tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36127689076918829192024-03-04T21:27:26.306-08:00ExperienceSarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06559099073575510570noreply@blogger.comBlogger64125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612768907691882919.post-10567090991046901492016-09-04T15:57:00.000-07:002016-09-04T15:57:05.870-07:00Find Me On Tumblr<b>http://sarahafiathetica.tumblr.com/</b>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10373045254393604513noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612768907691882919.post-83344081610991951722016-09-04T12:15:00.002-07:002016-09-04T12:15:44.295-07:00La Vida TicaThe title of this blog site is "lifehomeandabroad.blogspot.com". I made the blog for my year in Ghana, but I made the title vague so that I could continue blogging throughout college.<br />
<br />
Well...that worked and it didn't. I've had so many experiences at CSU, Sky Ranch, and travelling the US over the past few years. But I didn't think to write about those things. I only wrote about Ghana, using the same somber tone Ghana evokes in me. Joyful, sometimes, but a somber joy indeed.<br />
<br />
This blog is for Ghana. Ghana is life, whether I'm home or abroad.<br />
<br />
But here's the deal folks...I am not in Ghana.<br />
<br />
I'm in Costa Rica. And the tone of this blog doesn't fit this place. Here there are yoga studios and chicken restaurants called "Pollolandia". I am learning so much Spanish...but not only deep things like: "vale la pena."<br />
<br />
I've learned the words for beet (remolacha), Lutheran (luterana) and tornado (tornado). Life here is fun and silly and full of relaxation and laughter.<br />
<br />
And I think it might just cure me. Sometimes, it's good to look your grief in the face.<br />
<br />
But I think it's equally good, sometimes, to focus on the fun and the friendship and the beauty. As you elevate these things, pain begins to fade. A little.<br />
<br />
Thank you, Sky Ranch, for showing me that. Playing with campers, hiking through the mountains, and I felt so alive.<br />
<br />
I am going to stop looking at Costa Rica in light of my experiences in Ghana. I will always have Ghana, and I'm not sure I'll always have this place. Of course Ghana will come up...it's me we're talking about, after all...<br />
<br />
But I am here. And it's time to fully be here. To laugh and play and fall in love with something, somewhere, or someone.<br />
<br />
"Sarah," I am telling myself, "lighten up."<br />
<br />
Since I've been here, I've met my host family, been to two parades, had an awesome hamburger with the best homemade fries ever, and realized the wisdom of the quote above my bed.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdey0ej1tC7xD8xtSRGq3SoKywACiTpOWfi0PVJzARAOF1UVjX_YW1kGwkHKsZusa-lp718Ye4R4qmDSxcNEKsiyH_Pp2PksK4EHRuLgrZx2IFpUkS-_b3sy2QtSsruW2wcUlvB3nJOOM/s1600/IMG_20160904_135949023.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdey0ej1tC7xD8xtSRGq3SoKywACiTpOWfi0PVJzARAOF1UVjX_YW1kGwkHKsZusa-lp718Ye4R4qmDSxcNEKsiyH_Pp2PksK4EHRuLgrZx2IFpUkS-_b3sy2QtSsruW2wcUlvB3nJOOM/s320/IMG_20160904_135949023.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the best ways to stay happy is to stop going to the things that make you feel sad. (Quote hanging above my bed)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2eIcn7VznAvmpwVMnW6Zwr1ILumSas3TS-5v2vuNqOOPVgaRugu2Q4vIXsXOOyd2J2WJ3cqg4UOrptXmOuI-GXN0GcjlTAstSmKZB2VFcQ90bakOw0nyovNGeRgH6BAQSl0r3osJ5bHo/s1600/IMG_20160904_124037384.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2eIcn7VznAvmpwVMnW6Zwr1ILumSas3TS-5v2vuNqOOPVgaRugu2Q4vIXsXOOyd2J2WJ3cqg4UOrptXmOuI-GXN0GcjlTAstSmKZB2VFcQ90bakOw0nyovNGeRgH6BAQSl0r3osJ5bHo/s320/IMG_20160904_124037384.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Parade with Oxen Carts</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYsN58XKv0V64VUxUSFYyv7gLJEmypanXpJuA3A-iThvcIO-9mMvdsCIwxMIu7J4MyQIH__mxQ4M5QHXDiZ96g1lXmbIoCnEmPD0VsRGrEzxBjzcg9AQch7VYtu8YRmZLbzuxBASxWGMM/s1600/IMG_20160830_141317987.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYsN58XKv0V64VUxUSFYyv7gLJEmypanXpJuA3A-iThvcIO-9mMvdsCIwxMIu7J4MyQIH__mxQ4M5QHXDiZ96g1lXmbIoCnEmPD0VsRGrEzxBjzcg9AQch7VYtu8YRmZLbzuxBASxWGMM/s320/IMG_20160830_141317987.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Peli's (I watched them cook my food over the counter)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisvQ8MwR28AWLejlMH7kMcOpszaU5WlfA9UhfqK9-1Lw8jDzkUUen-sSlQm3Uibg94A03dYwZrKheAejvi_jKfTNZTT-23h8LlDDySkVtv-BYXeXSQnXXbyj2dNF3BZllKP8xNgyLi4pE/s1600/IMG_20160830_123724843.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisvQ8MwR28AWLejlMH7kMcOpszaU5WlfA9UhfqK9-1Lw8jDzkUUen-sSlQm3Uibg94A03dYwZrKheAejvi_jKfTNZTT-23h8LlDDySkVtv-BYXeXSQnXXbyj2dNF3BZllKP8xNgyLi4pE/s320/IMG_20160830_123724843.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Parade of Saints</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCKg3b19fqWyZXS3ezyq-NNiVFAYeHUZ61MnSjhD0xH0OMuoS4haNES0eKbmj80NVxz1sco6uzww6rmTAmxjgFWxdbC2je3cKtl5T6ujEO0Ddz1UN-Llf76TGQDZeVc8Z1iKZWiC8hY0c/s1600/IMG_20160828_182401607.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCKg3b19fqWyZXS3ezyq-NNiVFAYeHUZ61MnSjhD0xH0OMuoS4haNES0eKbmj80NVxz1sco6uzww6rmTAmxjgFWxdbC2je3cKtl5T6ujEO0Ddz1UN-Llf76TGQDZeVc8Z1iKZWiC8hY0c/s320/IMG_20160828_182401607.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">La Familia Mendez</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Pura vida! (Pure life, Costa Rica's tag phrase).<br />
<br />
Chau, amiges! I'm starting a new blog. That's way more fun and so less heavy. I'll post the address when I've made it.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10373045254393604513noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612768907691882919.post-16900812159429782832016-09-02T19:11:00.003-07:002016-09-02T19:11:49.089-07:00Vale la Pena<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="ES">Español</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="ES"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="ES">A veces, voy a
escribir un blog en español y traducirlo
en inglés. Bueno, esta historia empieza
con mi amiga de Ghana. Ella pasa un tiempo duro en su vida ahora. No recuerde
que la hora es diferente entre Ghana y Colorado (y Costa Rica también, pero
ella no sabe que estoy aquí). Entonces, ella me llamó durante la noche, cuando
estuve durmiendo. Dijo una historia que me molesta mucho, pero no voy a
recontarlo. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="ES"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="ES">Me molestaba y me
molestaba. Después de clases, no pude hablar con mis compañeros porque estuve
triste y nerviosa. Después de la muerte de Kofi, noticias de Ghana me da nervios
con frecuencia. Las noticias de mi amiga
me molestaban, y empezaba a llorar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="ES"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="ES">Empiece una conversación
con mi amigo DL. Bueno, DL me ayuda. Pero a veces, nuestras experiencias pueden
ser tan similares que nos dolemos. Entonces, tuvimos una conversación como fuego…quema
mis problemas. Pero ya suelo las quemaduras. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="ES"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="ES">Con todos mis
problemas...mi mamá Tica, Noris, dio cuenta que estuve llorando. Y se dije todo…en
más detalles en que normalmente habla de Ghana, Sakina, Kofi, DL y todo. Y ella
tiene mucha sabiduría para compartir conmigo. Me dijo que cosa horribles
existan en la vida, pero hacemos lo que podemos. Y a veces, amigos no se
entienden, pero siguen estar amigos. Y que si algo está pesado en su corazón,
es necesario que lo siga. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="ES"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="ES">Finalmente, ella
me recordó de la frase “vale la pena.” </span>Significa “it’s worth it”. Pero
sonido como “it’s worth the pain.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="ES">Aprendiendo esta
frase me hice recordar la placer que gano de aprehender las lenguas. Con todos mis aplicaciones de becas y razones lógicos
para estudiar español, me olvidé mi amor de este idioma. Es una cosa ver la
frase “vale la pena” en un papel de vocabulario. Es otro completamente
aprehender como la frase explica mi vida…con mis amigos de Ghana, y toda la
pena he tenido en los meses pasados.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="ES"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="ES">Mis amigos, o, mi
vida valen la pena. </span>Siempre <span lang="ES">valdrán</span> la pena. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
English</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes, I will write a blog in Spanish, and then
translate it into English. So this story starts with my friend from Ghana. She’s
going through a difficult time in her life right now. She doesn’t remember that
the time is different in Ghana and Colorado (and in Costa Rica, too, but she
doesn’t know I’m here). Because of this, she called me last night while I was
sleeping. She told me a story that bothered me a lot. I won’t retell it here, it’s
hers to tell.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It bothered me and bothered me. After classes, I couldn’t
talk with my fellow international students because I was sad and anxious. After
Kofi’s death, news from Ghana frequently makes me nervous. My friends’ news
shook me up, and I started to cry.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I started a conversation with my friend DL. I mean, DL helps
me. But sometimes our experiences can be so similar that we hurt each other.
