#pcghana

2/1/2018

I recently completed my first mural at site, and while I'm no Michelangelo, I can't help but be rather impressed with myself. Up until this point I hadn't picked up a paintbrush and earnestly painted in almost a decade. I've always considered myself artistically inclined, but once I reached my mid-teens, I realized that art school was an expensive pipe dream. I didn't have the money to buy art supplies like canvases, acrylics, or oils to pursue it as a hobby, and to be completely candid, I didn't think I had enough natural talent or raw passion to justify spending money on things like that. This might not be the greatest choice of words, but I felt exonerated from the confines of my own self-doubt with the completion of my WATSAN (water and sanitation) mural.

Had I known how easy, fun, and effective murals could be, I would have done them sooner, but that wasn't the only thing I didn't know! I figured I'd share some choice tips for folks who are planning or contemplating painting their own mural. Mind y'all—this is for a Peace Corps mural. Meaning: I'm not a muralist or a painter, and your mural doesn't have to be the next Hitchcock's The Anunciation... but much like, The Anunciation, your painting needs to convey something, quite literally.

1. Layers. Like hair, layers on a mural are your friend. They can create depth; they will be vital in making your colors look more vibrant, especially if you're not working on a white wall. You're going to need a lot of layers to fix mistakes—of which you will make plenty—and establish an even color to discern certain shapes and forms.

2. Get all the right materials. Make sure you have everything before you start, or else you'll be kicking yourself

Plastic bottles. You can cut them in half to maximize your number of paint mixing receptacles. If you do, add poly bags and rubber bands to your list of things to get!

Sunscreen. I usually tan, but I still put sunscreen on sometimes. You'll be in the sun a lot, so protect your largest organ! And wear a hat!

Good paintbrushes. “Good” paintbrushes can be tricky depending on where you live and what's available to you. Skip the big painter's brushes unless you're white-washing the wall. I have a preference for flat brushes for cleaner lines, while pointed brushes are ideal for detail work. But really, any brush that doesn't have a lot of bristle fall-out is a winner.

Oil paints only. Acrylic paint will fade and chip in the hot equatorial sun over time. Oils may be more expensive, but they last longer. You only really need the primary colors and black: red, yellow, blue, and white. If you don't need that much paint, you can buy it “by the can.” It's not as cost effective as buying it in bulk, but it's cheaper in the short term and might also save you the trouble of figuring how to finish gallons of different colored paint after you're done.

Paint thinner, preferably turpentine. You'll need paint thinner because oil paint is one thick, gloopy mess. It's also a necessity to keep your paintbrushes in working order. If you can't find turpentine in your market town, petrol will work just as well, but in my experience, petrol's fumes are a lot more potent. Turpentine can still give you a massive headache, but it's not as intensive a blow to your senses. And do mind: you don't need a whole lot.

Rags. Save all those t-shirt sleeves you cut off! Go to your tailor and ask for cast off cloth! You'll need rags to wipe paint, clean your paintbrushes, clean up, etc.

Stool/ ladder. A necessity for all the short artists out there.

Pencil, eraser, & sharpener.

Straight edge (aka ruler).

Water & snacks.

3. Music. I listened to a lot of jazz and fast-paced music while painting. It helps because you're likely to get swept up in the swell of the song, creating rapid brush strokes and be more energized to keep on going. Best perk? While I was listening to a lot of jazz, I liked to fantasize myself in a movie, with Miles Davis playing overhead as the soundtrack to my own intense, ~in the zone~ close-up painting scene. Tré cinematique.

4. English text. The young people are always eager to read ALL the English words! Adults too! Including English words into your mural helps passersby practice their literacy, generates interest in the mural, and an extra boost: it's an explicit explanation of what you want to convey.

5. Breaks! Take them!! I know this one sounds obvious AF, but you'd be surprised how hard it can be in the moment when you're on a roll. But breaks are important. That's what the water and snacks are for. You're gonna be in the sun, on your feet, and sniffing paint fumes most of the time, so it's wise to take care of yourself by giving yourself a few minutes to prevent yourself from getting too light-headed.

