January 27, 2008

Hello!

Today I only have 13 days left in Kpando. I’ve been doing a lot of reflection in the past few weeks. It’s wild to think about all that has happened since August. Some really incredible changes have occurred.

First, the weather has changed. We’re currently in dry or ‘harmattan’ season. Without rain or humidity, this town is DUSTY. During dry season, many farmers (Kingsley says only the lazy ones) set fire to their land so that they wont have to do as much weeding at the beginning of next crop season. Also, most of the bigger rubbish piles are set on fire during dry season, because they burn so easily when they aren’t damp. Fires are burning in this town all day and all night. At night and sometimes during the day, winds from the desert blow through the town, picking up dust, leaves, ash, etc. and generally making a mess. Everything is covered in orange dirt, including my hair. These winds are known as harmattan winds and they are cold. It’s funny to see everyone, myself included, shivering and dressed in any warm thing we can find: sweatpants, sweaters, raincoats, hats, gloves. It hasn’t once gone below 70.

Ghana’s new president, Professor John Atta Mills, was both elected and inaugurated this month. More importantly, to me, the U.S. elected and inaugurated a new president as well. People in Ghana take pride in comparing the results of their election to ours. Mills, a democrat, was elected after an eight-year term with a republican president. I was a little sad that I wasn’t home to experience all of the Obama-mania, but I'm glad I at least got to share the sense of excitement and hope for the future that most people here felt about the results of this election.

The orphanage has changed a lot, with the help of other volunteers that have been through since I’ve been here. We’ve painted the hallways and the living room. We have created a playroom for the kids. Now they have a place to do their homework and keep all of their toys. With the help of donation money (big thanks to the Gomorys) the cafeteria will finally be finished.

The children have changed too. Their English is SO much better. After living with two yovos (or 'whites') who can’t speak their language for five months, they’ve been forced to develop ours. All of them have made gigantic leaps in language development. Love and Cecilia still have a ways to go, but they are both in the phase where they repeat any English phrases they hear, which is a really good start. Love is constantly talking about his ‘thing’ – we haven’t figured out exactly what it, or they, is/are yet, and he starts almost every sentence with ‘she say dat.’ Most of these sentences make no sense but it’s very cute, and while he laughs at himself when we can’t understand, he does keep trying. It is Mawuli, however, who has made the most extraordinary changes. When I first got here he seemed so sad, he was very easily frustrated, had no interest in schoolwork, hardly spoke any English, and cried all the time. Now, he is the silliest, giggliest, most bubbly of the bunch. His laugh is one of my favorite sounds. All of a sudden, it seems, he speaks English fluently (not really, but the change is drastic). He and I are able to have full conversations where before it was nearly impossible for either of us to get anything across. The kids look older. When I see pictures from a few months ago, or last month even, they just look so much bigger and smarter. My babies are growing up.

I’ve changed too. Somewhere in the midst of all of this, all this joy, pain, beauty, determination, struggle, and success, I think I’ve grown a bit older, and perhaps even a little more wise. I have learned to take more pride in myself and to be more appreciative of the things I have. This is a culture of pride and resilience. Here, they don’t have the time or luxury to entertain insecurities or self-deprecation. As a result, these people are able to embrace what life gives them in a way that most of us will never be able to. I think we (Americans, Westerners) are trained to always aspire for greatness, which is undoubtedly a good thing, but gets confused when we lose site of all that we have already. It has been really good for me, cleansing I might say, to be around this culture for so long. Finally, I've been able to prioritize a few things in my life.

I’ve certainly learned a lot about love. I love these kids in a way I’ve never loved anything else; nothing has ever really been so important to me. They have shown me so much about the real stuff of life. Generosity, happiness, kindness. They don’t have any of the judgment (of self or others) or censorship that I have always displayed. They’ve taught me to share, to be more open – with myself, and towards other people. I don't think I'll ever be able to find the right words to describe what I've learned from the children. Suffice it to say that I feel I'm a better person for having known them.

At the end of the upstairs hallway in the orphanage, is a window that looks out on the backyard, where the kids cook and play. Here, I can quietly observe them, I can see them as they are when I’m not around. Mostly, they behave exactly the way they would if I were there. Last night, I watched Wisdom holding Love in his lap (they are brothers), and tickling him. The rest of the little ones took turns jumping on Wisdom's back. All of them laughed together. I thought about how far we've all come since August. My life will never be the same. As I watched, I finally admitted to myself, as I've always known in my heart, that they will be OK without me. They will laugh, cry, play and learn just as they always have. As sure as the sun rises, these kids will continue to go on.

I’ve been tearfully preparing the children for my departure and assuring them over and over that I will be back as soon as is earthly possible. The response is the same every time, after a momentary expression of sadness, each will say ‘OK, well when you come back can you bring me ________?’ (insert – bike, pencil, toy car, t-shirt, socks, etc.) I told them they have a deal.


Love to all,
Morgan O. Hanson