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.
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