6. Paint leisurely, if it's an option. I only painted 1-3 hours a day, for almost a week. That way, it wasn't a chore; the mural became something more therapeutic than work. Painting leisurely freed up a lot of time to do other work during the day and helped me avoid the horde of students that would watch me intently if I chose to paint during school hours.

7. Work with the headmaster or the nurse to create a joint vision. That way the message is one that the community or target audience will benefit from the most. They also feel ownership in its creation, and that joint responsibility is important.

8. Touch-ups with turpentine. This literally saved me a lot of grief. If you mess up: grab a rag, dab some turpentine on it, and rub the hell out of that mistake... and voila! Mistake managed!

9. Make a LOT of each color shade. This was something I learned the brutally hard way when I ran out of the brown skin tone I made. I thought, “Oh, it was easy! Just black, yellow, and red. I can easily recreate this!” Yeeeeah it wasn't that easy after all. I had a helluva hard time, and after a lot of paint wasted, was able to come to a shade that dried somehow close in color for touch-ups.

10. Painting party! If you can, invite other PCV's or students to help you paint! It'll be fun, help pass the time, and give folks a little somethin'-somethin' to add to their VRF's (Volunteer Reporting Form)

Jacob led me to a nearby river I never knew existed. I always wondered where all the dried, salted fish in my community came from! And more so, I wondered where all those water sellers were getting their drum-fulls of sweet, murky dihydrogen oxide! (Surely, it couldn’t have traveled all the way from Nabogo?!) I learn something new about my community every day, even though I’ve been here for nearly two years. 

This is the last post I’ll be submitting to this blog. I miiight be compelled to post all those informational entries about Ghana I always thought up, i.e. transportation, the local cuisine, top asked questions about being in the Peace Corps/ Ghana (aka “what was dating like?” and “how do you stay healthy?” hoooo-yeeee haha), social/cultural tidbits, etc. but I might be too lazy. If I do post up anything non-Ghana/ Peace Corps related, it would be on my personal blog. Go ahead and message me if you want the link to that since it’s just about me and not about this experience. 

It's the end of an era: I recently took down my mosquito net... but only because it was the only accessible netting I could find on such short notice. I had to delay the honey harvesting workshop by a week because the materials were just too damn expensive, so we're doing it local style, bizznatches! It's actually better, in my opinion. This way my community members won't have it ingrained in their minds that they need fancy bee veils and 250 Ghana Cedi all-white jumpsuits to be a beekeeper. 250 Gh₵ is a lot, y'all. A subsistence farmer sometimes has to stretch 300-500 Ghana Cedis to support his whole brood from a dry season to the start of the rainy season (depending on how the harvest fared). It's literally a matter of life and death. And that's for one suit. We need four: two for the men's group and two for the women's group; we needed two sets of everything. The bee veils weren't cheap to make either. I had to pay the foreigner price on Bolga hats (the only hats with a wide enough brim to not induce claustrophobic revelations), and we're snipped up and sewed my mosquito net along the rim. Everything was three digits (₵₵₵), but I'm sure our locally-made bee veils are cheaper than whatever the facilitator is charging.

I know I'm griping a lot about prices when I don't need to be. Hell, I wrote a grant for this! But the facilitator inflated the prices again recently, and I want to encourage a more local and sustainable approach. I had to buckle and buy a bee smoker off of him though. I asked around and an Ag PCV gave me a contact where I could get it significantly cheaper, but because of the distance (she's originally from the Brong Ahafo region, so her contact is from there as well. Thaaaks, Adrianne! You're the bees' knees!), it just wasn't going to work. I wanted to wrap up this project pronto. It's been plagued with problems from the get-go. We had to start over after a parasite infestation contaminated our colonies. The honey harvest was slated for March 7th, but our facilitator never showed up because of the rain that was pouring in from Tamale. He never called us, so my poor women (the only folks dedicated enough to actually show up and remained at our meeting point on market day!!) were left waiting and waiting and waiting. It would've broken my heart if it didn't catapult me into a rage first. The facilitator and I have butted heads since six months back when I confronted him about the gouged prices the first time around, so when he flaked on us on the 7th... hooo-boy. I gave him an earful. In response he called me some nasty things, but there's nothing to do but take it in stride when you need to get shit done.  

