Page 75 - Obruni In Ghana | Amber Lockridge

OBRUNI IN GHANA 73
dot moved to red paper and painted orange then squeezed back into the hole it was cut from.
So what? So this is life...a well-worn process of the ever-changing self. There is nothing to fear from that old expired self. In Ghana, I’m easily strong enough, happy enough, to integrate my past pain with my present being. I feel HEALTHY! But what of America, that black, cold, construction paper with a me-shaped hole in it? Has there been enough time? Am I strong enough, changed enough, to bring my new self home? Or will I slowly fade back to my misery, squeezed into an unyielding silhouette by the ignorant forces that watched me grow up?
Thursday morning brings coffee and a tantalizing reminder of home. Starbucks. Caribou. Tall, iced, mochas and a scone in a cozy clean little Minnesota shop.
I’m sitting in a “Girl’s guide” host outside of Accra with the sixteen AFS students leaving tomorrow. The girls are gossiping on the bunk beds but the boys, having slept late and undergone a frantic search for soap that no one had brought, are