Faith, Hope, and Love

My time in Ghana is wrapping up. Just a few more days. And for the most part, I've had a blast and I'm a little sad about going home. I love, love, love my host family and I'm sad about saying goodbye. And I've begun to build some very good friendships that I want to continue to build. But there have definitely been times when I have really just missed home. Missed my everyday life, or just missed having someone who really knows and gets me around. The week in Cape Coast was especially tough. While I enjoyed the slave trade, batik and dance lessons, I just felt extremely homesick that week. I not only missed my life in the U.S., I also was missing my family in Accra badly. Oddly, one thing that got me through was listing to Todrick's single "It Gets Better." It was nice to hear a familiar voice in my ear, and the message of the song was always nice. No matter how tough things got, things do get better. (He coincidentally updated the song while I was ...

Here are all the Batik designs made by the students and I: My finished design   Flo's design Dahlia's design Miranda's design Gladys's design Ivan's design (and yes, I realize that it's cock and balls) Rodrigo's design Joceline's design Lauren's design (she chose to stick with just one color)  Claro's design Most of them were done with design drawn and cut out by the students themselves. And a few have incorporated designs done by the owners of the shop. It took us a week to work on these, but we loved every minute of it and are proud of our work!

As part of the "study abroad" portion of our AFS trip to Ghana, the students and I got to participate in Batik lessons. Batik is a wax-relief way of creating fabric design. It's quite popular in a lot of African cultures. The process itself is simple enough, although we learned quickly that there is a high level of skill needed to achieve the perfection you ultimately would want. But, it is something that I think I'd like to try on my own at home. Or just do again as part of a workshop/class. For those of you who are more into arts and crafts, here's the process if you want to try it at home. Step 1: Concept Creation First, you need to do a bit of sketching to come up with possible designs you want to see on your fabric. It's best to come up with at least two different ones. Something we didn't realize as we were drawing is that you want these to be bold and be able to be somewhat large/big. If it's too small, it because an issue later. Step 2: ...

One thing that my dad insisted I do while I was in Ghana is see Kumasi--the city he called home during his years in Ghana. It wasn't in our plans for the AFS program, so it was something I had to figure out on my own. And of course, since my dad seems to know someone everywhere on the planet, it wasn't too difficult of a task. It started with a phone call to a Reverend in Accra. Rev. T said he'd get me to Kumasi over the weekend. He planned to stop over at my host family's house on Thursday to meet me and discuss the plans in detail. He wanted to take me on Friday and return on Sunday. I was hoping for more of a Saturday day trip or leave Friday night and get back Saturday evening. I was already a bit hesitant about who I'd be with in Kumasi, but I also really love my family in Accra and sort of felt guilty at the idea of "ditching" them for a whole weekend. I also had to be ready to travel to Cape Coast by 11am Sunday morning. Anyway, Rev. T comes by...

Each morning, I wake up around 6am. I lay in bed and listen to the constant chatter and occasional laughter from my two host sisters, my host mom and whoever else is awake. I'm tempted to roll out of bed and join them, but generally stay in bed until 7:15 to catch them before my host mom takes the two girls to school. I say my farewells to the ladies. Sometimes get online to check my e-mail. Chat with my host brother (and sometimes dad, if he's up). Share some pleasantries with my host mom's sister who stops by each morning. Get hot water to take a bath. Get dressed. Take my 500 gazillion (or five) vitamins. If it's Sunday, add another vitamin. If it's Thursday, add my malaria pill. I put in my contacts. Go eat breakfast. And then either catch a ride, take the trou trou (Ghana's public transportation system, which must have a blog post of its own), or walk to meet the AFS bus. Generally nothing eventful happens, except this morning my breakfast was stolen by a...