We rescheduled for the following Monday, and I tell ya what—we didn't gather people until after he came. But he wasn't picking up his phone or anything, so no one was holding their breath if he decided to flake again. Thankfully, he arrived just before sundown. We were suited up and ready to “hunt” (as the locals call it) for honey.

For the life of me, I dunno why Ghanaians are so afraid of bees. Yes, it hurts to be stung (hell, it happened to me at the borehole), but they're, like, traumatized. Our locally made suits had collars which is apparently a big no-no, even if we tucked our veils inside our collars (I didn’t have the foresight or a demo to surmise that beekeeping suits should have zippers all the way to the chin, a la steam-punk vibes). Harvesters had to tuck their veils inside their collars, wear a scarf (!), and tie string around each gloved forearm to close off all points of entry.  It was pretty precious; they looked like they were going on a trip, not collect honey.

We had four hives, but only two were ready to withstand a honey collection. But if you told me that all the honey we got was only from two hives, I might not have bee-lieved you (hehe). There was so much. We filled buckets upon buckets upon buckets. The beekeepers are thrilled, and there's hope to use the bees wax for batik dyeing as well. The majority of my women beekeepers are actually members of a batik group that I helped start from way back when. I'm pleased as punch that they're dedicated to all the income generating projects I've done, going so far as unifying two in a mutually beneficial handshake of sustainable supplemental income.

Back to taking down my mosquito net. Um... I have never washed it. It was covered under two year's worth of dust. It was pretty disgusting because the dust spread everywhere. Since it was tucked underneath my mattress, I had to lift everything, and that's when I saw it: my very own cockroach graveyard. Grossssssssssss.

So, so many exoskeletons. And dust bunnies. Now that my mattress was no longer confined to the corner of my room where the mosquito net was nailed to, it was time for a room makeover. Read: I moved my mattress closer to the center beneath my ceiling fan. The open floor plan has been splendid as I can stretch out and fall off my mattress without running into my dusty net.

My room has been in a state of organized chaos lately. I'm in the midst of giving things away, creating a burn pile, and forming ideas of who I want to bestow my perfectly-fine-but-I-don't-have-space-for-this-in-my-luggage discards to. I'm thinking about bringing a bunch of stuff to the JHS and telling the girls they can pick an item or two. The bike will probably go to my GLOW/BRO gal, and my CP called dibs on the mattress (he wanted the bike too, but I prefer to give it to a young woman). My landlord's families are eager to claim the remains of my room: toiletries, clothes, furniture, propane tank, kitchenware, you name it. I'll need to burn the undergarments though. Not culturally appropo. I just wish there was some huge linen recycler who would take it and make insulation and couch stuffing out of it instead; seems like such a golly waste for it to go up in smoke as carbon dioxide and toxic fumes.

I finally bought my tickets out of Ghana! Buying flights was a serious pain in the bum with a lot of lost sleep to boot. I went back and forth on where to go and how to do it; so, so many hours were spent researching hidden baggage fees... but in the end, watch out, Barcelona and Greece! I’m going to be in you!!

With a heavy heart, I decided to nix Morocco. A pity because I was really excited to go... but the airline companies are weird and annoying. It was cheaper to travel to Casablanca (North Africa) from San Francisco than it was to fly from Accra (West Africa). It’s just something I’ll have to save for my next vacation (in ten years :p)!

Which brings me to mention: I got my COS (Close of Service) date—March 29th, babycakes~ It's fast approaching, and it just makes me wonder... where did all that time go? Oh that's right. Time was spent...

hanging out at the local JHS and primary school. Painting murals, practicing English, sewing reusable menstrual pads, talking about VAGINAS! PEN-ISES! S-E-XXX

with friends, old and new. It's always a revolving door in the PC circle of service

fetching water

biking here, there, and everywhere. Also, falling off my bike.

under shade trees, ruminating in my thoughts and people-watching.

learning. About all things health and agric and Ghana and Dagomba

As I'm making moves to transition back into life in America, I'm struck with feelings of unease and dread. I'm uncertain of my path (I think I know what I want, but I'm wishy washy sloshy poshy), but if there's anything I'm sure about, it's the desire to start working and figuring it out for myself. Updates on that TBA, probably on my OG blog rather than my Ghana blog. This post is just updates and thoughts.

