departure

    It was almost a year ago now that I felt the first whisper. I sat in Triple A, trying to ignore the "Things I Get to Do List" on my desk that never fooled me despite the tricky title. I googled absent-mindedly.
     Winter had come and left a shell of the person I wanted to be. The thought of continuing along this moving walkway- starting to hate the ride that was costing a small fortune- was more than I could bear. So I was up late on this January night, googling alternatives. I think around 3 am I actually typed in "abroad programs for students who need a break from their lives".
     Somehow, several hundred clicks later, I stumbled on the CIEE website and a link to a video a previous student had made about her time in Ghana. Next thing I know I'm watching this video instead of getting my laundry out of the dryer or sending Big Love emails or preparing three moments for acting class. And I can't quite explain it. The video wasn't even that well done. But I knew, as I watched the women dancing in the streets, saw the little kids holding the hands of this student.... as I saw a country of vibrant and explosive color and heard the exuberant soundtrack of Accra.... I just knew. This is where I need to go.
     
     Responding to that instinct Someone planted in my gut is probably what I'm most proud of. How many times have I stifled those gentle tugs that beckon me to deviate from my iCal? How many opportunities have I missed because I couldn't justify the detour at the time? Perhaps it was the promise of sun in the coldest of winters or the allure of a land so drastically different from my own or maybe the stress just had me extra vulnerable, but whatever the reason, I am so glad that I finally acknowledged and listened to that divine whisper.
      Because this has been a full season, though not at all what I expected. I think I thought traveling would be like floating. But it isn't. Life in another country is sticky and loud and there's a great deal of walking involved. And, if you go somewhere that has only existed in your mind, there is the inevitable Great Collison; when beautiful illusions meet the reality that operates under a slightly different aesthetic. But we see ourselves in the clash. As I wonder why it is that I thought there'd be zebras...

    I fear trying to stuff it all in my head without my fellow travelers to help bear the weight. So, I can't wait to tell you all about it. I'll talk your ear off about the food and my new friends and the monkeys and the parasite I may or may not have and it won't be long before Jo will want to strangle me every time I interject with, "This one time in Ghana..."
     Yet, my words are hopelessly inadequate when it comes to the painful longing of September. My description of community won't capture the level of gratitude I felt when an old woman tied a skirt around me and invited me to dance. I can't describe sitting on a rooftop in Togo contemplating the 21st landmark. My pictures won't do justice to the view from Afadjato and I can't imitate the way Kwasi waddles when he walks. These will be my private souvenirs; stowed away for a nostalgic afternoon or a deep breath in the check-out line.
    And I guess they're why we leap. Why we go away to college, engage a stranger, take a walk alone down a street we've never chanced; the ever-present opportunity to add to our personal storehouse of flashes and sound bytes- the fragile and fluid kaleidoscope through which we uniquely view the world.
   
     So, 127 days, 62 mosquito bites, 3 journals, 1057 photos, and far too many Fan-Ices later, it is time to come home. It's time to hug Elphie. Time for a hot shower and a burrito and a 2011 planner. Time to pay more attention to the quiet leadings that may deter from my sensible sequence to success but will keep me on the path I'm meant to go down. 
    
It will be strange to wake up in Chicago.
     But, I will do so knowing that many others, far and near,
         are also starting their daily grind.
     There is a small town with muddy water in the Ada
         province who must also face the day.
     In Pentagon, Block B, Stacey is waking up and putting on
         her bangles.
     There's a woman with a scar on her chin waking up to sell
         bananas on her head just like she did  the day
         before and the day before that and the-
     Somewhere someone is turning on my laptop to check the
         forecast.
     Short Kofi's been up before all of us, scripting his radio
         show for the non-English speakers.
     44 children are up, wondering if this might be their
        special day, or if it will look quite like all the
        others.

Perhaps I made the trek just to expand my montage of faces
         waking up to meet the same Thursday.
Perhaps I needed to be an outsider in order to be a more
          loving insider.
Perhaps I traveled to the most different place I could
          imagine to find something quite familiar.
Or maybe, if we're honest, we leave
         so that someday, we can come home.