Today, we had a conversation like fire…it burned my problems away. And I still
feel those burns.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the middle of all my problems, my Tica (Costa Rican) mama
noticed I was crying. And I told her everything…in more detail that I usually
talk about Sakina, Ghana, Kofi, DL and everyone. She had a lot of wisdom to
share with me. She told me how, in spite of the horrible things in the world,
we do what we can. And how sometimes, we can disagree and still be friends. And
if something weighs on your heart, it is absolutely necessary to follow it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Finally, Noris reminded me of the phrase “vale la pena.” It
means “it’s worth it” but it sounds like “it’s worth the pain.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Learning this phrase reminded me how much pleasure I get
from learning languages. Somehow, with all the scholarship applications, all my
logical reasons for studying Spanish, I forgot my deep love for this language. It’s
one thing to see the phrase “vale la pena” on a vocabulary sheet. It’s a
completely different thing to learn how the phrase explains my life…with my
friends in Ghana and all the pain I’ve endured throughout the past few months.<o:p></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">My friends, or my life, "vale la pena". They
will always be worth the pain.</span>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10373045254393604513noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612768907691882919.post-48779694635548414482016-08-17T19:20:00.000-07:002016-08-17T19:20:30.910-07:00Once Again<div class="MsoNormal">
I received the notification that I have been placed with a
host family in San Ramon, Costa Rica. I am overwhelmed by so many emotions. I’m
excited because, well, I get to form new relationships with people so alike and
so different from me. I can’t wait to learn from my host family.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
However…I am also full of memories of my Ghanaian host
family. Around this time four years ago, I learned that I would be placed with
John and Agnes Adinkra in Kumasi. I knew they had three sons, Derek, Seth, and
Caleb. I didn’t know my brothers’ ages, or understand the reality that Ghanaian
households are full of additional relatives, so I got a few sisters in the mix.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wow. Four years ago, John and Aggie were strangers to me.
Now the Adinkra family is a part of me. I am defined by them in the way I am
defined by my own parents and brothers. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAqvWhN99_Ch22XKNafXL3Z9Zq1uBPgLuj91p4NIF_EAOtgdaPuXGt03iwphWNlwCHPjgx4EYRqigWa0jsDE1hkDESrxbKOFlERMjOTOGmY8o7gEC4J_xo6TbKppLDp8qP4HwiVT2cDEs/s1600/IMG_0017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAqvWhN99_Ch22XKNafXL3Z9Zq1uBPgLuj91p4NIF_EAOtgdaPuXGt03iwphWNlwCHPjgx4EYRqigWa0jsDE1hkDESrxbKOFlERMjOTOGmY8o7gEC4J_xo6TbKppLDp8qP4HwiVT2cDEs/s320/IMG_0017.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, Maa Aggie, and Daddy, Christmas 2012</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They took such good care of me! I was so young then. So
unsure of myself and the world. And they knew things about me I didn’t even
have to tell them. When Maa Aggie came to visit me in Colorado, she nodded
knowingly upon finding out that I was an RA. “You’re always taking care of
other people,” she said. “Half of your year in Ghana was spent taking care of
the other exchange students.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGWLMIOnSpXl8Giu3r4yKMXmMzvYDVW0k5mC0AgozIPuObb1LmYkuaO9clgUenedsSE6DBoLyQkr_lv3CBesPIufxYEtmLL9e7IsVNzqTb5oF40k5S1Ybz42P76OOUaKdbjGW4Cjgnz6c/s1600/SAM_1890.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGWLMIOnSpXl8Giu3r4yKMXmMzvYDVW0k5mC0AgozIPuObb1LmYkuaO9clgUenedsSE6DBoLyQkr_lv3CBesPIufxYEtmLL9e7IsVNzqTb5oF40k5S1Ybz42P76OOUaKdbjGW4Cjgnz6c/s320/SAM_1890.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maa Aggie and Me at Poudre Canyon in Colorado, May 2015</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That was the same year I took what I now consider “my best
trip to Ghana.” My second time back after my exchange year, I knew who I was
and what I was doing there. Kofi didn’t let go of me all summer. I didn’t even
realize how much joy my simple presence brought him, until then. He wanted to
be a part of everything…my friendships, Enliven Mama Africa, and my silly
activities.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now that the shock is fading, I can look at things a bit
better from his perspective. To me, he was one part in my story of Ghana. A big
part…an essential part…but just one part. I was everything he’d ever know about
Colorado. I was the most interesting thing that had happened to him in the past
three years.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjatycpshyzXvaS2tdpojxiXphyXLtuzzOgXhQw6vqDaYsTJ9Q9K36D3LORzkuKHLJuFjB2CzvCRXcsjueaLAf02NOyK9jJ4tpJCwvZQdhZXbNqCH4G6LwDYrgOjugkqMHw2n3TW5-PfFU/s1600/SAM_2113.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjatycpshyzXvaS2tdpojxiXphyXLtuzzOgXhQw6vqDaYsTJ9Q9K36D3LORzkuKHLJuFjB2CzvCRXcsjueaLAf02NOyK9jJ4tpJCwvZQdhZXbNqCH4G6LwDYrgOjugkqMHw2n3TW5-PfFU/s320/SAM_2113.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kofi Painting the Enliven Logo, July 2015</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Since my last post, I’ve gone to see my host family in
Atlanta. That was a wild experience. It was fun. I got to meet my brother Derek
and niece Abby for the first time, and we visited a lot of interesting places in downtown Atlanta.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzykh4yV09Vjy6Lbp1sXXtDtQz2Yw-VEGY5SgAocxq9XE3dgOD8Evl2HWPs3L_T5MPDSguh5fDhQN1Sh6coo3m8AJi8z-q_dvvLAkunPbdUJVzNrstsWrEraM5mzDTuENtQEisORB5q80/s1600/IMG_20160520_114340622.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzykh4yV09Vjy6Lbp1sXXtDtQz2Yw-VEGY5SgAocxq9XE3dgOD8Evl2HWPs3L_T5MPDSguh5fDhQN1Sh6coo3m8AJi8z-q_dvvLAkunPbdUJVzNrstsWrEraM5mzDTuENtQEisORB5q80/s320/IMG_20160520_114340622.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kwame and Me at the Georgia Aquarium, May 2016</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxrDrrLLN3TZZZOl8scbDcWKdxuikfdwnqlSSRLRKrg6f8krWSUEsCj0F4_Rr1JgAxZHt09fY0ofOhhYqwT8UShcwRDQcgz4b03CrMrfJgY0To_NUBUnKKCbEgU3_ryqU9b6EP1MxuAvY/s1600/IMG_20160517_190851437.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxrDrrLLN3TZZZOl8scbDcWKdxuikfdwnqlSSRLRKrg6f8krWSUEsCj0F4_Rr1JgAxZHt09fY0ofOhhYqwT8UShcwRDQcgz4b03CrMrfJgY0To_NUBUnKKCbEgU3_ryqU9b6EP1MxuAvY/s320/IMG_20160517_190851437.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, Abby, and Maa Aggie in Atlanta, May 2016</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And it was also challenging. Because now I know…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The details. Which don’t belong here.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oh, Kofi. In January, I was seriously considering dropping
out of my college study abroad. Because I didn’t think I could risk getting so
close to someone in such unexpected ways…not if I could lose them.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But no. I will do it again. I want to. I deeply want to. I
think about the Adinkras every single day. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes I believe that my relationship with them is a fluke,
something that cannot happen again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I think that’s wrong. I am capable of creating awesome
relationships wherever I go.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Mendez family, here I come! Baggage and all… </span>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10373045254393604513noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612768907691882919.post-79059007653226148712016-02-08T17:21:00.000-08:002016-02-08T17:21:20.253-08:00It Goes On<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWCAQ7DoHRiCM_uKoGoeIvfr4gYDmXtXgodUIzNFU0-kXc_aGMFT2_UYmy65A-UQj2Cxyjk7Z1dPwp70DSzoQyNZRMmMb7Og8wL1ovH2JrNnDT-AwiS7N6sBwvQ9p1t26P7ioLMwBEwg3q/s1600/SAM_1921.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWCAQ7DoHRiCM_uKoGoeIvfr4gYDmXtXgodUIzNFU0-kXc_aGMFT2_UYmy65A-UQj2Cxyjk7Z1dPwp70DSzoQyNZRMmMb7Og8wL1ovH2JrNnDT-AwiS7N6sBwvQ9p1t26P7ioLMwBEwg3q/s320/SAM_1921.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sarah, Kofi, and Uncle at Bridget's Wedding (2015)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