It's funny. I think being in Peace Corps has made the lot of us volunteers “materialistic minimalists.” Sounds like a contradiction, I know! But I was talking with some friends about what we're most excited about being back in America. Conversation went something like this:

“New underwear.”

“New makeup.”

“A good shower.”

“New clothes.”

Me? New shoes. Like, good shoes. I'm gonna treat myself to Dansko clogs, something that the old me would never allow myself because they're $60 a pop. What I used to do instead was buy knock offs at Payless that were nowhere near as comfortable or durable or cute.

ugh. fucking beaut, ain’t she?

Maybe we all sound kind of superficial, but it sounds about right. And you know what? It's justified! We've been through a lot. It took over two years in Ghana for me to appreciate myself. Yeah, that sounds kinda pitiful, but really. I want to eat good food; good, local, and sustainably sourced vegetables! My body is a fucking temple!! I actually think that now; it's not just an empty motto I tell someone when I don't want to bone them (sorry not sorry-o). I want to treat it right—go on a walk-run, drink more water, eat cheese, drink craft beer and wine, and go to sleep by 10pm. That kind of stuff. Hell, I wouldn't mind paying a premium for clothes that will last a long while rather than whatever is on the sale rack at Ross or cheap-and-trendy fast fashion at Forever 21. I'm excited to live minimally but intentionally. In a sense, I'm ecstatic to start a life with a keener awareness of my impact on the environment around me and better informed agency to do something about it. Maybe that's a little naïve, but a gal could dream.

You know what else are in my dreams? Ice cubes.

It's really hot. Like, really mother-effing-doodad-diddily hot here. The Harmattan and Ghana are over. Left us one night and didn't even say goodbye. I woke up one day, all alone on my mattress sweaty, wondering, “What happened??!!” And every day since has been sweaty morns, mildy-meh nights, and scorching, the-devil's-anus level afternoons. It's so hot here my rubber bands melted!

1/26/2018

Close of Service conference was bittersweet. It was such a hoot to see all of the folks in my cohort together again after such a long time, but there was a disheartening pang that I couldn't shake knowing that this was probably the last time I was going to see most of them. I'll run into the Northerners at least once more before we all go our separate ways on separate days, but the majority of the #selfiescholars (Our group name... a lot of other groups who weren't keen on the names bestowed upon them by their trainers re-branded themselves. Despite a general dislike of our own nomen, we never took that leap and have remained the only non-Ghanaian-theme named troop) south of Dagombaland are probably lost to me, save for the few I'll see in Accra on the day that I COS. On the upside, I'm excited to meet some of the #selfies in America! It'll be great to reminisce with people who understand what I went through; a relief to share a meal with cheese and beer and not break the bank! One of our own is tying the knot in San Diego 2019 to another RPCV (what a lovely “How I Met Your Mother/Father” story)! There will be a PC Ghana reunion then, for sure, so who's joining me for tequila shots on the other side of the border, post-reception?!

COS conference was held on the outskirts of the Volta region. The resort—yes, a resort! PC really treated us as we're on our way out—was on the Volta River and many of us paid a little extra to go on a boat ride. We saw the dam, the summer vacation home of President Nana in the hills (hey-oooo!), and plenty of locals just doing their thing, going about their day. The food was divine and plentiful, and I ate allll... until I got sick (eek). Aaand then I ate some more :) The whole affair was short and sweet and to-the-point. I appreciated its laconic qualities but also regretted how brief of a goodbye (and somehow unceremonious) our's had to be. I guess I'm still processing; it hasn't fully hit me yet that goodbyes are real and there won't be a next time, at least not any time soon.

On the Volta River.

I have separation anxiety. What else can I say?!

My official COS date is March 29th, and I. Am. Stoked!! But there are a plethora of tasks I need to do before I can GTFO. The checklist itself is already giving me anxiety, ugh.

