On a typical, slow-paced afternoon, I sit under the shade of a tree waiting for a friend, observing the other women beside me taking a rest from the sun. They are peddlers, wearing mismatched clothing with scraps of batik cloth wrapped around their heads. They seem tired but at peace, in no rush to get up or do anything but stare into space. Periodically, a passerby stops to purchase their goods, but they act as if this isn’t the point. It’s not that they don’t work hard but that they really do; they just also know when to take a break. I look over at one large woman leaning back with her bare feet up on a tree stump. After some time, she reaches over to her platter of fruit and begins eating some bananas. This ... read more

Compared to my last Halloween, this October 31st was uniquely wholesome, simple and joyful. As interesting as it was to be lost in the streets of Santa Barbara among thousands of drunk college students, dressed as Naughty Nurses or Slutty Bees, laughing at my brother and his frat boy friends in Hooters girls’ uniforms, I actually preferred the tailored African rendition of the holiday this year. Since I don’t know any other foreigners this time, I had to educate the family and neighbors on our glorious but difficult-to-explain American tradition. With the costume materials available being only “regular” clothes, I dressed Becky and the kids in my “obruni gear” and wore the gifts I have been given since I arrived: a Northern smock from my supervisor at the hospital, clay beads from one of the nurses, ... read more

A lazy day here is different from one at home. Because you have the sense that whatever you did or didn’t do, it was enough. It was enough to just live, to feel the sweat sticking the clothes to your body and feel the heat of the sun envelope you like a fire does burning embers. It was enough to step outside and leisurely make your way down the dirt road to greet the neighbors, to buy a yam and some oranges. Of course you may have slept too much and missed out on a more interesting excursion, but there’s always tomorrow. Tomorrow is another day, as they say. Another chance to muster the energy to go farther or to live a little more vivaciously. I think I work too hard at trying to understand this ... read more

I feel like visiting an orphanage in Africa (or any other developing country for that matter) is one of those things you might find listed on the website stuffwhitepeoplelike.com, which makes fun of the seemingly normal but somehow ridiculous interests of middle-class caucasians. I admit that I once felt noble telling people at home that I had just returned from Ethiopia, volunteering at a homeless soup kitchen and holding orphan babies. Even though it was a temporary treat for the kids I served, the experience was more about me, and the effect it would have on my life. And I guess there’s really nothing wrong with that, as long as I don’t believe that makes me Jesus. Spending a Saturday afternoon at Royal Seed Orphanage in Kasoa, Central Region, however, was a much different experience than ... read more

Today I chose to completely let go and live moment to moment. Maybe it is because I wore high heels for the first (and last!) time in Ghana and knew each step had to be taken delicately. Or maybe it’s because I was tired of the worries that followed me overseas and needed to take action. But I think I made the choice consciously when I woke up early to finish reading My Sister’s Keeper and cried a little over a mug of tea, bread and groundnut paste. Thinking about people dying young made everything suddenly more vivid, every minute filled with gratitude, reminding me to appreciate the details. So here they are: For my “interview” with the head administrator at the hospital, I am looking “sharp” (Ghanaian term for “cool/nice”) in a professional black skirt, ... read more