When exchange students leave our host families, life does not stop for them. It is tempting to think that it does, that when you come to visit, everything will be just as you left it during your incredible year. A relationship is not a book. When you read a book, you interact with the characters for a while, then the book ends. The characters don't live beyond the two covers, and that's kind of beautiful. Harry Potter will never have to grow old and die.<br />
<br />
For some reason, exchange students think of our host families that way. We picture them as they were during our story.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But that is not reality. If you scroll down, and read my old posts, you will see Ghana through my "magic glasses." The sheer wonder that a teachers' daughter from small-town Colorado made it all the way to Ghana colored what I saw, what I perceived. I wanted to make a story. I assure you, though, I have not told you the whole story.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I wrote about my brother, Kofi, on here, a bit. I even wrote about those scary first days with the family, when he was so sick. (I didn't express the depth of my concern and fear. I was afraid to.)<br />
<br />
In September, 2012 I wrote: "We were lucky. Kofi will be all right. He’ll come home from the hospital soon. (UPDATE: he came home Friday, September 20. He has to have some scans done, but he’s recovering well.) But, I wonder, how many Ghanaians weren’t so blessed? How many taxis didn’t get there on time, caught in that infamous Ghanaian traffic?...In a decade or so, I believe Ghana will have the infrastructure to support emergency services. But how many lives will be lost in that decade?" (see my post 9-1-1).</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There is a trace of my fear there. And, as I discovered a month ago, my fear wasn't unfounded. Kofi is gone now. He was twenty-four, and he was my brother. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLzE82FoaN0jG4Icygv5s0zy9ynT0Nms_o5vaCO-DyFg_J6H5Y0TO39sbxIswHj6pulIUTVVAlPYHk7kUEeq9W0vOBSfEqULXAM8ldfn-OYXGFpcqbYUVYkqq_b3Uaa1hCYfdNr02s8NtS/s1600/SAM_1722.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLzE82FoaN0jG4Icygv5s0zy9ynT0Nms_o5vaCO-DyFg_J6H5Y0TO39sbxIswHj6pulIUTVVAlPYHk7kUEeq9W0vOBSfEqULXAM8ldfn-OYXGFpcqbYUVYkqq_b3Uaa1hCYfdNr02s8NtS/s320/SAM_1722.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daddy, Kofi, and Maa Cook Banku (2014)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
I am lucky. Most exchange students are not able to visit their host families within a year. I have visited mine twice within two. I am so glad I did. My goofy Kofi memories are abundant. And I got to watch him grow up. At least a little. (He may have been twenty-four, but he was an overgrown kid, trust me. The number of times he got us lost in Kumasi...I can't even!)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I know I've said I go back to work on Enliven Mama Africa. It's true, but only part of the story. If I didn't have this family, the Adinkras, I would not be back half as often. Maa Aggie has even been to the United States.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Everyday, I wonder how it happened that I was put in a family like my own. A family that revolves around a quirky twenty something boy. A family willing to give everything to strangers.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I told my biological brother Tyler, "The reason I would have brought you to Ghana is gone." I wish my boys could have met. I wish Kofi could have seen snow. I wish...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's useless to wish these things. I remember, and I laugh. Kofi was strange, artistic, and offbeat. He made me laugh all the time. (He also made me pull my hair sometimes, like when we'd watch movies and he'd talk over them).</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzlarixvWyFrdli_ye5l3Ou1gqttoB3mC4lfZap39vWT8b7Dc2DdDp6ye3NqH_crds8MK5WjNw2Uf6kgepD9l4JZIEY_9u0siPt9S1an5hYGJiO2QLYlwV6BXELqP_3-FeWo62U2Lg82X4/s1600/IMG_5021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzlarixvWyFrdli_ye5l3Ou1gqttoB3mC4lfZap39vWT8b7Dc2DdDp6ye3NqH_crds8MK5WjNw2Uf6kgepD9l4JZIEY_9u0siPt9S1an5hYGJiO2QLYlwV6BXELqP_3-FeWo62U2Lg82X4/s320/IMG_5021.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Joe, Kofi, and Sarah at the Milo Games (2012)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
I know I am not the only one who has seen something like this happen in my host family. Life goes on after your exchange year. Not always for the better.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The name Afia (my Ghanaian name, it's the female "Kofi") means more to me than it ever has. I am grateful that it is a part of me.<br />
<br />
Maybe on the other side of this tragedy, I'll be able to explain why I love and am loved by this family. For now, I will keep moving forward, and keep looking back. The layers of love and brother/sisterhood between Kofi and I are beautiful.<br />
<br />
I wish I could sum up what I'm trying to say, but I just can't. Loving Kofi hurts, and I'm so glad I had the opportunity to love him.<br />
<br />
To other exchange alumni out there: stick with your host families when it gets tough. It's worth it. I know it is.<br />
<br />
Thanks for reading,<br />
<br />
Sarah Afia Bibbey </div>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06559099073575510570noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612768907691882919.post-61471379652770560992015-06-03T11:30:00.003-07:002015-06-03T11:30:46.967-07:00Important People I Would Not Know Without YES, Day 9: Sakina<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSavez1ToJ0VkZgqinpaAjH7TLUog4wZIO5-ipqUQl_rQeF2Qyt6ek-_TpoL7TD9jC6XsG2zTNU_6fwSqv1IJdWSQnDWS8BNHmEc6sBHU7cj9Wh0jx8nU-Dfg7gY4-F2O4dGO0vxY8c4g1/s1600/DSCN0647.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSavez1ToJ0VkZgqinpaAjH7TLUog4wZIO5-ipqUQl_rQeF2Qyt6ek-_TpoL7TD9jC6XsG2zTNU_6fwSqv1IJdWSQnDWS8BNHmEc6sBHU7cj9Wh0jx8nU-Dfg7gY4-F2O4dGO0vxY8c4g1/s320/DSCN0647.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst">
It is not easy to go to school in a new
culture. Any exchange student could tell you that what we do is not possible
without support from our peers.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
When I showed up in KSTS, I was intimidated
by the new place. I didn’t show it, but oh, I felt it. I didn’t understand <i>anything</i>, not where to buy food, not
where to go to the bathroom, not how to behave in class. On top of that,
everyone was staring at me. I don’t blame them—I would have stared at me, too.
Still, it drained my energy. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
Sakina sat beside me on the first day of
school. She approached me with boldness and compassion. Sakina thought of my
every need. At break, she marched me down to the canteen and bought me kenkey.
I would have been satisfied with her showing me how to buy kenkey, but before I
could say anything, she’d paid. I asked her where the toilet was, and she
dropped everything she was doing and walked me over there. I tried to ask the class
how to take a taxi to “Owhimasi,” (a mother of a word for an American to
pronounce) but no one understood what place I meant. Except Sakina. She figured
it out and took me to the station I needed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
I followed Sakina around like a puppy at
school, watching what she did. I must have seemed like such a baby at first. I
couldn’t eat with my hand properly, and I’d get food all over my face. Sakina
would wipe it with a washcloth.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
Only a few weeks in to school, I asked her
to come home and meet my host family. She agreed, and made fast friends with my
brother Kofi and my sister Martha. Kofi and I went to her house the following
weekend. Her family was so kind. They had me laughing. Sakina and I would talk
on the phone after school almost every day. It’s common for friends in Ghana to
spend so much time on the phone.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
In November, I took a trip to the Northern
Region of Ghana, and so I missed school for a few days. When I came back,
Sakina threw her arms around me, held me tight, let go, jumped and shouted for
joy. I remember feeling at a loss. What had I done to convince Sakina to love
me that way?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
As the year went on, I learned the answer.