After the conference wrapped, a group of us ventured deeper into the Volta region to climb Wli Falls (pronounced “Vlee” Falls), the highest waterfall in Ghana. I almost died, literally. No, not from the killer views (hey-o! ;) but because I tripped a lot and almost fell off the side of the cliff more than once. It was a six hour hike, but it took us seven because we were seven individuals of varying fitness. Guess where I lay on the muscled spectrum? A strapping, robust, young lass, I am not.

But what a sight to behold! Arriving at the peak was sublime; the views grandiose, the bullets of sweat consistently obscuring my view as they pelted my glasses, the adrenaline a little transcendent. We had clambered to the peak on the 19th of January—the day of the second Women's March. And in our own way, every stomp we made was with solidarity for gender equality, reproductive rights, and access to health care.

The hike led us on a winding, arduous (the descent was twenty times worse than the ascent), and at times, lamentable trail to two separate waterfalls, and at one point, we leaped onto Togo territory when we strayed 30 feet off our path! That last detail is debatable, but we did converge with French-speaking hikers whose passage originated from the neighboring nation. That being said, we also encountered—and for a time, mingled—with plenty of German (so many!) and Danish climbers. The higher waterfall was probably my favorite. It was a little more intimate and less populous as many hikers eschewed a six hour trek in favor of a forty-five minute leisurely stroll to the lower falls that resembled something of a public pool with booze and hollers and many 'suited foreigners (the most white flesh I've seen in Ghana... though I enjoyed seeing many young local Ghanaians just shooting the shit with their friends at the majestic watering hole). It took us three hours of more or less perilous traipsing before we were awarded our reprieve. The taller waterfall was gorgeous, and the pool wasn't deep. I was able to go underneath the waterfall, feeling the impact of millions of water droplets come crashing down on me.

Yes, it is like you imagine: I thought, at one point, I might drown from the shear force. It was literally and figuratively breathtaking.

But hey—I checked “Be underneath a waterfall” off my bucket list. Twice. Holla!!

So. Many. Bats!!

The shitty part was that we were only halfway done. We had to dry ourselves off, put our dirty clothes back on, and climb back into our dust-filled shoes in order to hike a further few hours earthwards to reach the lower falls. I know, I know—was there ever a moment where we considered giving up? Dear readers, that was impossible... because we were on a loop. Quitting was never an option; it was finish or make the Wli Falls trail our new home.

Not that we would ever dessert the mission any way. It was very much a group “GO BIG and then Go Home... and treat ourselves to pizza and chicken and mac n cheese” temperament. And we rewarded ourselves very well that night, in large part because we were ravenous and tired and slid on our butts going downhill too many times to not buy an extra order of fries.

I was truly proud of us. We did it! It took seven hours. We were bone-weary. But we finished!! We climbed 262.5 feet, saw two waterfalls, stood under both cascades despite their mighty force, and then walked all the way back to our place of stay. How amazing is that? I couldn't shake the fiery gratification I felt for all of us; the pleasure to have done it with all of them.

The next day I traveled to Accra, my layover before I retreated to the North. And as usual, I used my stay in the capital to get some medical work done. I succeeded in getting an unsightly mole-growth-thing snipped off and sutured. Unsurprisingly, it became noticeably infected after a couple days (thanks, Ghana), but it mended itself all hunky dory once I extracted the stitches at site. Lesson learned: wear sunscreen, go to your doctor, advocate for yourself and your health, and utilize that free medical care while you have it.

Mah crew.

We did it! We survived 2017! Hoo-Boy, was it a tough year. It's been a positively transformative experience, but there were chunks of time where I felt like I was drowning in a lasagna of my own anxiety, trauma, and depression. But y'know what? It's a new year, and I have plenty to look forward to. I'm probably the happiest and most content now than I've been in the last two to three years, so Cheers!/ Mabuhay!/ La Chaim! to that!!

