From the very first time I stepped off a plane into the West African heat, I have been led time and time again down paths I never could have imagined as an eighteen-year-old drawn to a continent I'd never set foot in, but already knew I belonged to. With each unexpected turn, I have felt the pull of that internal compass shift, assuring me of the next phase of the journey.
In the last year, navigating those next steps has become considerably more difficult. My relationship with the country and community I love so much has been challenged in every way possible. While my most recent visit to Ghana served as an incredible affirmation of my personal strengths and growth, it also demanded a high personal price. Until now I have avoided writing about the most difficult of these challenges, but the story is incomplete without them.
Last summer I experienced the breakdown of my Ghanaian family. Although I had always known it was an unhappy marriage, it came as a shock. The deterioration of Worfa and Victoria's relationship has likewise impacted my own relationships with them. I will always love my African parents, but I'm no longer sure what type of bond we will have. Although I expect I will continue to visit the little gray house in Awakorme, I doubt it will ever be my home again.
Karina and I were simultaneously restructuring SSF, which included our decision to end our sponsorship of the school Worfa and I built. It is hard to describe how devastating that choice was for me. But I did it with the hope that I could save my NGO, and with it my ability to support my community in the long-term.
From the beginning we have continuously struggled with all the typical hurdles of a grassroots NGO, in addition to the cultural and logistical challenges of working across borders. But with two years of experience on our side, Karina and I fought to rebuild SSF as something more realistic and sustainable, with simpler parameters and a stronger team.
But less than three months shy of our three year mark, we have made the decision to shut down Students of Success Foundation.
Despite the genuinely good intentions of all involved, we consistently failed to follow our internal protocols or maintain legal standards. This culminated in losing our placement with Global Giving recently. Karina and I realized it was less a matter of giving up, as of recognizing there was nothing more we could do.
I never wanted to start an NGO. How many hundreds of times have I said that?
It was true to the very end. And yet I am heartsick.
Not just because the life I have built in Ghana - my family, my school, my organization - has fallen apart piece by piece like a neat row of dominoes.
I am sick because I don't know how to tell my team that, although I can't blame any one of them individually, we have collectively failed.
I don't know how to tell my friends and family that their generosity and support and steadfast belief in our mission has ultimately come to this.
Above all, I don't know how to return to my community on Gomashie road and look them in the eye. They will welcome me back with open arms and hearts the way they always do - because they won't even know anything has happened. How could they? Nothing on their side of reality has shifted.
And therein lies the true heartbreak in all this.
Although it is sad that the organization I struggled to create has finally fallen apart, the fact is I can have a second chance. A third, a fourth, a fifth even. There was never any doubt I get to take this learning experience and refine it as many times as needed for it to be successful.
But what about the people who weren't born with the door propped open?
What do I do now that I've lost my last tool with which to fight for them?
Ghana will always be a part of me. I will always be drawn back. That is why, no matter what has happened over the last six years, I have always found a way to recover. Get back on my feet. Keep fighting.
But this time...I stand here empty-handed.
This path has ended, and I'm way too far off the map to consider going back.
Ghana may be the last thing I want to think about right now, but all I can think to do is book a ticket as soon as I can.
Go home, where that magnetic pull is strongest.
Let my meerkats run full speed into my arms. Sit under the rustling palms that have always reminded me of a church. Savor a bowl of fufu and groundnut soup.
Hope the needle of the compass shifts again.
Wednesday, July 20, 2016
Wednesday, July 29, 2015
Battles Won
The most current battle won is actually getting a post through! The internet connection frequently goes out with the power and thanks to the resulting backlog in maintaining my blog, you get two posts in one day!
I had a baffling/fascinating conversation with a stranger in a tro the other day. It went something like this:
Without so much as a preceding 'hello,' the man next to me opens the conversation by asking if I'm married. I say yes for reasons of self-defense. Then he wants to know what my nosering is for. Decoration, I say. Don't I know that the Bible forbids that sort of thing? I gently inform him that I am not a Christian. It would make him happy if I was a Christian, he says. I apologize that he is not going to be happy in this case. We spend the next five minutes evangelizing and refusing to have any more religious discussion respectively. Then he wants my number because he wants to be my friend. Five more minutes is spent on me justifying why I won't give him my number. Then he wants to know what my tattoo is of. A butterfly (representative of Ghana, somewhat ironically). Am I sure? (Ghanaians have a curious habit of saying this when they want to indirectly emphasize a point, and usually I find it humorous. I mean...obviously I'm sure that the permanent mark on my body is of a butterfly and I'm sure he could see that himself without asking. But I realize that's not literally what he meant.) Yes, I'm sure. He shakes his head. He just doesn't understand whites sometimes. I, wisely, do not open my mouth. We arrive at his destination, and part ways with friendly wishes and a wave.
So throughout this whole conversation, the American in me wanted both to laugh and also to bop him on the nose. From my cultural perspective, it is COMPLETELY inappropriate to comment negatively on a stranger's appearance... Much less pass moral judgment on it. It is inappropriate to ask for a stranger's number or to try to convert them to a religion, except occassionally in specific situations. At times I really, really wanted to snap at him that no one asked his opinion and I really could not have cared less what he thought about my nosering, tattoo or religious beliefs. But the fact of the matter is that we are not in my culture, and nothing he said was culturally inappropriate in Ghana. He wasn't aggressive or unfriendly about any of his comments, and I'm quite certain he had no intention of offending me. I am grateful that (for once!) I had enough awareness in that situation to preserve the positivity of my interaction with this man... even if I couldn't internally suppress the nose-bopping urges.
On a different day, our new Executive Director Dennis brought Karina, two Danish Advisory Council members and myself to see an area chief in Sogakope. That's close to two hours away from Aflao, for the record. What we were led to believe was a personal visit ended up being a foundation business ambush. We were brought to meet headmasters at a school, where they and the chief immediately started explaining how they were arranging a durbar in our honor to crown us 'development queens' of the school.