I did nothing to convince her. Sakina took one look at me on the first day of
school and decided she was going to love me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
If you were to zoom out from the Earth and
look down at all the people, you would not find two young women more different
than Sakina and I. I am tall and pale (even for a white person); Sakina is
short and dark (even for a black person). I speak one language, Sakina speaks
at least three. I am a Christian, Sakina is a Muslim. I am well-off; Sakina’s
family has seen hard times.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
But if you looked inside us, if you put our
hearts under microscopes, I wonder if you wouldn’t find two people more
similar. Our differences are not trivial. It has not always been easy to
navigate them. However, Sakina and I both go out of our way to help others. The
way she welcomed me and incorporated me into our class was awesome. In high
school, I always reached out to the outcasts, trying to find what made them
special. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
Sakina told me recently that she admires my
work with Enliven Mama Africa. When I remember the way she made everyone in our
class feel valued (especially me, the outsider of all outsiders), I admire the
way she gives people her all. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast">
Sakina, continue blessing people with your
determination to love.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<o:p></o:p>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06559099073575510570noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612768907691882919.post-81768742244238255342015-06-02T21:01:00.001-07:002015-06-02T21:02:18.113-07:00Important People I Would Not Know Without YES, Day 8: The Adinkras<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Jc06jWacDfo04wpWIOKC2zg9FockzSSYQ1UfWKPMtoPMsm2UwUb22hB77UOif5BoD8gm2lbQ1S-b-R9Iq4zhEuC-oTqHJiJpXme3gW02ZnILZMV8q3jcSbP4By3sQDFZV428-nwUZIPb/s1600/IMG_0017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Jc06jWacDfo04wpWIOKC2zg9FockzSSYQ1UfWKPMtoPMsm2UwUb22hB77UOif5BoD8gm2lbQ1S-b-R9Iq4zhEuC-oTqHJiJpXme3gW02ZnILZMV8q3jcSbP4By3sQDFZV428-nwUZIPb/s320/IMG_0017.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
This post deserves an entire series. My
host family is the best host family in Ghana. (This is not my bias speaking; they
won the AFS award for “Best Host Family.” The American president of AFS came to
meet them).</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP7t0FQ-R5uw1aN3gX3Hz2-G-OxSpL8CLRjB9xBgrI-iTd981eTwnff2HbxiZwuz8zfLXIUqmo4iXoLsdyPvetj2xB57yhwoB0lyeWYlpL-WazGIUqt9fluacXzO9wQ7ACzIH0PZsAzBmQ/s1600/DSCN0628.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP7t0FQ-R5uw1aN3gX3Hz2-G-OxSpL8CLRjB9xBgrI-iTd981eTwnff2HbxiZwuz8zfLXIUqmo4iXoLsdyPvetj2xB57yhwoB0lyeWYlpL-WazGIUqt9fluacXzO9wQ7ACzIH0PZsAzBmQ/s200/DSCN0628.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maa Aggie and Me</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
The first day I arrived in Kumasi, sick and
jet-lagged, my host mom gave me a hug and said: “Sarah my daughter.” She didn’t
wait to get to know me, she just decided to love me however I was. My host dad
gave me a tour of the house that first night. They showered me with love,
filled me with food, and did everything in their power to help me adjust to
living in Ghana. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
I don’t know how to say thank you, because
saying it once won’t do it. My host mom, Aggie, and my host dad, John made me
feel safe amid the confusion of a new lifestyle. Martha and Bridget gave me the
experience of having sisters for the first time. The youngest son, Kofi, showed
interesting similarities to my brothers at home. Kwame, the middle son, has
hosted me in Accra several times.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvHmrazkiaXRiaa7Hm7x4pLQ8JEOWN-Rfo4QlQjqilEiMav-uo3gNdKXKCHpNh0GSGBkk6fsXoAfV9CqaNWb27HjSE_VJpXRoohEwPrFZ-rABLLM-d9BGksLIo5fMPfLBOU2X_LgYX0F9f/s1600/kwame.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvHmrazkiaXRiaa7Hm7x4pLQ8JEOWN-Rfo4QlQjqilEiMav-uo3gNdKXKCHpNh0GSGBkk6fsXoAfV9CqaNWb27HjSE_VJpXRoohEwPrFZ-rABLLM-d9BGksLIo5fMPfLBOU2X_LgYX0F9f/s200/kwame.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kwame and Me</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6BVMvEVtNKfqtEGOX18niWUC0BVq8oRYAS-tMaq85jnebLpLnTnmVgbxGk38bNxdaK-QVDFX4GDvJ2sa2Z5hVRhYkM_76JbaVY3ZzAcnNeKHjDWgihmzQ27nakCyhG8FjFz8C_VGIrdGl/s1600/IMG_5020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6BVMvEVtNKfqtEGOX18niWUC0BVq8oRYAS-tMaq85jnebLpLnTnmVgbxGk38bNxdaK-QVDFX4GDvJ2sa2Z5hVRhYkM_76JbaVY3ZzAcnNeKHjDWgihmzQ27nakCyhG8FjFz8C_VGIrdGl/s200/IMG_5020.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Joe (a school friend), Kofi, and Me</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The relationship I share with each member
of my host family is unique and precious in its own way. The Adinkra parents
are so giving. My host dad and I shared many conversations during my exchange year,
and we still talk on the phone often. He can make me smile whenever. Daddy is
the best breakfast chef in Kumasi, no doubt about it. My host mom is one of the
kindest people I have ever met. She cooked so many meals for me. She cared for
me when I was sick.<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
When I arrived in Ghana, my host brother,
Kofi, was ill and had to be taken to the hospital. I remember being afraid that
my family would have to give me up because of it. However, they called their
cousin, Martha, and she spent hours with me, laughing and listening to music. Martha
spent time with me before I had started school and before I had the confidence
to go out on my own. The Adinkra family was tough and kept me through all kinds
of times.<o:p></o:p></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRrTdls1_ensHLdeM7BsnqFAEufJtihDvZ0P64I9LhjahLfB7BOLXfqqF7BuKQP_Z5mDhJr7MU4yJ3is3FNBYFfIdRqretpsvXlT2ZHE80ZQWgZvA066SgN2moNtDJKxNSpazrKVzY0EAQ/s1600/DSCN0619.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRrTdls1_ensHLdeM7BsnqFAEufJtihDvZ0P64I9LhjahLfB7BOLXfqqF7BuKQP_Z5mDhJr7MU4yJ3is3FNBYFfIdRqretpsvXlT2ZHE80ZQWgZvA066SgN2moNtDJKxNSpazrKVzY0EAQ/s200/DSCN0619.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px; text-align: center;">Bridget, Me, and Martha</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
Kofi and spent countless hours walking
through Boko and greeting friends. Kofi has similar quirks to my brother Tyler,
and that was interesting to see. Bridget and I shared a good many laughs. Kwame
impressed me with his hospitality even when he lived on his own. He also
introduced me to the Big Bang Theory. (I love Sheldon!)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
My parents came to meet the Adinkras at the
end of my exchange year. It blew me away to see both my moms laughing and both
my dads talking. That was a picture of unity.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6MkDN18PQ7a8dH26gOAASUaWSQnA4fRselwa_by-gpBsTB7SdfvCGw4yMJVE4XeVi-SKYd91q_u2uSpKjzQYHijjuMk-LUx4e8GtnNPCAz3Mx7yXUu6vNadG3m4J-mdsfiZiS7Ef_GXuH/s1600/DSCN0623.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6MkDN18PQ7a8dH26gOAASUaWSQnA4fRselwa_by-gpBsTB7SdfvCGw4yMJVE4XeVi-SKYd91q_u2uSpKjzQYHijjuMk-LUx4e8GtnNPCAz3Mx7yXUu6vNadG3m4J-mdsfiZiS7Ef_GXuH/s200/DSCN0623.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dad (John Adinkra and Jeff Bibbey)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
I am immeasurably lucky. Not only was I
placed with the “best host family in Ghana,” I was placed with a family that
fit me like a glove. Because of Enliven Mama Africa, I have seen most of my
host family again. I returned to Ghana in 2014 and stayed with Maa Aggie,
Daddy, and Kofi. Kwame picked me up at the airport. It was a beautiful
homecoming. I had been afraid it would never come. To think, I only had to wait
a year… <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
And I only had to wait two years for
something even bigger to happen. Just last week, I welcomed my Ghanaian mother
into my own home. She's been in Georgia for a few months, and was able to make it out to Colorado. Maa Aggie is an American lady now, just as I am a Ghanaian
lady. I am so honored to be the daughter of Agnes Adinkra, a woman who goes out
of her way to be a mother. We had such a wonderful time exploring Colorado. Maa
met my brothers for the first time. She was teasing Tyler and dancing with
Griff. In such moments, I am aware of the heart of what it is to be an exchange
student.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast">
I did not gain a second family from the YES
Program. My own family just got bigger.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="240" src="https://scontent-ord1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xta1/v/t1.0-9/11377256_1000833903274689_3275947351290682502_n.jpg?oh=6ee6832205a197c07b5dbe1492375581&oe=55E7A693" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maa Aggie, Me, and Mom IN THE USA!!!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast">
PS: Please look for a blog post all about Maa's visit...after I finish the series.</div>
<o:p></o:p>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06559099073575510570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612768907691882919.post-52687766325466152802015-05-31T13:03:00.000-07:002015-05-31T13:03:38.400-07:00Important People I Would Not Know Without YES, Day 7: Nans Riffart<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst">
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJldDCCeh59ru7KHN98XV8tYXuy1sdo4YfcB4HXELfPJEA9B4s3fcOiu1izBViLZzj32_kOyjP05vf70koaPehwBL7uh8gkLtDUBQm_yE8HzNFVWpevE4jurvo9Ujtg8FPSKRalDmPW8eO/s1600/IMG_0189.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJldDCCeh59ru7KHN98XV8tYXuy1sdo4YfcB4HXELfPJEA9B4s3fcOiu1izBViLZzj32_kOyjP05vf70koaPehwBL7uh8gkLtDUBQm_yE8HzNFVWpevE4jurvo9Ujtg8FPSKRalDmPW8eO/s320/IMG_0189.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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I mentioned, before, that a few blogposts
will leave me at a loss for words. Nans Riffart, the last “obruni” (white and
non-Ghanaian) person I will write about definitely captures that. By nature,
Nans is one of the most caring, affectionate people I have ever known. In
Kumasi, he was my best friend, and I look forward to the day we will meet
again.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
The first time I met Nans, I was jet-lagged
and my adrenaline was crashing fast. We were in the AFS bus at the Ghanaian
airport, and I had ask his name about ten times before I decided it must be
something like “Naunce.” I do not speak any French, and I am honored to have a
friend who was willing to speak my language to get to know me. As I spent some
time with him over the next few days, I was touched by his open nature.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
Nans and I were placed at the same school.
