the C class. From the bottom, to average. I never even had that on my radar as
a possibility. Here I was hoping to improve their basic addition and
subtraction skills, but never thought I would see a jump in class rank. I think
I must have looked like an idiot because I just stared at her. Ama reached
across the table and took my hand, she smiled and her eyes almost disappeared
in laugh lines. “We are very, very proud of what you’ve done with those girls
this term. You should be happy.” I might have closed my mouth then. I’m not
really sure. I don’t remember. I came to Ghana to see impact, change and
development. I didn’t think it would be quite so quantifiable as Portia, Akua,
and Bethany’s success.
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#10. Travel Friends
I
danced around a bon-fire with 4 Pakistani UN Peacekeepers on holiday from their
post in Liberia. All my friends had gone to bed, it was 1 am, the surf of the
Gold Coast crashed in the background. Three Punjabis and a man from Kashmir
insisted I learn the most popular dances of each of the key regions of
Pakistan. We traded stories of travel, of war, of family, of food. Two of them
had served with American soldiers in Afghanistan and were the Pakistani
equivalent of US Marines. They spoke with the weighted eyes of lost friends, of
a brotherhood cultivated in war.
The night spent talking with these men was a night I'll never forget. You never know who you'll meet while traveling. Locals are always fantastic resources and fun to adapt to. Fellow international travelers are equally fascinating. Those of us who travel, really travel, away from tour guides and beaten tourist sites, are all the cultural outliers from home - seeking something else. But every now and then, you meet someone who falls outside of the comfortable, curious, affluent westerner who travels because they're on a quest for self discovery at any cost. This night was special.
So, that’s it…the Top 10 highlights
of four months of life in Ghana. May I stay more connected in the future…
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