"You mean this school?"
"Yes"
"Umm...I don't think that would be very deserved since we haven't done anything for this school..."
And that's how we learned that, without a word of discussion with any of us, they had decided Students of Success was going to extend its sponsorship to this random school in Sogakope. So we were put in the extremely uncomfortable position of explaining that SSF only operates in Aflao, and no, we were not expanding our range just because they told us to. I was furious with the chief for his presumptuousness and unprofessionalism. Why he thought he could bring us to this school and expect us to use our funds there without any preceding discussion or formal procedure is completely beyond me. (More desire to bop noses.)
But, I was ten times more furious with Dennis, who just smiled and nodded throughout this whole process like everything that was happening was hunky-dory. The fact that my new Executive Director didn't feel the need to prepare us for this or see a problem with the multiple Constitutional violations it represented was beyond alarming. I fully intended to let him have it on the drive home, but - fortunately, as it turned out - I didn't have the opportunity to confront him until the following evening.
That gave me enough time to cool my jets enough to decide I would ask him what his thought process was for doing that before I said anything. I started the conversation by asking him for confirmation that he had been aware of what was going to happen (meaning for it to be a rhetorical conversation starter)... only to find out that he had not had a clue either, felt equally ambushed and furious, and was embarrassed that he had unwittingly facilitated the incident.
I cannot even describe how thoroughly grateful I am that I had not had the opportunity to talk to him right away. Fate truly stepped in and saved me from my temper on that one. I very much respect and like Dennis, and all my interactions with him have built my confidence that he will be an excellent Executive Director. So, needless to say, I'm very relieved my impression of him was not wrong and that I didn't follow my first impulse and end up wrongfully attacking my righthand man.
Both these incidents were reminders of how much Ghana has and continues to change me. My third visit to Ghana has revealed a lot of internal resources I didn't realize I have. I find myself having a lot more patience, especially for the more frustrating aspects of the cultural gap. I see myself holding my temper and weighing my words more carefully in difficult situations, almost like it's an out-of-body experience. There have been many moments of sadness and frustration when I know the me of not-so-very-long-ago would have been in tears, and instead I am finding I can tap into an inner strength I had no idea was there.
None of this is to say I have magically transformed into superwoman, never cry and have not made any mistakes. (Would be nice, though!) My point is actually not to comment on my own character, but to emphasize the amazing transformative power I have discovered in taking on the challenge of this NGO. What an amazing thing to think that a place and your experience there can shape you so profoundly. What a powerful thing - whether for better or worse - to look back on your series of decisions and realize they made you a completely different person than you expected to be...
I never wanted to be part of an NGO. In fact, I very pointedly did NOT want to be part of an NGO. The idea of starting and heading my own NGO actually would have been put in the category of "you could also become a professional knife juggler or live in a shark tank for the rest of your life." That is to say, very uncomfortable and not well suited to my talents. Students of Success Foundation and my permanent role as Founder... that was never my dream. Helping my Aflao family was something I set out to do, but it was never supposed to take this form. In fact, I arrived at the crucial decision point in pursuit of supporting Worfa's dream of owning a school; it had almost nothing to do with my personal aspirations.
Nevertheless, I was given the opportunity to start SSF and I willingly said yes. It wasn't a peer-pressure thing and it wasn't some sort of hero/martyr complex. It was just one of those moments in life when I knew the answer needed to be yes (even if I didn't know why), and the second-guessing and self-doubt and personal discomfort that were inevitably going to follow just couldn't be considered in that moment.
And follow they did.
I have spent the last two years actively fighting this identity as Founder. It has never sat comfortably on my shoulders. I have felt inept... unworthy... helpless, clueless, angry, resentful - you name it. This isn't self-deprecation; it's just the straightforward truth of my beginning experience in the non-profit world. I have wondered agonizingly from the moment I decided to take this on whether I would ever feel capable. How many hundreds of times did I ask myself if I would ever stop actively hating this responsibility? I don't think I have ever loved and committed to something I simultaneously thoroughly detested. It is a very difficult experience to describe.
But my moment of ownership happened.
That underlying sense of peace and certainty I have been desperately waiting for finally introduced itself to me. I will undoubtably continue to feel all those negative emotions about running this NGO at times, but I am confident they are not going to dominate my experience anymore.
A week ago, SSF finally became MY dream.
I didn't ever want to be a non-profit founder, but I am one. An imperfect, inexperienced one, but hey - no one learns to be a professional knife juggler in just two years.
Two things happened in the last week that reinforced this pervasive epiphany I've had:
One, several of us on the SSF team met with a consultant and were given a very tough but fortunate wake up call. In hearing a lot of things that were very scary and hard to swallow, we were given many of the tools we're going to need to make this foundation a sustainable one.
Two, we made the difficult decision to end our support for Success International School and dramatically restructure the organization, both in terms of what it does and how it does it.
The last few weeks have been a seemingly never-ending series of crossroads. Do I even want to keep doing this? What am I willing to do to sustain this work? Is SSF really worth fighting this hard for? I am in the perfect position to lay down this responsibility and finally be rid of it. I mean, after all, it needs the non-profit equivalent of a heart and lung transplant and I can no longer justify it because it sustains my host father's dream. I thought I'd be relieved to take a blameless escape route, but to my own surprise I have found myself reacting like a mama bear instead... The kind of mama bear who is only too happy to keep eating the hikers who get in between her and her cub.
And that's how I know that somewhere along the line this did become my dream.
Two years ago it's a very good thing I was ignorant of the full extent of the turmoil my 'yes' would cause me, or I never would have had the strength to accept.
But I'm not the same person who said yes two years ago. SSF has taught and shaped me and better equipped me little by little for this job so that I can say yes all over again - even knowing the pricetag attached.
Yes.
Yes yes yes yes yes.