I don’t think either of us could have realized the impact this would have on
both of us. We weren’t in the same class (we wanted to make Ghanaian friends,
after all), but we were able to meet during breaks to process our experiences
with Ghanaian culture. As time went on,
we talked about many pieces of life, physical and spiritual. We shared
countless laughs and I had the privilege of teaching him English words. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
Before Ghana, I was a private person. Not
in the sense of introversion—I am an extrovert and always will be. In high
school, I kept secrets from my closest friends. I wanted no one to see my weak
points or my fears. I created myself instead of just living as I was. Maybe
that’s why I had so few close friends in those days. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
It was Nans who changed that for me. He
learned things about me I was afraid to admit to myself. Because of that, I
found myself telling him things I hadn’t told people before. Perhaps, according
to the laws of social interaction in America, we weren’t supposed to talk
about such things. But Nans and I were not governed by rules.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
He memorized my facial expressions. (I
recall him saying once: “Sarah, you’re wearing the expression you do when you
want me to think you’re happy, but you’re not. What’s going on?”) He was verbally
affectionate in a way none of my American friends had been since we were kids. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
We traveled around Ghana together, Nans
and I. I especially remember our trip to the monkey sanctuary in the Brong-Ahafo
region. We got stuck in a city called Techiman during a pouring rainstorm and
made the best of it. Then we went out to the sanctuary, where we spent two days
scrambling around the forest, reading Biblical poetry, and practicing
meditation. Seeing wild monkeys up close for the first time was extraordinary.
In that place, I felt close to the Earth and to God.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
Nans gave me a gift from that place, which
I will treasure forever. We were young, and strived to keep each other happy
that year in Ghana. I won’t pretend we always succeeded. We had our
misjudgments and our failures to support each other. But we tried so hard,
coming from a place of love. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast">
Nans Fabrice Riffart, Kwame Agyeman, lover of
nature and humankind, you showed me how to be a friend. Whenever I find myself missing you, I remember that you want me to be happy where I am.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<o:p></o:p>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06559099073575510570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612768907691882919.post-28316738385319905082015-05-31T11:47:00.000-07:002015-05-31T11:47:44.324-07:00Important People I Would Not Know Without YES, Day 6: Logan Smith (who helped an acrophobic go cliff jumping)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEVH9bEKY3XADYUKYiFb-LtvhDgXkQAiALQDthZCVTs3KKSDS0k0DFZlNeBFdz2OE_cZO8oQNjIvF2fWsGW6x9raAgH9KZaANe78q2K4I-J6NE83Bk3OYofqty0L1WSsbOg_iHzJMn3ZbT/s1600/falling-away.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEVH9bEKY3XADYUKYiFb-LtvhDgXkQAiALQDthZCVTs3KKSDS0k0DFZlNeBFdz2OE_cZO8oQNjIvF2fWsGW6x9raAgH9KZaANe78q2K4I-J6NE83Bk3OYofqty0L1WSsbOg_iHzJMn3ZbT/s320/falling-away.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
This is not a picture of my friend Logan.
This is not a picture of me, either. In fact I don’t know this guy at all. I
snatched this from the internet.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
This is a picture of how I felt on the day I
met Logan. I was leaning over the edge of the cliff, about to fall. I had left
Colorado and was sitting in some weird New York hotel preparing for the ride of
my life. I was overwhelmed. Ten months felt like forever in that moment. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
Some people can sit and reason through
their fears and stress. I am not one of those people. I am a crier. I cried all
day during that orientation.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
Logan was the group leader sent to prepare
us AFS students to live in Ghana. By the time we arrived in New York, it was
too late to pack anything else or say goodbye to anyone else. Logan’s job was
to be with us as we prepared in deeper ways. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
I did a pretty good job, that day, of
hiding my tears and my sadness and my nerves. I think, though, that Logan had
some idea we were all freaking out. (However, Sarah freaking out does not look
like Emily freaking out or Ann Elise freaking out. Lydia freaking out does not
look like Jeneni freaking out and neither of them look like Sarah freaking out.)
In spite of that, Logan was wonderful at calming us down without admitting that
that was what he was doing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
Fast forward ten months. Our group was
completely different. Instead of five YES students, there were three of us.
Instead of being new friends excited to get to know each other, we were sisters
who knew each other like the back of our hands. (And sisters who were in the middle
of a heated squabble over what was right. Honestly, we might have rather made
the long flight from Ghana alone than spend so much time with our siblings.)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
And who met us in the DC airport but Logan.
He was there to prepare us to jump off an even larger cliff—flinging our new
selves into our old homes. He laughed at my funnier statements (“This place is
full of white people.” “It’s eight at night; the sun should have been down
hours ago.”). Logan was there to validate our experience. When we’d tell a
story, he’d come up with a similar one from his experience in Ghana.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
Some of my peers may say that having the
same group leader to send us off and welcome us home provided closure. However,
I was not seeking closure. I wanted to be transformed as a result of my
experience, to see my life never be the same again. In that orientation, I felt
like Logan was telling me: “You did not dream this experience. You have
permission to be different than you were before.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
In September 2014, I had the opportunity to
be a group leader myself. When I arrived in New York, I kept in mind that the
students may have felt like they were falling off a cliff. As Logan did for me,
I was present with them as they prepared for the ride.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
I will not be with this year’s YES Abroad
students at their return orientation in Washington DC. I get to do something
crazier—be at their return orientation in Accra. I am blessed to maintain
strong links to Ghana.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
When someone is there to help you, moving across
the world is not like falling off a cliff, it is like jumping. I’ve never been
cliff-jumping (I’m kind of acrophobic), but I hear it’s fabulous.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
Logan, thank you for being with me as I made
those jumps.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0ChPdIxTPOYYlDzPFYqvz_poyRUFWqXGaPy5hqOSZ2l1QRTWE2nldSvsABseXurw6bavW1Lp56piokeaBo2wzh-ItSLTOnPJtNUM2hwesph-7remnUWeY30PdahtSLLjVzgn8eXExDZDp/s1600/hb-10-mexico-cliff-diver1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0ChPdIxTPOYYlDzPFYqvz_poyRUFWqXGaPy5hqOSZ2l1QRTWE2nldSvsABseXurw6bavW1Lp56piokeaBo2wzh-ItSLTOnPJtNUM2hwesph-7remnUWeY30PdahtSLLjVzgn8eXExDZDp/s320/hb-10-mexico-cliff-diver1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
Picture links: http://imgarcade.com/1/woman-falling-off-a-cliff/</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
http://lorynbarbeau.com/blog/</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
PS: I know the cycle is broken, and this isn't really a "14 day blog series" now, but life happens. Finals, closeout duty, ministry camp, special guests, etc. I still plan to finish.</div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06559099073575510570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612768907691882919.post-35574850068189500202015-04-13T19:05:00.000-07:002015-04-13T19:05:20.793-07:00Important People I Would Not Know Without YES, Day 5: Jamirah Ahmed <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVKwA-UdInG2SK6JlQBB9YOTGfWagrYyt5ESl2aj0RAMko9hdBHTMaC7fbxaQQfDdpwCLfeyCZC46AjyckhawOO7mWtf1x7WmeLyFWxlayMwzfvkHLRJx8RPmM4hxyU310apx2yj_gOMmT/s1600/jamirah.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVKwA-UdInG2SK6JlQBB9YOTGfWagrYyt5ESl2aj0RAMko9hdBHTMaC7fbxaQQfDdpwCLfeyCZC46AjyckhawOO7mWtf1x7WmeLyFWxlayMwzfvkHLRJx8RPmM4hxyU310apx2yj_gOMmT/s1600/jamirah.jpg" height="320" width="271" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst">
When Lydia,
Emily, Ann Elise, Jeneni and I landed in Washington DC in June 2013, we were
varying degrees of ecstatic. I was flattered to be chosen for YES. I was full
of questions about Ghana. Fortunately, we had the lovely Jamirah to help us
understand what to expect and how to handle Ghana.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
I don’t
think I realized how much I appreciated Jamirah until we were reunited in
Ghana. For me, the experience of landing was stressful. I had just finished the
longest plane ride of my life, and entered the noisiest place I’d ever seen.