Today was the first official day of our project. We are renovating the kindergarten block of a government school in a low-income part of Accra. The work had been interesting as we are sorely equipped for the work. First we tried to scrape and sand down the walls of the building. It was hard and mostly seem to produce a lot of dust. We gave up after about an hour and decided to just begin painting. Except then everything peeled off. We eventually figured out that the rollers were the problem and stuck to paintbrushes. It went smoother after that. Afterwards we went to Rufus Park which was amazing! Life size chess set, Ludo board and some other game. We see-sawed and played on the swings and just ha a good time hanging out. We need more parks like this in the United States (or at least in my corner). Now we are at Peter Pan restaurant and the kids are gorging out on burgers and smoothies. Overall, it has been a good day. I definitely thankful for the ...

I love connecting/spending time with other Africans. There's just this automatic bound and shared experience that I enjoy exploring. But with older Africans--teens or older--there's always that awkward moment when the subject of marriage comes up. The African: Are you married? Me: No. The African: Eh?! Why now? Are you at least dating someone? Me: No. The African: You mean you're telling me you don't have interest in anyone?!?! Me: No. (although, if I'm honest, this is a semi-lie) And with that response, I can feel their absolute disappointment in me. Or if they are the creepy old African men we all avoid, I can feel their hope that they've met a desperate girl who will fall for their cheap lines because she doesn't want to be an old maid. 've learned to take this reactions with grace and generally not get irked by them. They are just more awkward than anything else. I had this same conversation with one of the volunteers with the program w...

There is so much I've neglected to write about over the last two weeks. There are still tons of little Costa Rican memories to shares, I have some summer reading that I've knocked out and plan to review, I went to a professional development and learned a lot of cool things, I was able to knock a few things off my bucket list, and now I'm on my way to spend the next month in Ghana. Yes, Ghana. Yes, a month.  I'm ridiculously excited! But, I won't lie, there is also some level of trepidation. I'll be living with a host family, be a group leader for nine YES Prep high schoolers, and well... what happens to my life back home? It's not like time will stand still for me. What might be different when I get back? It's silly, I know. But I can't help to wort a little bit. Ultimately though, this is like a dream come true and I plan to make the most of this opportunity. And regardless of what fears I have, the best things happen when you step out and take risk...

Costa Rica is known for it's coffee. But coffee wasn't originally grown in Costa Rica. In fact, for many years, Costa Ricans didn't know what to do with the plant. It just sat around and looked pretty on the countryside until some European showed that it'd be a good way to make some money. So, who first discovered that coffee could be a delectable drink that can give you a burst of energy to jump start your day and keep you moving when you're sluggish? Here a retelling of the tale I learned: Once there was a young African goat farmer. Each day he would guide his goats across the mountain ranges, allowing the to graze on whatever plants were available. Life was simple, and each day passed with little activity.   One day, however, he noticed one of his goats was a little more active then the rest. She bucked and kicked her back heels up a lot. She nipped at the other goats. And she always seemed ready to play, instead of lazily grazing like the rest of the her...

Our flight landed two hours ago. I'm finally have handed off nine 11- to 14-year-olds off to their parents, paid $45 for parking, and I'm in my bed at home. And I'm happy . We had a blast in Costa Rica--I'm so glad that I decided to do this trip and offer this experience to my students. But, let's face it: being responsible for kids who aren't yours in a foreign country is a lot of stress. How can you not be stressed at learning the day before departure that one of the students signed up for the trip will not be joining you because she never got her passport? How do you not get stressed after discovering one of your students locked in the bathroom and in tears because she occasionally can't hold her bladder, is sure the other girls have been making fun of her, and her skinny jeans are glued to her legs because we had just spent two hours riding horses in the rain? (We had to use a pocket knife to cut her out of those, fyi). How do you not stress out ab...

In many ways, Costa Rica reminds me of Nigeria. The abundance of buildings with the simple concrete facade and tin roofs. Crude wooden or metal signs to alert you of the presence of a shop or restaurant, advertising the availability of wi-fi, satellite TV or fresh fruit. Narrow roads that look like they could not possibly support for two-way traffic, yet somehow they do! Along with bicyclists, pedestrians, and the occasional cow or two. Men ferrying women and babies on motorcycles, school children looking crisp and sharp in their uniforms. Differences? Oh, they exist. For one, this is no savannah. In Nigeria, I would not be on a long mountain road full of precarious twists and turns. Each bend in the road would not open up to a breathtaking view of thousands of trees and an abundance of vegetation. There would not be waterfalls, or clouds of steam billowing out of volcano craters. I would not be looking down on homes and businesses below, or experience the fog that settles on t...