I had a baffling/fascinating conversation with a stranger in a tro the other day. It went something like this:
Without so much as a preceding 'hello,' the man next to me opens the conversation by asking if I'm married. I say yes for reasons of self-defense. Then he wants to know what my nosering is for. Decoration, I say. Don't I know that the Bible forbids that sort of thing? I gently inform him that I am not a Christian. It would make him happy if I was a Christian, he says. I apologize that he is not going to be happy in this case. We spend the next five minutes evangelizing and refusing to have any more religious discussion respectively. Then he wants my number because he wants to be my friend. Five more minutes is spent on me justifying why I won't give him my number. Then he wants to know what my tattoo is of. A butterfly (representative of Ghana, somewhat ironically). Am I sure? (Ghanaians have a curious habit of saying this when they want to indirectly emphasize a point, and usually I find it humorous. I mean...obviously I'm sure that the permanent mark on my body is of a butterfly and I'm sure he could see that himself without asking. But I realize that's not literally what he meant.) Yes, I'm sure. He shakes his head. He just doesn't understand whites sometimes. I, wisely, do not open my mouth. We arrive at his destination, and part ways with friendly wishes and a wave.
So throughout this whole conversation, the American in me wanted both to laugh and also to bop him on the nose. From my cultural perspective, it is COMPLETELY inappropriate to comment negatively on a stranger's appearance... Much less pass moral judgment on it. It is inappropriate to ask for a stranger's number or to try to convert them to a religion, except occassionally in specific situations. At times I really, really wanted to snap at him that no one asked his opinion and I really could not have cared less what he thought about my nosering, tattoo or religious beliefs. But the fact of the matter is that we are not in my culture, and nothing he said was culturally inappropriate in Ghana. He wasn't aggressive or unfriendly about any of his comments, and I'm quite certain he had no intention of offending me. I am grateful that (for once!) I had enough awareness in that situation to preserve the positivity of my interaction with this man... even if I couldn't internally suppress the nose-bopping urges.
On a different day, our new Executive Director Dennis brought Karina, two Danish Advisory Council members and myself to see an area chief in Sogakope. That's close to two hours away from Aflao, for the record. What we were led to believe was a personal visit ended up being a foundation business ambush. We were brought to meet headmasters at a school, where they and the chief immediately started explaining how they were arranging a durbar in our honor to crown us 'development queens' of the school.
"You mean this school?"
"Yes"
"Umm...I don't think that would be very deserved since we haven't done anything for this school..."
And that's how we learned that, without a word of discussion with any of us, they had decided Students of Success was going to extend its sponsorship to this random school in Sogakope. So we were put in the extremely uncomfortable position of explaining that SSF only operates in Aflao, and no, we were not expanding our range just because they told us to. I was furious with the chief for his presumptuousness and unprofessionalism. Why he thought he could bring us to this school and expect us to use our funds there without any preceding discussion or formal procedure is completely beyond me. (More desire to bop noses.)
But, I was ten times more furious with Dennis, who just smiled and nodded throughout this whole process like everything that was happening was hunky-dory. The fact that my new Executive Director didn't feel the need to prepare us for this or see a problem with the multiple Constitutional violations it represented was beyond alarming. I fully intended to let him have it on the drive home, but - fortunately, as it turned out - I didn't have the opportunity to confront him until the following evening.
That gave me enough time to cool my jets enough to decide I would ask him what his thought process was for doing that before I said anything. I started the conversation by asking him for confirmation that he had been aware of what was going to happen (meaning for it to be a rhetorical conversation starter)... only to find out that he had not had a clue either, felt equally ambushed and furious, and was embarrassed that he had unwittingly facilitated the incident.
I cannot even describe how thoroughly grateful I am that I had not had the opportunity to talk to him right away. Fate truly stepped in and saved me from my temper on that one. I very much respect and like Dennis, and all my interactions with him have built my confidence that he will be an excellent Executive Director. So, needless to say, I'm very relieved my impression of him was not wrong and that I didn't follow my first impulse and end up wrongfully attacking my righthand man.
Both these incidents were reminders of how much Ghana has and continues to change me. My third visit to Ghana has revealed a lot of internal resources I didn't realize I have. I find myself having a lot more patience, especially for the more frustrating aspects of the cultural gap. I see myself holding my temper and weighing my words more carefully in difficult situations, almost like it's an out-of-body experience. There have been many moments of sadness and frustration when I know the me of not-so-very-long-ago would have been in tears, and instead I am finding I can tap into an inner strength I had no idea was there.
None of this is to say I have magically transformed into superwoman, never cry and have not made any mistakes. (Would be nice, though!) My point is actually not to comment on my own character, but to emphasize the amazing transformative power I have discovered in taking on the challenge of this NGO. What an amazing thing to think that a place and your experience there can shape you so profoundly. What a powerful thing - whether for better or worse - to look back on your series of decisions and realize they made you a completely different person than you expected to be...
I never wanted to be part of an NGO. In fact, I very pointedly did NOT want to be part of an NGO. The idea of starting and heading my own NGO actually would have been put in the category of "you could also become a professional knife juggler or live in a shark tank for the rest of your life." That is to say, very uncomfortable and not well suited to my talents. Students of Success Foundation and my permanent role as Founder... that was never my dream. Helping my Aflao family was something I set out to do, but it was never supposed to take this form. In fact, I arrived at the crucial decision point in pursuit of supporting Worfa's dream of owning a school; it had almost nothing to do with my personal aspirations.
Nevertheless, I was given the opportunity to start SSF and I willingly said yes. It wasn't a peer-pressure thing and it wasn't some sort of hero/martyr complex. It was just one of those moments in life when I knew the answer needed to be yes (even if I didn't know why), and the second-guessing and self-doubt and personal discomfort that were inevitably going to follow just couldn't be considered in that moment.
And follow they did.
I have spent the last two years actively fighting this identity as Founder. It has never sat comfortably on my shoulders. I have felt inept... unworthy... helpless, clueless, angry, resentful - you name it. This isn't self-deprecation; it's just the straightforward truth of my beginning experience in the non-profit world. I have wondered agonizingly from the moment I decided to take this on whether I would ever feel capable. How many hundreds of times did I ask myself if I would ever stop actively hating this responsibility? I don't think I have ever loved and committed to something I simultaneously thoroughly detested. It is a very difficult experience to describe.