Someone tried to carry my luggage for me, and I was so exhausted and shell-shocked
I almost let him. I felt like I was in a haze, wandering through a dream. Trouble was, we were in the middle of a busy airport, where you need to be on your toes. When we finally arrived at the AFS bus, Jamirah was there to
greet us. My heart soared to see a familiar face in a strange land. I felt safe amid my bizarre surroundings.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
In Kumasi,
Jamirah was always there for us. We went through some bumps as we adjusted to
our surroundings, and Jamirah was willing to help us process them. On perhaps
the lowest moment of my year, when Morgan Lide passed away, Jamirah calmed me
down and enabled me to continue with a good attitude. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
Jamirah and
other YES alumni play a special role in the life of YES Abroad students. They
understand the transitions we go through because they have lived it themselves.
I was able to visit Ghana again in 2014 (see: <a href="http://www.enlivenmamaafrica.blogspot.com/">www.enlivenmamaafrica.blogspot.com</a>).
When I returned, my visit with Jamirah was one of the highlights. She connected
me with Ghanaian students interested in my project. I
learned how much she does for exchange students, and I am impressed by her hard work.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast">
One thing that
strikes me about Jamirah is her sense of humor. During my year in Ghana, she could
make me laugh at anything. To live in Ghana, you must have the ability to laugh. Also, Jamirah puts incredible energy into her interactions with people. I find that inspiring. </div>
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I am so glad to know Jamirah. <o:p></o:p></div>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06559099073575510570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612768907691882919.post-31564113854209371642015-04-09T22:04:00.000-07:002015-04-09T22:04:18.440-07:00Important People I Would Not Know Without YES, Day 4: Emily Simpson<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRLF6Vsquy9cuO1mEJB6cDgtQ7hphj4_BmWuRTS5io6hILeVdiZRvNUtWHrJxkM97nSSlh2GpJZYlMp2Pg8yu36_yfffyA7Hgj7aWZHHQyeIRlCCwYaPXoLQhx3X6F6-bRRZaBIA5e3xal/s1600/emily.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRLF6Vsquy9cuO1mEJB6cDgtQ7hphj4_BmWuRTS5io6hILeVdiZRvNUtWHrJxkM97nSSlh2GpJZYlMp2Pg8yu36_yfffyA7Hgj7aWZHHQyeIRlCCwYaPXoLQhx3X6F6-bRRZaBIA5e3xal/s1600/emily.jpg" height="274" width="320" /></a></div>
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Emily Simpson is tall, wild, and
unforgettable. She leaves a distinct impression on people wherever she goes.
These days, she doesn’t seem to stick around one place for too long. She’s
always looking for a new adventure.<o:p></o:p></div>
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We are strong personalities, Emily and I.
Both of us in one room makes sparks fly. In Ghana, we spent time together every few
months, but we lived far apart. We had distinct experiences on our exchange, partly
because we sought out different kinds of opportunities than each other. However,
spending a year in the same country equipped us to understand each other on a
deep level.<o:p></o:p></div>
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When I came back from Ghana, I was a wreck.
There were days I would think I had dreamed my entire experience, that the
people I had known and loved were ciphers. If I couldn’t see or touch them, I
felt they didn’t exist.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I started college and put on a brave face.
Sometimes, during those first few months, I was pretending to be happy. My
white-brick hallway didn’t really compare to my house in Atwima Boko. The fast
paced schedule of a student wasn’t entirely compatible with the new easygoing “Ghana
Man Time” I’d picked up. I felt like I had already accomplished my greatest
life-dream, and that the way forward was all downhill. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Then, Emily waltzed back into my life,
challenging me to re-center myself. We drove up to a Buddhist shrine in the
mountains near Fort Collins. She saw right through my “brave face.” “Sarah,”
she said, “Your body may be here, but your mind is still in Ghana.” Emily riled
me up on that visit, and in a way, I was relieved to see her go back to
Laramie.<o:p></o:p></div>
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A few months later, I had a trip planned to
Snowy Range, a ski place near Emily’s hometown. The night before I left, Emily called me. I invited
her along. We skied together all day, talking out our good and bad experiences.
That was a turning point in our friendship, at least in my opinion. I trusted
her on a new level, I saw she understood me, and I felt we would enjoy spending
more time together. <o:p></o:p></div>
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After that day skiing, Emily and I spent
the best times together yet. She came to Fort Collins to visit several times
over the next month. In those visits, we sledded, hung out with my college friends, and frequented the Ally Cat Cafe. She went off to India, then to a job in New York, and she
visited again on her way home. (That time we camped at Horsetooth...after the campground closed.) We still talk about Ghana, sometimes, but our
friendship has broadened to many other topics.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Emily and I still make a room spark. Every
time I look at her, I know the people I met that year continue to live,
breathe, and grow. It is not our time in Ghana that I love Emily for, it is the
way we keep going now. I don’t believe her call that night was a coincidence.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06559099073575510570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612768907691882919.post-18143448640221502342015-04-06T17:02:00.000-07:002015-04-06T17:02:11.662-07:00Important People I Would Not Have Known Without YES, Day 3: Lydia Larson<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3t_3XBmVHDb68f1WfF25n_pWbvfgu6OEMzVdbQ5vhIQDOjXhSF4RbUEMX4OtIKF5EFoiBym7MXgoUVFofQM0cKppKEmQjCVlwcZCBk4w3YW71-NkYZM_VVtBEDAX6uwTXTBS-Bg1KFWUO/s1600/IMG_4722.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3t_3XBmVHDb68f1WfF25n_pWbvfgu6OEMzVdbQ5vhIQDOjXhSF4RbUEMX4OtIKF5EFoiBym7MXgoUVFofQM0cKppKEmQjCVlwcZCBk4w3YW71-NkYZM_VVtBEDAX6uwTXTBS-Bg1KFWUO/s1600/IMG_4722.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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We were in a hotel. It was beautiful, but
not much different than your average hotel in America. It wasn’t even in
Denver. It was DIA, Colorado, which is its own place if you ask me. I was in a
hotel in my home state with 89 high school students across the country. These
weren’t just any high school students, though. They were like me. Students who
cared about global issues and craved adventure. Students who weren’t afraid of
going somewhere completely off most Americans’ radar. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Even for our similarities, I didn’t exactly
blend in at the YES Abroad IPSE (fancy terms for interview and sleepover). I
enjoy social interaction, but I can get lost in crowds. When I saw Miss Lydia
Larson, I knew we would be able to connect. Lydia and I talked for at least
four hours about anything and everything. We found we had more in common than
our desire to go abroad. We were both from small towns (though Lydia lives much
further from a city than me), we both valued our education, and we somehow…fit.
During our first conversation we were never scrambling for “something to talk
about.” We were enjoying each other’s company and viewpoints.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Little did I know that that conversation
would be the first of hundreds. Yes, hundreds. Lydia and I were sent to Kumasi,
Ghana together in the fall of 2012. After every day, we would call each other
and process our experiences. Lydia and I saw each other at our best and at our
worst. Before Ghana, I never really let people see me at my worst. <o:p></o:p></div>
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There will be a few of these blog posts
that will leave me, the writer, at a loss for words. This is one of them. I can’t
really express the kind of bond you form with someone when you, together, leave
everything you know. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Lydia and I didn’t always see eye to eye,
that is true. But friendships where you always see eye to eye are fake in some
sense. My friendship with Lydia is real. We navigated Kumasi’s tro-tro system
together. We celebrated Eid-al-hada for the first time (see the picture). We
traveled cross-country. We played a sour game of pool on New Year’s Eve of
2013. We went on a running adventure where we burst into someone’s house (He
didn’t care. In fact, he asked us if we wanted to borrow some chairs while we
sat on his roof.) We laid the groundwork for what is now Enliven Mama together.
