March 2, 2014

The first day of our Senior Project began with Qdoba, at least for a few of us. We thought of it like our last hurrah. Our last American meal. After our last supper (or lunch), we drove to Westtown where we proceeded to pack our bags, say our goodbyes, and board a school bus. Of course, the bus had some technical difficulties, so we switched buses, along with our thirty some suitcases. We spent four hours on our way to JFK International Airport, managing to see some of the city on our way. As there typically is on a Saturday afternoon, traffic kept us on the road for a little longer than anticipated, so we rushed through the airport to catch our 9:00 flight.

Check in and security were a breeze. Other than the fact that my walking boot (I had surgery on my foot a few months ago) had to be tested for explosive material residue. We walked what seemed like miles until finally getting to our gate. Of course by this time it was around 7:30 and we were supposed to board at 8:00. The rush to get food was incredible. Luckily most of us managed to snag a burger and milkshake at Shake Shack.

My ticket was scanned, and I was off. All I wanted was to be settled into my seat with nothing but the ocean separating me from Ghana. I had an aslie seat but still my legs couldn’t find anywhere to go. I enjoyed a movie before falling asleep with my heaad on the traytable (this left my classmates in awe). Sleeping on a plane is never easy, and our ten hour flight had quite a bit of turbulence, so my eyes constantly opened and closed. After a few naps and movies, the screen finally showed that there were only 30 minutes of flight time left. I asked for a coffee and glued my eyes to the completely unexciting scene outside of the window. In what seemed like seconds later, we were on the ground in Africa.

I was hit by a wall of heat as I left the comfort of the air conditioned plane. We walked across the scathing hot blacktop of the runway to the airport. You could smell the heat. It was everywhere. We waited in line after line and finally reached the front. Right as I walked over to my customs desk, a man touched my arm and asked, “Americans?” I nodded and he smiled and walked away. I guess we stick out like sore thumbs.

After collecting all of our bags we headed to the van that would take us from Accra to the Jimmycom guesthouse: our home for the next 18 days. Men surrounded us as soon as we stepped out of the airport, wanting to help us with our bags. We were warned by the group leaders to say no, as they demanded ten dollars continously if they lent a hand. After losing them we stopped for lunch at the beginning of the ride at a very nice hotel. I savored every slice of pizza before we hopped in the van again. The ride was unbearable in every way. No leg space, 17 people crammed into a space hardly meant for 14, and heat. So. Much. Heat. It took us around two hours. Thankfully, we were introduced to the culture as we rode. We saw many people carrying baskets full of merchandise on their heads, pushing it through peoples windows trying to make a few bucks.

When we arrived at the Jimmycom guest house, we were pleased to see our beds. We got settled, took showers and ate dinner. It was delicious. We hung out for a while, but after a short group meeting we were pooped. It was bed time. I fell asleep to the sounds of goats and the rustling of the wind in the trees. We were finally here.