But my moment of ownership happened.
That underlying sense of peace and certainty I have been desperately waiting for finally introduced itself to me. I will undoubtably continue to feel all those negative emotions about running this NGO at times, but I am confident they are not going to dominate my experience anymore.
A week ago, SSF finally became MY dream.
I didn't ever want to be a non-profit founder, but I am one. An imperfect, inexperienced one, but hey - no one learns to be a professional knife juggler in just two years.
Two things happened in the last week that reinforced this pervasive epiphany I've had:
One, several of us on the SSF team met with a consultant and were given a very tough but fortunate wake up call. In hearing a lot of things that were very scary and hard to swallow, we were given many of the tools we're going to need to make this foundation a sustainable one.
Two, we made the difficult decision to end our support for Success International School and dramatically restructure the organization, both in terms of what it does and how it does it.
The last few weeks have been a seemingly never-ending series of crossroads. Do I even want to keep doing this? What am I willing to do to sustain this work? Is SSF really worth fighting this hard for? I am in the perfect position to lay down this responsibility and finally be rid of it. I mean, after all, it needs the non-profit equivalent of a heart and lung transplant and I can no longer justify it because it sustains my host father's dream. I thought I'd be relieved to take a blameless escape route, but to my own surprise I have found myself reacting like a mama bear instead... The kind of mama bear who is only too happy to keep eating the hikers who get in between her and her cub.
And that's how I know that somewhere along the line this did become my dream.
Two years ago it's a very good thing I was ignorant of the full extent of the turmoil my 'yes' would cause me, or I never would have had the strength to accept.
But I'm not the same person who said yes two years ago. SSF has taught and shaped me and better equipped me little by little for this job so that I can say yes all over again - even knowing the pricetag attached.
Yes.
Yes yes yes yes yes.
Mama's Windchime
Ghana is a gift-giving culture, and my mom got dragged into the stressful process of trying to figure out what to bring for all my African loved ones. This involved a lot of pacing Target and Meijer from end to end, while I either harrassed her for not giving me enough ideas... or for giving me ideas I didn't like. (Unfortunately, it is well documented that sometimes you just can't win with me.)
Even so, we slowly pieced a gift roster together. Everyone essential had been checked off the list, when she stopped in front of a rack of windchimes. "Do they have these in Ghana? Maybe Worfa and Victoria would like the novelty," she suggested.
It proved to be a brilliant idea.
Worfa and Victoria had, in fact, never seen a windchime and were instantly enamored with it. It hangs outside our house in the mango tree, where it is carefully brought in each night and when no one is home to protect it. Children sneak into the yard to ring it when Victoria isn't looking. Even the adults can't resist catching my eye and then jingling it quickly as they come and go from using our well.
We used to have a winchime hanging from our porch at our house on Fourth Street, where I lived for the last two years of college. The porch was unanimously the favorite room in our house. We used to regularly eat roommate dinners there in the warm months. (Did I say months? Excuse me, it was the U.P. - I meant 'week.') A favorite house pasttime was sitting on the porch late at night and watching drunk arguments between people walking home from the bars. Many of my favorite moments with my Fourth Street family involved sitting on our porch couch on brisk mornings, drinking coffee before the day kicked off. I associate the tinkling of the windchime with all those memories - so much so that when we moved out and had to divide up the community belongings, I specifically asked if I could take the windchime.
Marquette is the only other place that has come to occupy an equal status in my heart with Aflao. They are the two cities where I became an adult, the two places that firmly shaped the person I have become and brought me many of the most important people in my life.
My mom has always seemed to understand this. Just as she collects Reader's Digests and Sunday comics to send to Worfa, she would send my roommates care packages - even if I wasn't there and she barely knew some of them. It was enough for her that these people and places were important to me. My mom loves indiscriminately, and if there is one quality of hers I try most to emulate, it is that.
My African mother is another woman I respect and love. But she is nothing like my mom.
My mom is quiet, undemanding, and instinctively knows how to let people be themselves. She is willing to let me make my own mistakes. She has always believed that the best way to be a good parent was to teach me as much as possible not to need her. She has never hesitated whenever the time comes to let me go, no matter how far away I go or how scary it is for her.
Victoria, in contrast, wants to shelter me from the world. In Worfa's words: "Victoria would be most happy if all you did was stay home and eat all day." She worries about me travelling to and from Dzodze (40 minutes away), talking to anyone she doesn't know, and not finishing every heaping plate of food she lovingly prepares for me. Victoria knows no way to love except possessively and uncompromisingly. Even knowing it comes from the right place, the unaccustomed amount of meddling can chafe on me, especially compared to the attitude of the woman who raised me.
So here I sit, listening to the windchime in the mango tree, ringing in the breeze coming off the nearby Atlantic. And as I listen, it reminds me of another windchime, hanging on the porch of a green house in Marquette, ringing in the breeze off Lake Superior. And it brings to mind my mom, studying a rack in Meijer, contemplating how to bring a little bit of joy to people she has never met, half a world away.
It was a brilliant idea.
Not just because it was something new and fun for my African parents. But that sound has come to represent all my homes in one, and hangs outside like a sort of dreamcatcher for warding off homesickness. Every time I hear it, I think about the open-handed love my mom must have - not just for me, but for everyone in this community - to send me off to Africa every couple of years without complaint. I know I am lucky to have the type of mom who loves people by letting them go. My mom's windchime reminds me of the responsibility I have to make the most of this opportunity, and to use this chance she has given me to love the people around me with that same selfless spirit.
Even so, we slowly pieced a gift roster together. Everyone essential had been checked off the list, when she stopped in front of a rack of windchimes. "Do they have these in Ghana? Maybe Worfa and Victoria would like the novelty," she suggested.