(Lydia was the professional eye in the room. Had the website been left to my
designs…let’s just say there would have been hidden jokes and nerdy cultural
references.) After sharing a room several times on trips, we decided we should
never be roommates and always be friends. Lydia was the first and remains the only
person to notice the bizarre way I sleep – on my stomach, with my hand up at
the pillow. (Yes, I sleep in that position every night.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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That is not even a sixteenth of what Lydia
and I shared. Lydia and I…we grew up together. Not in the way that we knew each
other all our childhood. We became adults together. We arrived in Ghana two American
teenagers with a lot in common. We left Ghana two brave women, marked by our
experiences. Ironically, I think we have less in common now than we did then. We
have grown in diverse, beautiful directions.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I don’t have a sister by blood. My female
friends are lucky because they become my sisters.<o:p></o:p></div>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06559099073575510570noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612768907691882919.post-31262461276582783942015-04-05T23:19:00.000-07:002015-04-05T23:23:20.689-07:00Important People I Would Not Have Known Without YES, Day 2: Fiona Racheal<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMY9MdKhAfi48LuMuP-owMgRsINY46dG2TLBu2STPmhPHpshNPoNiCUYKyqNDNvoNo_vdO5nCNZld-uJx0y2LWY_amDoTzBtFAV_NsaK5Lli-QEzY85j7-XvgPWiH8HXaxLPMcTAx8U-rt/s1600/464124_221111411325211_347749253_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMY9MdKhAfi48LuMuP-owMgRsINY46dG2TLBu2STPmhPHpshNPoNiCUYKyqNDNvoNo_vdO5nCNZld-uJx0y2LWY_amDoTzBtFAV_NsaK5Lli-QEzY85j7-XvgPWiH8HXaxLPMcTAx8U-rt/s1600/464124_221111411325211_347749253_o.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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I met Fiona, a YES student from Kenya, after school in one
day in 2011. Her host father and my mother taught science together at Poudre
High School. From the start, I could tell Fiona was a kind-hearted, love filled
young woman. She always went out of her way to make me smile. We spent many
good times together during her year in Colorado. Here are a few that stand out
to me:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->1)<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Fiona’s first snow – It was just a dusting, just
a tiny bit of snow. But we ran outside together, touching the snow, making
little snowballs…only problem was neither of us had gloves. Our hands burned
with cold for an hour afterwards<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]-->2)<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Fiona coming to watch me in the Music Man – I always
love it when my friends come watch me perform. <o:p></o:p></div>
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YES Abroad - It was Fiona who first told me
about YES Abroad. I knew about YES (the inbound version), but one day I found
myself talking to Fiona about how much I love exchange students, and how I
wished I could be one. She pulled out a YES Abroad flyer from her bag. From the
moment I saw the flyer, I knew the program was for me. Fiona watched me go
through the process of applying, and cheered when I was awarded the scholarship
to Ghana. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]-->3)<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Invisible Children – I remember when Invisible
Children came to Poudre and gave us presentation. I know there have been
concerns about this organization, but I remember the people I have met through
it and maintain respect for them. Watching the presentation and meeting the
people was a different when Fiona was with me, because she understood the area
well. She helped me see that Africans of different nations often empathize with
each other deeply. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]-->4)<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Our faux Sadie Hawkins – Fiona, her host sister,
and I made plans to go to the Sadie Hawkins Dance at Poudre together. Turned
out we were three of about twenty with those plans. They cancelled the dance.
Oh, well, we dressed up fancy and went to eat at The Beach House, a wonderful
restaurant that has since closed down.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]-->5)<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Prom – Fiona and I stuck together like glue
during senior prom. Oh yeah, I had a date. In our picture, we’re standing on
either side of him with our hands on his shoulders. We danced in a sort of
three person circle all night. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->6)<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->The FCMOD show – Before the Fort Collins Museum
of Discovery opened, we had a party there. It was for volunteers, their
friends, and high school bands. I was honored to see many of my friends come,
including Fiona. That’s where we are in the picture.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->7)<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Saying good-bye the day before I left for DC –
My mom was not happy about me driving across town before I’d packed, but I had
to do it. I had to say goodbye to my friend. I insisted, because I hoped my
friends on exchange would do the same for me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Kenya is far away. However, after my many experiences over the past four years, the world doesn't feel quite so big. I have no doubt that I will make my way to Kenya one
day, and when I do, I will be thrilled to see Fiona. <o:p></o:p></div>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06559099073575510570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612768907691882919.post-74810156640670419022015-04-04T13:18:00.001-07:002015-04-04T13:20:43.932-07:00Important People I Would Not Have Known Without YES, Day 1: Zahra Yousofi<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga6T3W0axbKD0f2qYZ9UwS-iqTvzJ_kBdXe5gGV6YyrDss3HQzO_0sWX08nPePo2_mk8CiWIUuln8FZdwUnIn0-IAqgQkxAVGVTov5F3IgfZtz59U75T0prbtggiFFVduS_6M_NVV7ngKs/s1600/zahra.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga6T3W0axbKD0f2qYZ9UwS-iqTvzJ_kBdXe5gGV6YyrDss3HQzO_0sWX08nPePo2_mk8CiWIUuln8FZdwUnIn0-IAqgQkxAVGVTov5F3IgfZtz59U75T0prbtggiFFVduS_6M_NVV7ngKs/s1600/zahra.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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When I saw Zahra sitting in the Poudre High School library
over four years ago, something inside me was compelled to speak to her. I didn’t
know, at that time, but I was seeing someone who would change my life. Zahra
Yousofi was one of the members of YES Afghanistan 2010-2011, the last YES group
from Afghanistan. I was a high school student unsatisfied with the day to day
conversations of most of my peers.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Zahra and I, we talked. We talked about love, life,
Afghanistan, God, women’s rights, and so many other things. We roamed Bellvue,
Colorado, just west of my hometown, Laporte, admiring the beauty of the place.
We really only hung out for a few months, lamenting, as exchange students often
do, that we hadn’t connected earlier. But after going home to Afghanistan for
the summer and spending a semester at boarding school in New Jersey, Zahra came
to Colorado to visit. Inspired by her, I was on the application journey for YES
Abroad. Ever since then, I’ve know that the end of an exchange does not mark the
end of a friendship. Exchange is the catalyst for life-long friendships. After
returning from Ghana, my American friends grew distant, in a way. I always knew
I could call Zahra if I needed her.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Zahra and I have always laughed about the diversity of our
backgrounds (one the one hand) and the alignment of our interests (on the
other). Even our names are similar (people with certain accents call us both
Sah-ra). We are both sophomores in college now in different parts of the United
States. After not talking for a year, we decided to Skype two weeks ago. As I
asked Zahra about her summer plans, she described her desire to start a women’s
project in Afghanistan focused on trade education. She mentioned that if she
could, she would buy sewing machines for the women. Zahra knew she had to do
something for Afghan women, because she had made a promise. I froze, shivering
a little. Not a week before, I’d written this blog post about my NGO in Ghana,
Enliven Mama Africa: <a href="http://www.enlivenmamaafrica.blogspot.com/2015/03/a-promise.html">http://www.enlivenmamaafrica.blogspot.com/2015/03/a-promise.html</a>.
