Adieu, Golokuati

Leaving Monday morning was a mix of hectic dashing to get bags and purchased items onto the tro-tro, and trying to remember a place I might never again visit in my life. It was an emotional goodbye, more so than I had anticipated. The 6 of our fellow workmen (who had attended the community ceremony the night before) came to see us off, and Gladys, our cook, and her daughters tearfully embraced us as we ran back and forth from our rooms to the tro tro, packing last minute items. Henry, our NGO liaison and general savior, was one of the hardest people for us to say thank you and good bye to, and he made fun that we Americans cry too much.

It's strange that people I lived with for two months I probably will never see again. I know a great deal, and at the same time, pitifully little, about the people I lived with and the neighbors I befriended, partially from having to run after teens all day and partially from the language barrier, and partially from not taking more time to sit with my friends and learn more than how to pound fufu or make palm nut stew. In many senses, we are worlds away. Many people we met had never been to Kumasi or Cape Coast, and leaving Ghana was a pipe dream. I, on the other hand, have visited 26 countries, and travel around relatively freely, and have had incredible opportunities in my life to study what I want, live where I want, try out new professions, and hop on a plane and be a thousand miles away from home in a few hours. I don't feel guilty about this, but wanted to share the strange emotions that come with knowing someone, and at the same time, knowing your paths may never cross again, purely because of the hand life dealt you.