It proved to be a brilliant idea.
Worfa and Victoria had, in fact, never seen a windchime and were instantly enamored with it. It hangs outside our house in the mango tree, where it is carefully brought in each night and when no one is home to protect it. Children sneak into the yard to ring it when Victoria isn't looking. Even the adults can't resist catching my eye and then jingling it quickly as they come and go from using our well.
We used to have a winchime hanging from our porch at our house on Fourth Street, where I lived for the last two years of college. The porch was unanimously the favorite room in our house. We used to regularly eat roommate dinners there in the warm months. (Did I say months? Excuse me, it was the U.P. - I meant 'week.') A favorite house pasttime was sitting on the porch late at night and watching drunk arguments between people walking home from the bars. Many of my favorite moments with my Fourth Street family involved sitting on our porch couch on brisk mornings, drinking coffee before the day kicked off. I associate the tinkling of the windchime with all those memories - so much so that when we moved out and had to divide up the community belongings, I specifically asked if I could take the windchime.
Marquette is the only other place that has come to occupy an equal status in my heart with Aflao. They are the two cities where I became an adult, the two places that firmly shaped the person I have become and brought me many of the most important people in my life.
My mom has always seemed to understand this. Just as she collects Reader's Digests and Sunday comics to send to Worfa, she would send my roommates care packages - even if I wasn't there and she barely knew some of them. It was enough for her that these people and places were important to me. My mom loves indiscriminately, and if there is one quality of hers I try most to emulate, it is that.
My African mother is another woman I respect and love. But she is nothing like my mom.
My mom is quiet, undemanding, and instinctively knows how to let people be themselves. She is willing to let me make my own mistakes. She has always believed that the best way to be a good parent was to teach me as much as possible not to need her. She has never hesitated whenever the time comes to let me go, no matter how far away I go or how scary it is for her.
Victoria, in contrast, wants to shelter me from the world. In Worfa's words: "Victoria would be most happy if all you did was stay home and eat all day." She worries about me travelling to and from Dzodze (40 minutes away), talking to anyone she doesn't know, and not finishing every heaping plate of food she lovingly prepares for me. Victoria knows no way to love except possessively and uncompromisingly. Even knowing it comes from the right place, the unaccustomed amount of meddling can chafe on me, especially compared to the attitude of the woman who raised me.
So here I sit, listening to the windchime in the mango tree, ringing in the breeze coming off the nearby Atlantic. And as I listen, it reminds me of another windchime, hanging on the porch of a green house in Marquette, ringing in the breeze off Lake Superior. And it brings to mind my mom, studying a rack in Meijer, contemplating how to bring a little bit of joy to people she has never met, half a world away.
It was a brilliant idea.
Not just because it was something new and fun for my African parents. But that sound has come to represent all my homes in one, and hangs outside like a sort of dreamcatcher for warding off homesickness. Every time I hear it, I think about the open-handed love my mom must have - not just for me, but for everyone in this community - to send me off to Africa every couple of years without complaint. I know I am lucky to have the type of mom who loves people by letting them go. My mom's windchime reminds me of the responsibility I have to make the most of this opportunity, and to use this chance she has given me to love the people around me with that same selfless spirit.
Monday, July 27, 2015
My Religion
I had a quiet Sunday afternoon in my house while the Gomashies were at church. I played a game with one of my neighbors and her kids in the sand. I read under the mango tree, and snapped photos of some of the children playing with a balloon I'd given them.
It was here, more than four years ago, that I had the turbulent realization I no longer wanted to practice Catholicism. In that sense, I suppose it would be accurate to say I lost my religion in Ghana.
It is also accurate to say that I renewed my faith here.
The change in my personal belief system, while difficult, never felt like a loss of faith to me. In contrast, although many of the external practices were falling away, my sense of connection to God and the world around me was becoming more and more real.
Even when I was still practicing a formal religion, I have never been comfortable in Ghanaian churches. The uninhibited, long-winded and noisy worship style that is so common here only seems to unsettle me. The harrowing experience of speeding through the Ghanaian countryside in a tro, on the other hand, never fails to instill me with an unspeakable awe at its wild beauty - and I am always reminded to say a word of gratitude for this place and its people.
Today, I did not sing any hymns or listen to a sermon or sit in front of an altar.
Today, my church had sand and rustling coconut palms and lizards darting up the walls.
And I found God in my neighbor's obvious joy and love for her children, even as she confessed to me that she is upset because she is three months pregnant and doesn't know how she can provide for another baby. I saw God in my host brothers, Samson and Sylva, when I scolded them for grabbing a struggling baby bird, only to find out they were trying to put it back in its nest. I saw God in four-year-old Catherine, who recently learned I am a source of kisses, and clambers into my lap and mashes her little face into mine every time she sees me. I felt God when I took my chilly bucket bath underneath the wide open African night sky.
Ghana reminds me daily to be grateful for the smallest of things, from the simple joy of eating a mango to one-year-old Richmond finally deciding today that he isn't scared of me anymore. It reminds me to be conscious of my decisions and the effect they have on the people around me. It reminids me to ask for help, to say thank you, and to say I'm sorry - both privately and to others.
Nothing about my day was religious. But it was sacred.
It was here, more than four years ago, that I had the turbulent realization I no longer wanted to practice Catholicism. In that sense, I suppose it would be accurate to say I lost my religion in Ghana.
It is also accurate to say that I renewed my faith here.
The change in my personal belief system, while difficult, never felt like a loss of faith to me. In contrast, although many of the external practices were falling away, my sense of connection to God and the world around me was becoming more and more real.
Even when I was still practicing a formal religion, I have never been comfortable in Ghanaian churches. The uninhibited, long-winded and noisy worship style that is so common here only seems to unsettle me. The harrowing experience of speeding through the Ghanaian countryside in a tro, on the other hand, never fails to instill me with an unspeakable awe at its wild beauty - and I am always reminded to say a word of gratitude for this place and its people.