I'm off to my COS (Close of Service) conference in a few days, and in a few months, I'll be leaving Ghana. You'll read it across the plethora of PCV blogs that exist on the internet: “two years has flown by.” It sounds a little contrived, but it's one of the truisms of service. Most folks, myself being one of them, don't really hit their stride until the one year mark, and then you're just rollin' rollin' rollin' trying to be as productive as possible while still maintaining your sanity and taking in the beauty of everything—all the cultural nuances, the environmental overhaul, the punchline in the joke—happening around you. Sometimes I feel like I just got off the plane last month. It's hard to accept that this journey is almost finished.

I was re-reading some of my old blog entries, and I was struck at how doe-eyed I was! And how many of the circumstances that perplexed me no longer seem as big of a deal. Here are some of the changes I have witnessed for myself over the past two years:

1. Time. Time is a social construct. We give it value in America. Punctuality is a virtue to possess after all. But in Ghana, time is just time. Things will figure themselves out eventually, so why rush? It's a big deal when I need to catch a tro out of my community or when it's call to prayer, but otherwise, I don't pay much attention to it. I go by the heat of the day or the movement of the sun. That being said, I do feel like my life has been on pause while I've been here. I'm a little uneasy to go back to America where I feel like I'm behind the times culturally and professionally, but things will figure themselves out somehow ;)

2. Little pleasures. Reveling in a smile. A greeting. A goodbye. The sunset. The feel of the ocean against my legs. The kiss of the equatorial sun on my face. A productive day with my community members. The excitement of students. An old friend. A new friend. The breeze. The rain. The smell of wet earth. The buzz from a drink. The euphoria of good company. A platonic “I love you.”

3. Noise. I had a hard time adjusting to the perpetual din in the background (or, sometimes, assaulting me in the face). Much like waiting hours for your tro (bus) to fill, you'll never get completely used to the bangarang, but the rooster crowing at odd hours, the 4:30am call to prayer, someone's repetitive chanting to sell something, etc... they get drowned out a little after a while. Especially if there is a much louder noise accosting you, i.e. honking of a horn around every corner, the vibrating boom of Ghanaian high-life music, or the heart-jolting shot of a musket across the village.

4. Jogging-ish. I mentioned my somehow-running journey a few times in previous posts, but that's because it's had a pretty big impact on my sense of self. Before I came to Ghana, I detested running. Absolutely hated it with vitriol. I still don't love it, but I've learned to enjoy it somehow. It has less to do with weight loss (because I haven't lost any) and more to do with transformation. I presented myself with a challenge, and I succeeded on my own terms. I ran a race in Ghana, and I've adopted a healthy habit. That makes me happy; I'm proud of myself.

5. Wholesome eating. I eat beans, maize, and a way too much oil almost every day in Ghana. And while I gorge on processed candy and biscuits whenever I can, I also crave spinach, cheeses, fresh vegetables and fruits. I'm anticipating the day when I don't have to pay a premium to eat olives or butter! The variety in Ghana is seasonal, and I'd like to maintain that commitment to support local farmers in America. I'm considering joining a CSA and am honestly gleeful at the thought of cooking and prepping most of my meals myself when I go home (but also... Hot Cheetos. They are a non-issue).

6. Friendship. The best kind of ‘ships. Without my friends I wouldn't have made it this far. Some have left the country prematurely, finished up and having a hoot at home, or got lucky and transferred to a bigger community for work, but many are still here, striving and thriving. This year I vow to commit more of myself and my time investing in my friendships. I've realized that my time is the most important and valuable artifact I can offer. If I haven't been a good friend, I'm sorry. I'll do better, be better. But know that I cherish each and every one of you, even if the last time we talked was yesterday or twelve months ago.

7. Adventure-seeking. Traveling the world is a privilege. I know there are many articles on the internet that tout “You Can Easily Travel If You Do These 10 Tips” or something along those lines. That's a load of tone-deaf shit. Not everyone can afford to travel, even if they try to put away a fraction of their paycheck for a year. Some people have responsibilities/ barriers / circumstances that prevent them from taking even a week off to see the world, to feed their soul, and amaze their wonder. Life is hard, and the economy and political climate isn't helping. But life is short, and I want to make it a priority of mine to try to see and experience as much as I can. Ghana isn't the first country I've visited, but it certainly has had a profound impact on my wanderlust. I plan to do a solo COS-trip. I'm a little scared to do it alone, but it's also part of the thrill.