(The post describes my commitment to trade education for women in Ghana, and
the promise that fueled it. Zahra had not seen any of my work related to
Enliven Mama Africa.) <o:p></o:p></div>
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It seems that our different experiences over the past few
years are driving Zahra and me in the same direction. If it were not for YES—<o:p></o:p></div>
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We might still be dreaming. Instead, we are working, with
each other’s encouragement and blessing. I have a friend loves me and who is
not afraid to challenge me.</div>
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<span style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/citizendiplomacy?source=feed_text&story_id=971577566200323">#CitizenDiplomacy</a> <a href="https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/exchangealumni?source=feed_text&story_id=971577566200323">#ExchangeAlumni</a> (<a href="http://www.enlivenmamaafrica.blogspot.com/">www.enlivenmamaafrica.blogspot.com</a>)</span></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06559099073575510570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612768907691882919.post-47123015410989404682013-05-11T08:37:00.000-07:002013-05-11T08:47:18.682-07:00You Talk Like a Ghanaian!Well, if you are reading this, congratulations! You still check this dead blog, and that means a lot to me.<p>I had a series of experiences directly after posting my last blog that are still changing me. The last post is offsetting and embarassing, but it played a role in triggering those experiences. I am not proud of what happened in that classroom. In fact, I am striving to not be proud at all...<p>If you are interested in that, it's something I prefer to discuss in person.<p>To the point, to the point! The past three months were full of spiritual searching, struggle (and eventual failure) to teach seven-year-olds raised in a communal culture, traveling (beaches, monkeys, border of Burkina Faso, with a few outbreaks of food poisioning and one terrible sunburn), bonding with members of my church, and transitioning from the role of exchange student to the role of "pioneer volunteer".Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06559099073575510570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612768907691882919.post-41753993088468587082013-05-11T08:36:00.000-07:002013-05-11T08:46:33.287-07:00You Talk Like a Ghanaian! (Cont 1)Through all of that, I have changed in ways I can't see. Just today, on my way back to Kumasi from Bolgatanga (way, way north) I met a Canadian volunteer who was surprised to learn I am an American. "You talk like a Ghanaian," she said. I grinned like a little kid at that comment, and Nans caught me!<p>I don't have profound conclusions to share with you, but I've come to realize how unecessary they are. Live life, and maybe before you know it, you'll talk like a Ghanaian!Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06559099073575510570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612768907691882919.post-39996739052840468142013-01-21T12:31:00.000-08:002013-01-21T12:35:26.187-08:00My Pride, My JoyOn January 21, 2013 something occured that clashed my culture with Ghana.<p><br>If I had a fatal flaw, it would be pride. I eat up all the perks and prestige bestowed upon winners of the American academic system. (You say no one can take six APs and still have a 4.0? Watch me...Just you wait and see the scholarships I get...I bet I'll even get one to study in Ghana...I can't wait to put on all my medals at graduation...and even though there's no place for vice-salutitorian, I know it's me...3rd out of 700...) I don't say any of this, but it's on my mind all right. I bask in the rituals of academia, the rituals that are completely absent in Ghana's education system. <p><br>When someone tells me: "Sarah, you are a great writer," I beam inside, with joy. But my joy has hardened over the years and become pride. I put my heart and soul into my writing...and you better like it or you have no sense! <p><br>It was this fervor that I wrote a story for my English exam at the end of last term.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06559099073575510570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612768907691882919.post-80325766733209341782013-01-21T12:30:00.000-08:002013-01-21T12:35:01.033-08:00My Pride, My Joy (cont 1)I went all out, using poetic enhancers and forshadowing. In the back of my mind, I knew I should hold back. My classmates were writing in their second language, a language from a continent far north of the Sahara. But the joy was so sweet...the words just spilled out. I relish writing assignments, and I'd missed them over the past months (trust me, the transition from AP Humanities to a grade B Ghanaian school is far from smooth).<p><br>So I walked away from the exam exhilerated, and of course, proud. The teacher would love my story...an action-romance set in Mexico.<p><br>After Christmas, I received my English exam. I opened it, thrilled to see my teacher's comments.<p><br>Written in red ink at the bottom of my wonderful story was: "You coppied".<p><br>Excuuuuse me! Vice-saluatorian, winner of the Anschutz Scholarship, and one of 55 YES students...you are saying I copied? Worse, you are saying I "coppied"?Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06559099073575510570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612768907691882919.post-15500534573993907462013-01-21T11:33:00.000-08:002013-01-21T11:37:14.942-08:00My Pride, My Joy (cont 2)Maybe if I had been accused of copying I could have bitten my pride and turned the other cheek. But "coppying"? The American rebel in me woke up.<p><br>"Madame," I said, firmly but calmly, "I did not copy from anyone."<p><br>"No, you copied from a book."<p><br>I don't know if I was furious or flattered. "English is my language," I said. "Writing is what I do for fun."<p><br>"If that is true, why did you miss so many of the comprehension questions?" <p><br>I looked at the section, and sure enough I had missed several. They were questions that asked you to replace a word with another word. My answers, I could see were rather unconventional. In Ghana, unconventional is incorrect. <p><br>"Madame," I said. "I don't care about the mark. I just want you to beleive that I didn't cheat. Accusing someone of cheating in my country is like calling them a liar and a thief."<p><br>"I believe you. I thought it was one of theirs." she looked around at my classmates.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06559099073575510570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612768907691882919.post-20775676150870158892013-01-21T11:32:00.000-08:002013-01-21T11:36:58.368-08:00My Pride, My Joy (cont 3)My rebellious spirit fizzled out. My pride sunk into a deep, deep hole. This was not the direction I'd been hoping for.<p><br>"No student at KSTS could have written anything like it," she repeated. "It was perfect. No mistakes. You are all lazy and need to get to work." She continued to compare my work to theirs, and I tuned her out. <p><br>If it was culturally acceptable, I would have burst into tears, but there is nothing Ghanaians hate more than crying. In a stupid display of pride, I had caused the teacher to bully my class for something they couldn't help.<p><br>All year, I've been realizing just how much of my intelligence I owe to the American education system. I'd always believed the writer was within me. But if I had grown up in Ghana, would anyone have taught me how use words? Would the ideas be burning without any channel?<p><br>The teacher's words didn't cause the angry sting of a false accusation. They gave me the deep pain of an unfortunate truth.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06559099073575510570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612768907691882919.post-20260603580482425402013-01-21T11:31:00.001-08:002013-01-21T11:36:13.971-08:00My Pride, My Joy (cont 4)There is no way the Ghanaian education system could teach anyone one fourth of what I learned at the CLPs and Poudre. <p><br>How am I supposed to react to that? School is my life. It always has been. I'm not sure I can be happy unless I am learning constantly. My classmates seem happy...but shouldn't they have the right to be educated at the highest level?<p><br>I won't fall into the trap of "Oh, God, thank you for putting me in America while so many others are not." That type of thinking has rubbed me the wrong way all my life. <p><br>In spite of that, I truly believe every person was born where they were for a reason. The reaction of my classmates to the teacher's speech was not one of anger, it was one of respect. They all wanted to read my story, and not one of them was jealous of it. Actually, they had fun reading it. Maxwell and Ivan, two of m friends, used this as an opportunity to learn how cheating is viewed in my culture.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06559099073575510570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612768907691882919.post-78943953483378755222013-01-21T11:31:00.000-08:002013-01-21T11:35:41.917-08:00My Pride, My Joy (final)I don't have any startling conclusion to draw from this experience. It really muddles everything about pride and education into a puddle. I have to leave you hanging, because I'm still hanging.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06559099073575510570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612768907691882919.post-20354395549591632602013-01-12T03:05:00.000-08:002013-01-12T03:09:10.183-08:00Deeper Life Bible Church"What do you want to be?" my host dad asked, on our first day together.<p><br>This is an easy question for most people, but for me it is particularly tough. I'm proud of what I'd like to do, but I'm aware it is unusual. My calling is personal and at times I prefer to keep it to myself.<p><br>But I decided to answer. "I'm considering going to seminary."<p><br>"Really? I'm a pastor."<p><br>One of my main goals in applying for YES was to grow my faith. At that moment, I realized exactly how God would use YES. My host father and I bonded that first day in a way I never dreamed.<p><br>My first two weeks in Kumasi were spent praying over my host brother Caleb. I saw the eager, fervent way my family prayed. They'd lay hands on him and then alternate between shouting and fast whispering in Twi. I prayed along, in the quiet of my own mind.<p><br>In my host parents' church, the prayers are conducted in much the same way. Dad yells the prayer as everyone whispers their own petitions ecstatically.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06559099073575510570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612768907691882919.post-4418287307700827022013-01-12T03:04:00.000-08:002013-01-12T03:08:33.533-08:00Deeper Life Bible Church (cont)I now pray aloud quite often, whether in company or alone. I find that the "quiet of my own mind" is not so quiet, and stray thoughts easily distract me.<p><br>The sermons my host dad gives are perscribed--they are all written by the church's head pastor in Nigeria. Much of Ghana's learning is done from pre-written curriculums. As an American indivdualist, I do often find the sermons generalized and a bit dull. (That's not say I've learned nothing from them. Nor is my Ghanaian father a boring man.) <p><br>The church has several yearly gatherings which involve all 15,000 church members in Kumasi. I attended one in my third week in Ghana. The experience impressed my fresh mind greatly. Every member of the church was dressed their best--which in Ghana implies bright colors and flashy patterns. It was only at the big gathering that I realized members of this denomination take Paul's statement about women covering their heads literally. (See 1 Corinthians 11)Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06559099073575510570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612768907691882919.post-18499476155449447232013-01-12T03:03:00.000-08:002013-01-12T03:07:58.489-08:00Deeper Life Bible Church (cont)My Ghanian mom wrapped my head in a silky green scarf to attend the gathering. She had never bothered during our villiage services, but with so many thousands of members gawking at me, it was a requirement. (I say "gawking" because what else will 14,999 Africans do to someone who looks like me? I was the only white person at the meeting)<p><br>Now imagine all 15,000 of us praying the way I described above. Incredible! Doubt was drowned completely.<p><br>Theologically, I have no quarrel with the Deeper Life Church. In the realm of prayer, I actually revere it. But the truth of my restless, lonely nature cannot be ignore. <p><br>Skimming on the surface of many verses does not do as much as getting the heart of one story. Listening to a two hour sermon without significant song, without peace sharing, without communion actually makes me spiritually lonlier than not going to church at all. So I gave it a good try. My host family knows I believe, they know I care about and respect their church.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06559099073575510570noreply@blogger.com0