Today, I did not sing any hymns or listen to a sermon or sit in front of an altar.
Today, my church had sand and rustling coconut palms and lizards darting up the walls.
And I found God in my neighbor's obvious joy and love for her children, even as she confessed to me that she is upset because she is three months pregnant and doesn't know how she can provide for another baby. I saw God in my host brothers, Samson and Sylva, when I scolded them for grabbing a struggling baby bird, only to find out they were trying to put it back in its nest. I saw God in four-year-old Catherine, who recently learned I am a source of kisses, and clambers into my lap and mashes her little face into mine every time she sees me. I felt God when I took my chilly bucket bath underneath the wide open African night sky.
Ghana reminds me daily to be grateful for the smallest of things, from the simple joy of eating a mango to one-year-old Richmond finally deciding today that he isn't scared of me anymore. It reminds me to be conscious of my decisions and the effect they have on the people around me. It reminids me to ask for help, to say thank you, and to say I'm sorry - both privately and to others.
Nothing about my day was religious. But it was sacred.
Friday, July 17, 2015
Husband Collecting
Typical (and factual) tales of being a yevu woman in Aflao.
I leave SISCO and start walking to the roadside to catch a taxi to the beach. A man I don't know immediately takes hold of my arm.
Him: I want to marry you.
Me: Good for you.
Him: You don't want to marry me?
Me: I don't even know you.
Him: So? I want to marry you and you can take me to your place.
Me: You don't know me either.
Him: Yes I do; you stay with my uncle.
Me: Just because you know something about me...
Him: So, will you marry me?
Me: I'll see you around.
I arrive at the beach and go to the bar to get a beer.
Me: Good afternoon, are you open?
Bartender: Oh beautiful woman!
Me: Thanks, are you open?
Bartender: Yes, yes. Very beautiful woman!
Me: Do you have Club?
Bartender: I want to marry you! ...What? Oh, yes.
Me: Great, I'll take one.
Bartender: What do you say? Will you marry me?
Me: How much does it cost?
Bartender: I own this place. We can run it together. Four cedis.
Me: Uh-huh, I'll just be over there then.
Having successfully drank my beer without acquiring any more husbands, I get into a taxi to go home.
Me: Awakorme, please.
Driver: Hey! I want to marry you; you go take me to your place!
Me: Sounds good. Be ready August 4th.
I leave SISCO and start walking to the roadside to catch a taxi to the beach. A man I don't know immediately takes hold of my arm.
Him: I want to marry you.
Me: Good for you.
Him: You don't want to marry me?
Me: I don't even know you.
Him: So? I want to marry you and you can take me to your place.
Me: You don't know me either.
Him: Yes I do; you stay with my uncle.
Me: Just because you know something about me...
Him: So, will you marry me?
Me: I'll see you around.
I arrive at the beach and go to the bar to get a beer.
Me: Good afternoon, are you open?
Bartender: Oh beautiful woman!
Me: Thanks, are you open?
Bartender: Yes, yes. Very beautiful woman!
Me: Do you have Club?
Bartender: I want to marry you! ...What? Oh, yes.
Me: Great, I'll take one.
Bartender: What do you say? Will you marry me?
Me: How much does it cost?
Bartender: I own this place. We can run it together. Four cedis.
Me: Uh-huh, I'll just be over there then.
Having successfully drank my beer without acquiring any more husbands, I get into a taxi to go home.
Me: Awakorme, please.
Driver: Hey! I want to marry you; you go take me to your place!
Me: Sounds good. Be ready August 4th.
Thursday, July 16, 2015
Privileged
I dated a guy during college who told me once that he does not think he is privileged.
I stood in front of this heterosexual, white, American male in the process of completing his university education, and just gaped.
I think a lot about privilege when I am in Ghana.
The obvious comes to mind: I grew up in a spacious suburban home with two parents who read and sang to me, gave me a private school education, and saved for my college education before I even had a name. People have asked me for as long as I can remember what I want to be when I grow up, and I have always known that the answer was only dependent on the conclusion of my own judgment.
I have had everything I needed and many of things I wanted my entire life.
But there are other types of privilege.
In this dusty, hot, often uncomfortable environment, I find myself feeling fortunate even over the smallest things. Sleeping in a room with a fan - which only happens when I visit Karina and the others in Dzodze - as one example. Enjoying a quiet cup of instant coffee with condensed milk before my busy day starts and I have to start fielding the inevitable attention I attract simply walking down the street. A piece of ripe mango.
It's easier for me to maintain a mindset of gratitude, to feel rich in even the smallest things, on this side of the ocean.
And my personal favorite type of privilege: The incredible opportunity I have to work with all the people this non-profit endeavor has brought to me. SSF is growing; in our upcoming election we have enough candidates to potentially put our Board of Directors at it's full capacity of five members, and to put the Advisory Council from it's current 6 members to 10 filled seats out of the possible 20. Not that the number in itself is indicative of anything. What's amazing about it though is that all the people seeking active seats in our foundation are impressive and likable and talented in so many ways.
Even as I slowly (slowly) learn to have confidence in the gifts I myself have to offer our organization, I am no less impressed by those of my teammates. They are experts in education, business, technology, fundraising, law, medicine, and dreaming big. The fact that I have ended up as their spokesperson constantly amazes me.
Few people have the opportunity to work with and learn from such a diverse group in a collaborative effort like this. I have had the chance to grow through my relationships with them in ways that might never have happened otherwise.
At the end of each day, when I again have the opportunity to take the rare quiet moment to myself, that is a source of privilege that continues to stand out.
I stood in front of this heterosexual, white, American male in the process of completing his university education, and just gaped.
I think a lot about privilege when I am in Ghana.
The obvious comes to mind: I grew up in a spacious suburban home with two parents who read and sang to me, gave me a private school education, and saved for my college education before I even had a name. People have asked me for as long as I can remember what I want to be when I grow up, and I have always known that the answer was only dependent on the conclusion of my own judgment.
