The last 43 days.

I’ve been in this country for 42 days now. I haven’t posted a single picture, or given much of an update. I suppose it’s time. I’ve been writing sporadically in my journal. Looking back on those entries reminds me of the times I have struggled and the times I have been overwhelmingly grateful to be here. 

“I’m defnitely going to get malaria.” - March 8, 2013.

Those were the first words I wrote after stepping foot into Ghana. Incredibly overwhelmed and severely cultureshocked, I bobbed and weaved the dark streets of Accra, trying to make sense of the language and the unbearable heat and how on earth I was actually going to enjoy this place. I thought of Accra as dirty, suffocating. I was sure I made the wrong choice by coming out here. I wanted to turn right back around and run home. I couldn’t think about anything other than the fact that I didn’t get malaria medication before I came and I was certain I would die here, in this miserably hot country, from a stupid mosquito bite. 

Without a doubt, this past month and a half has been the most challenging of my life, but it hasn’t been as bad as my initial jetlagged scrawls in my journal made it out to be. This isn’t a vacation; this is work. Exhausting, stressful work. Putting in sixteen to twenty hour days, my body and my mind were turning against me, and I was too blinded by my day-to-day to notice all of the beauty around me. 

With some of the pressure of us now, I’ve been able to breathe and take in this country, and see it for what it truly is. 

I'm living in Ghana because I failed.

Last August, I signed a year lease on a beautiful, old home with all intentions of making it through the contract. I’d never committed to living in one place for such a long period of time. To me, a year seems like an eternity. Since graduating high school, I can’t remember the last time I’ve lived in one city for an entire year. Always bouncing around to the next opportunity seems natural and second nature, but something about  Bellingham made me think I could make it through. I only had a year or so left before graduating school, so it seemed logical to stick around until I got my degree. My life was planned out — I would major in journalism and minor in internet resource and content management, and then move back to Los Angeles. 

My newsroom desk. 

A few months ago, I was living a stressed, but comfortable, life. I loved my house. I loved my roommates. I loved my job at the downtown vintage clothing store. I loved being the features editor for the school newspaper, where the newsroom staff quickly became a second family. Life was busy, school was demanding, but everything was alright. I had no intentions of leaving my little town that was slowly turning into a home.

New Years Eve Shenanigans // Master of Party Games

Ghana was not in my near or considerable future.  

I’ve always done well in school, but there was one class during my winter quarter that I couldn’t handle. (I’ve now realized 8 a.m. classes are not for me.) I needed it for my minor, but I had fallen too far behind in the course to pass. After staring blankly at my Scantron sheet the day of the midterm, I decided it would be best to drop the class. I don’t quit classes, ever. I was upset with myself, my procrastination and lack of time management, but I was even more upset that this meant I might have to spend more time at school. I failed. I wanted my degrees and I wanted them now. I couldn’t stomach the idea of enrolling in another quarter because of one little dropped class. 

After venting to my adviser and mulling over possibilities of a new minor, she mentioned something I had never thought about before — studying abroad. A quarter in another country gives you enough credits to count as a minor, but I didn’t want to enroll in the traditional study abroad route. 

At that moment, I remembered Della. A couple of my friends back in LA worked there, and it seemed like I could hack my education and count a quarter in Ghana for school credit.  

I texted Sequoia, my friend who works on the LA side of Della, and asked her opinion. Within minutes, I was handed over to Tina, the founder, and was encouraged to apply. Before the day was finished, my application was sent. The idea of packing up and leaving again excited me. I was beginning to like Bellingham, but the idea of moving again was all I could think about. Turns out, I can’t seem to shake this wanderlust. 

Long story short, I was accepted for a position in Ghana, but the university wouldn’t swing it for school credit at the time. I had a difficult decision to make. Do I turn down Della and continue working towards my degree, or do I take more time off school and take this opportunity? After many frantic phone calls with my mom, she assured me school would always be there, and Ghana was an experience I needed to seize. I’m thankful to have such a strong, supportive mom, who allows me to go and do and see and live. 

It took a few days to decide, but I accepted the offer, gave everything I own to Value Village, quit my job and bought my plane ticket.

And now, I’m here. 

Ghana wouldn’t have even been an option if I didn’t fail that class and start scrambling for another opportunity. Because of that, Della landed in my lap, and I wouldn’t trade this time in my life for the world. 

I thought failing that class was the end of the world, but it turned out to be just the catalyst I needed to become a part of something meaningful again. 

Maybe some things do happen for a reason.