End of Semester Review

Five months ago I experienced an earthquake of a magnitude not felt since the introduction of Lunchables in my elementary school lunch bag. Five months ago, I relocated to Accra, Ghana. Five months is a substantial amount of time. In five months, a dragonfly lives out its entire life. In five months, an orange peel comes close to decomposing. Five months has given me the audacity to say that I’m a force of nature.

The semester had its highs and lows, but the journey was worth every minute (okay, not every minute).

In five months, I’ve learned a lot of lessons. For one, the importance of soccer in the socialization of an American abroad; for another, Ghana wasn’t made for everyone. One of the Fellows, Rhys (pronounced like the candy Reece’s Pieces, despite its near phonetic impossibility), had to throw in the towel. This Australian bloke found himself constantly battling the bacteria. For example, there was the time that the entire staff went out to celebrate Rhys’ birthday. The only problem – Rhys couldn’t join us because he was bed rested with malaria. Or there was the time that Rhys selected a restaurant for his farewell dinner, and the staff obliged, despite his absence due to…wait for it…malaria.

But for fear of coming across as an egotistic Negative Ned and feeding into the misconceptions of sub-Saharan Africa, I feel truly blessed to have the opportunity. I find myself constantly laughing at the little things. Every day after lunch I walk to the local market to get some fresh air (and a Coca Cola), and every day I walk past the same two children. Every day these children see me, smile, point, and declare obruni. I am their cardboard box; cheap entertainment.

The night before my flight to America, I found myself again playing the role of cardboard box. My students decided as part of a send-off, they would pond me. To pond – this noun-converted-to-verb has a playful (and painful) meaning in Ghana. Ponding is associated with milestones or special occasions. In my case, it was the end of the semester and my return to the United States. It is a categorically male ritual where the victim stands helplessly with his back to the group while everyone else pelts buckets of water at the weltering honoree. A few buckets (and stings) later, with one red back, my cultural experience was finished. No hard feelings. I’ll just trade my red back for the red ink when I grade their assignments next semester.