I have had everything I needed and many of things I wanted my entire life.
But there are other types of privilege.
In this dusty, hot, often uncomfortable environment, I find myself feeling fortunate even over the smallest things. Sleeping in a room with a fan - which only happens when I visit Karina and the others in Dzodze - as one example. Enjoying a quiet cup of instant coffee with condensed milk before my busy day starts and I have to start fielding the inevitable attention I attract simply walking down the street. A piece of ripe mango.
It's easier for me to maintain a mindset of gratitude, to feel rich in even the smallest things, on this side of the ocean.
And my personal favorite type of privilege: The incredible opportunity I have to work with all the people this non-profit endeavor has brought to me. SSF is growing; in our upcoming election we have enough candidates to potentially put our Board of Directors at it's full capacity of five members, and to put the Advisory Council from it's current 6 members to 10 filled seats out of the possible 20. Not that the number in itself is indicative of anything. What's amazing about it though is that all the people seeking active seats in our foundation are impressive and likable and talented in so many ways.
Even as I slowly (slowly) learn to have confidence in the gifts I myself have to offer our organization, I am no less impressed by those of my teammates. They are experts in education, business, technology, fundraising, law, medicine, and dreaming big. The fact that I have ended up as their spokesperson constantly amazes me.
Few people have the opportunity to work with and learn from such a diverse group in a collaborative effort like this. I have had the chance to grow through my relationships with them in ways that might never have happened otherwise.
At the end of each day, when I again have the opportunity to take the rare quiet moment to myself, that is a source of privilege that continues to stand out.
Monday, July 6, 2015
Home Again
I will be getting on a plane tonight for my third trip back to Ghana in five years.
Five years already since this wild journey started!
I'm going back now with a brand new B.A., instead of as a recent high school graduate. I'm in my twenties now instead of my teens - something I appreciate as that seems to carry just that much more weight in the world. I've learned a new language, held three jobs and found yet another city to call home since I first stepped on a plane to Africa.
I will become a first-time aunt right about when I get back from this trip. And soon after that, fall will find me moving to Spain for a six-month job as an au pair before I mosey on to grad school.
Ghana has changed a lot since 2010 too, which I'm about to discover for myself. As an example, the dramatic changes in the exchange rate - a point of concern despite being increasingly in my favor - mean I won't know the prices for anything anymore. I have always found Ghana exciting as a place that is evolving so rapidly, and the comfort of returning to my other home always comes hand-in-hand with reorienting myself to what I've missed in the last two years.
Now that we're at the two year mark since the start of Students of Success Foundation, we'll be doing some major overhauls. Time to read through our Constitution again, decide needs revision, hold our first elections, etc. etc.
It's going to be a busy month on the other side of the ocean!
Five years already since this wild journey started!
I'm going back now with a brand new B.A., instead of as a recent high school graduate. I'm in my twenties now instead of my teens - something I appreciate as that seems to carry just that much more weight in the world. I've learned a new language, held three jobs and found yet another city to call home since I first stepped on a plane to Africa.
I will become a first-time aunt right about when I get back from this trip. And soon after that, fall will find me moving to Spain for a six-month job as an au pair before I mosey on to grad school.
Ghana has changed a lot since 2010 too, which I'm about to discover for myself. As an example, the dramatic changes in the exchange rate - a point of concern despite being increasingly in my favor - mean I won't know the prices for anything anymore. I have always found Ghana exciting as a place that is evolving so rapidly, and the comfort of returning to my other home always comes hand-in-hand with reorienting myself to what I've missed in the last two years.
Now that we're at the two year mark since the start of Students of Success Foundation, we'll be doing some major overhauls. Time to read through our Constitution again, decide needs revision, hold our first elections, etc. etc.
It's going to be a busy month on the other side of the ocean!
Saturday, September 20, 2014
Ever Wonder How Joan’s Dad Felt....?
People, especially ones with children of their own, frequently tell me how shocked they are that my parents allowed me to move to Africa as a recent high school graduate - not to mention that they helped me start the school and sent me back two years later to create the foundation. While most parents were struggling to cope with their children going to college out of state, mine were researching antimalarial drugs.
I'm sure I will never fully appreciate the depth of that sacrifice until I am a parent myself.
With his dual role as a parent and as a founding Advisory Council member with SSF, I asked my dad, Thomas Niemann, to share a little about his experience of my adventures in Ghana.
As he often does, my dad's response surprised me. But read for yourself...
That would be of Arc.
Imagine how the 15th Century conversation begins, “Hey Dad, I've had this vision with St. Michael the Archangel. I’m supposed to lead the king’s troops to victory. And don’t worry that I’m only 17 years old. I got this.”
Flash forward to the 21st Century. Your precious baby girl, who was supposed to spend a relatively innocuous “gap year” in Kentucky, now tells you she is fulfilling a lifelong dream and “calling” by going to Africa instead.
Like many dads, I have an over-active sense of protectionism. Like Joan’s dad most certainly had, I had a laundry list of items of why this was a “bad” idea.
You’re too young.
You’ll be with strangers.
Who will watch out for you?
You have no experience with leading troops into battle - oops, I mean, teaching orphans in a foreign country...
But your daughter is this remarkable, incredibly articulate, stubborn and amazing young woman.
She has her fears and worries, but also the conviction of a crusader. She is resolute in doing what she knows with all of her heart is what she has been called to do. So I did what any father would do when faced with the insurmountable will of his extraordinary daughter, backed by the faith of a similarly extraordinary mother, I got out of the way before I got steamrolled; and hit my knees.
So if you know Joan’s story, with a borrowed set of armor, she marched off to join the king’s army in Orleans, France. Katherine, with a full complement of vaccinations and bug repellent treated clothing, flew off to Accra, Ghana. As history tells us, Joan faced many obstacles and naysayers following her dream. So too did Katherine, but like Joan, she persevered in the face of heart-wrenching tragedies and organizational politics. And like Joan, she carried the day.