8. Reading. We all read a lot, but I didn't read as many books as I did articles or op-ed's until I came to Ghana and committed to the idea of finishing a book (and then some). I've read many that affected me on more levels than I can articulate; have altered my perception of seeming truths; have educated me; made me laugh, cry, cringe; given me book hangovers. I've rekindled (:P) my love for books, the printed book industry hasn't died, and I can't wait to get my hands on some Ta-Nehisi Coates.

9. Self-understanding. I've alluded to a lot of emo, angsty shit that went down this past year. Yeeeah, I'm not going to deep dive into that on this blog. That being said, life wasn't great for a good while. I was pretty lost and acted out a lot, and I needed a lot of extra emotional support because I couldn't bear all weight on my own. I relied heavily on my friends (My undying gratitude. You lovely humans know who you are) and introspection to climb out of the pit. Sometimes I trip and fall back in, but y'know, that's gonna happen. Since then, I've gotten to know myself a lot better. I've been growing into a fuller version of my best self all the while discovering my wants, goals, bad habits, and how far I can extend beyond what I believed was a limitation. I think this is what the young people call, a “glow up”!

10. Appreciation for this Earth, My Life. I've developed a greater appreciation for our natural resources and my personal circumstances so much more. Clean drinking water, access to education and health services, the beauty in the landscape. I hope to continue reducing my waste and creating positive change in the world. And also call my parents. I'm lucky to have been born and raised in America. They're refugees and naturalized American citizens, but life for them wasn't as peachy-keen. I forget that when I'm all wrapped up in my own life, neglecting that my life is an echo of their life too.

TBT to A little nugget at the nutrition IST

There were moments in service where I contemplated extending, especially if I landed a position that worked with girls empowerment and youth development... but there were also moments where I screamed to myself, “I need to GTFO of here!” And then I ruminate on the goings on in America: FCC votes against net neutrality (I hope that it gets overturned), the tax reform that will decimate the middle class, the increasing rent and crippling job market in the Bay Area, California, and I wonder: Should I extend? Should I attempt WOOF'ing across South America? Can I just be a vagabond until 2020? The next step is daunting AF.

I'm trying to embrace the strong probability of moving back in with my parents which is utterly—complete and without qualification—soul crushing. When I moved out of the house at seventeen, I never settled back in. I would visit, but I always maintained my own living arrangements, even when I was preparing to move to Ghana. Committing the ultimate millennial move is not beneath me. They're lovely people. We just can't cohabitate. But the one truth is: I'm excited to go back and start some semblance of a career, a decision that will give my mum some relief.

I've somehow committed to the idea of finally applying to nursing school, something I've grappled with for the last three to four years. I'm going to take the plunge... I think! I'm frightened, but that kind of fear is overrated. I'm also excited to...

Do cool things! Like enroll in a class for cooking, Spanish, drawing/painting, pottery, car mechanics, yoga, boxing (I still have those gloves...). It all sounds really expensive, but I want to invest in myself more.

Clear the physical detritus of my life. I have a lot of junk. A good ½  of it was donated to Good Will when I came back for my sister's wedding, but I think I can downsize some more (coughthoseboxingglovescough ??). I'm eager to live minimally.

Move. Living with my ma and pa is a real contender for practicality's sake, but I'm anxious to see more of America. Maybe the east coast? California is a marvelous, endearing, magical bubble filled with the chillest people, the best food, and the diversity and creativity that I need and crave... and that's why I need to leave to thrive (at least for a little bit)

Hike. So many sights to see! I want to be stunned—become weak in the knees, physically and figuratively!—by the natural beauty that I often neglect by living in a city for as long as I have.

Learn how to swim. Because it's a life skill... and because all my friends are hanging over there, in the deep end of the pool :(

Live my best life! That includes continuing to grow, eating good food, reading, learning, hanging out with my favorite people, trying new things, meeting new people, and so much more!

It’s my last Harmattan, hurray!