Rays of sun streamimg through the window. The hum of air conditioner as cool air blast from its vents. Summer hits to rock out too, endless reads to curl up with. Fireworks, hot dogs, burgers and fries. Plays in the parks. Freedom.

I enjoy taking pictures. I'm not 100% sure when photography became a hobby of mine, I just know that once I had a camera in my hand I would take 100s of shots within minutes and have always been fascinated by beautiful shots. I especially like shots of people. I can spend hours looking through pictures of weddings, babies, family portraits, and stuff like that. Scenic stuff is cool, too. But seeing images of people living life gets me the most excited. I think what appeals to me the most about photography is that each picture tells a unique story. And as an aspiring storyteller (or as my friends and family would say, a born storyteller), I've always been intrigued by the art of storytelling. I'm never one to turn down hearing (or seeing) a good story. And I'm constantly asking myself: What makes a good story? How do you tell a good story? Like writing, I probably do not spend as much time taking pictures as I should. I go through bouts where my camera is glued to ...

Inspired by our senior signing day keynote speaker, the school has decided to encourage all of our high school students to do something this summer. They've mapped out guidelines to help them, but ultimately, it should be things that allow them to serve, grow, and become more of an impact on their communities and the world. In the Fall, they'll have to share how they did something over the summer--in a blog, a video, a powerpoint/Prezi presentation, or in a trifold. I just volunteered to be a sample for a blog, so while I've been slacking on the blogging lately, you're all about to be seeing (reading?) a lot more of me over the summer and hopefully beyond. I'll admit I'm a bit nervous to share this blog. I mean, it's personal. And for the most part, my personal life is very seperate from my professional life. And not that I truly air out all my laundry on the web, but over the last few years that I've been writing here I have shared my joys and sorro...

Today was Senior Signing Day. This is the day where all the seniors in the YES Prep system come together and share their college decision with their our community of students, teacher and parents. I think it's pretty cool, and most teachers claim it's their favorite day of the school year. They each come up on stage one by one and then announce that in the year 2017 they will be graduating from.... [fill in college name]. I always love seeing the list of colleges they got accepted to and then trying to guess which one they actually chose. And I love the excitement from the 6th-11th graders from each campus, who go wild and cheer them on. It's really a fun day. And it kind of is that moment each year, where no matter how rough things have gotten, you are confident as a teacher that it was all worth it to see this. To know the students you teach (directly or indirectly) are going to do something with their lives. That they are excited about the next chapter and plan to...

3 ...We also celebrate in seasons of suffering because we know that when we suffer we develop endurance, 4 which shapes our characters. When our characters are refined, we learn what it means to hope and anticipate God’s goodness . 5 And hope will never fail to satisfy our deepest need because the Holy Spirit that was given to us has flooded our hearts with God’s love. Romans 5:3-5 ( The Voice )    

... in the words of Jaime Grace (who was totally reading my mind). Absolutely hilarious and perfect video. In general, I feel a lot of pressure to be in a relationship. Part of it comes down to the fact that my unofficial part-time job is "wedding attender." There is at least five weddings a year in my life. And there was the year I went to 10 (and had been invited to more). And at every wedding, I sigh with a lot of happiness for the couple, but also a little bit of longing for myself. But a huge part of it is that every Nigerian auntie wants to question me at every event possible (especially weddings) and during their questioning I get this niggling feeling that I'm not meeting expectations. That it doesn't matter that I have two degrees, or that I'm working my butt off teaching 6th graders, or that overall I think I'm growing into a wonderful woman. What matters is that I'm still single. And that makes me a failure. I don't truly believe t...