With a courageous heart and undefeatable spirit, both of these remarkable women achieved what they were called upon to do, and the world is a better place because they believed and would not be deterred.
And like the father of any remarkable child, daughter or son, we stand in awe of what our progeny can accomplish in spite of our limited abilities to grasp how they can accomplish the inconceivable.
And when it is all said and done we breathe a very proud sigh of relief. We thank God that Katherine’s story had a much happier ending than Joan’s. But like Joan’s father, we’re also eternally grateful for having been allowed the inestimable honor of being their father; and we share with pride the abundant crop of new gray hair the experience has brought us....
I'm sure I will never fully appreciate the depth of that sacrifice until I am a parent myself.
With his dual role as a parent and as a founding Advisory Council member with SSF, I asked my dad, Thomas Niemann, to share a little about his experience of my adventures in Ghana.
As he often does, my dad's response surprised me. But read for yourself...
That would be of Arc.
Imagine how the 15th Century conversation begins, “Hey Dad, I've had this vision with St. Michael the Archangel. I’m supposed to lead the king’s troops to victory. And don’t worry that I’m only 17 years old. I got this.”
Flash forward to the 21st Century. Your precious baby girl, who was supposed to spend a relatively innocuous “gap year” in Kentucky, now tells you she is fulfilling a lifelong dream and “calling” by going to Africa instead.
Like many dads, I have an over-active sense of protectionism. Like Joan’s dad most certainly had, I had a laundry list of items of why this was a “bad” idea.
You’re too young.
You’ll be with strangers.
Who will watch out for you?
You have no experience with leading troops into battle - oops, I mean, teaching orphans in a foreign country...
But your daughter is this remarkable, incredibly articulate, stubborn and amazing young woman.
She has her fears and worries, but also the conviction of a crusader. She is resolute in doing what she knows with all of her heart is what she has been called to do. So I did what any father would do when faced with the insurmountable will of his extraordinary daughter, backed by the faith of a similarly extraordinary mother, I got out of the way before I got steamrolled; and hit my knees.
So if you know Joan’s story, with a borrowed set of armor, she marched off to join the king’s army in Orleans, France. Katherine, with a full complement of vaccinations and bug repellent treated clothing, flew off to Accra, Ghana. As history tells us, Joan faced many obstacles and naysayers following her dream. So too did Katherine, but like Joan, she persevered in the face of heart-wrenching tragedies and organizational politics. And like Joan, she carried the day.
With a courageous heart and undefeatable spirit, both of these remarkable women achieved what they were called upon to do, and the world is a better place because they believed and would not be deterred.
And like the father of any remarkable child, daughter or son, we stand in awe of what our progeny can accomplish in spite of our limited abilities to grasp how they can accomplish the inconceivable.
And when it is all said and done we breathe a very proud sigh of relief. We thank God that Katherine’s story had a much happier ending than Joan’s. But like Joan’s father, we’re also eternally grateful for having been allowed the inestimable honor of being their father; and we share with pride the abundant crop of new gray hair the experience has brought us....
Thursday, September 4, 2014
History Lesson
I was sitting in my Sociology of Minority Groups class today, only half listening while my professor rambled on about global population changes throughout history. In passing, she mentioned that the first slaves to arrive in America were a group of West Africans brought in a Dutch ship.
And suddenly she had my full attention.
I had a startling realization that it is extremely likely I have stood in the very same cell where those people were held before making that horrific journey.
Elmina, in Cape Coast, is the largest and oldest slave fort in West Africa, the center of the slave trade for the Dutch for decades.
And I've been there.
I've been in the prisoner cells. Listened to the story from the other side of history.
Suddenly the world seemed like a much smaller place. It was shocking for history to become so immediately and unexpectedly real for me with just that one offhand comment. I may have learned about slavery since grade school... even visited the slave forts themselves... but oddly, it had never seemed more real to me than it did in that moment. Perhaps it took the two coming together for me to realize how interconnected our lives can be. To know with sudden clarity that history isn't just names and dates, but the stories of real flesh and blood humans who lived and breathed in places where I too have lived and breathed.
I felt a genuine sorrow for them. Not an abstract reaction like history lessons might normally generate, but a true sadness, as if I'd known them. I also felt gratitude, that I have been fortunate enough to have these life experiences that give me this perspective. I do not take for granted that the things I have seen and touched and tasted have allowed me to personally identify with so many varied situations.
Sometimes things aren't as far away or as irrelevant as we might like to think they are.
And suddenly she had my full attention.
I had a startling realization that it is extremely likely I have stood in the very same cell where those people were held before making that horrific journey.
Elmina, in Cape Coast, is the largest and oldest slave fort in West Africa, the center of the slave trade for the Dutch for decades.
And I've been there.
I've been in the prisoner cells. Listened to the story from the other side of history.
Suddenly the world seemed like a much smaller place. It was shocking for history to become so immediately and unexpectedly real for me with just that one offhand comment. I may have learned about slavery since grade school... even visited the slave forts themselves... but oddly, it had never seemed more real to me than it did in that moment. Perhaps it took the two coming together for me to realize how interconnected our lives can be. To know with sudden clarity that history isn't just names and dates, but the stories of real flesh and blood humans who lived and breathed in places where I too have lived and breathed.
I felt a genuine sorrow for them. Not an abstract reaction like history lessons might normally generate, but a true sadness, as if I'd known them. I also felt gratitude, that I have been fortunate enough to have these life experiences that give me this perspective. I do not take for granted that the things I have seen and touched and tasted have allowed me to personally identify with so many varied situations.
Sometimes things aren't as far away or as irrelevant as we might like to think they are.
Wednesday, May 21, 2014
Serenity or Courage?
I received an email from a man who has spent a significant amount of time as a volunteer teacher in Ghana, particularly in the Volta region. He applauded our good work, but he challenged our ability to eliminate the use of corporal punishment in foundation schools. He argued that caning is too ingrained into Ghanaian culture; a mindset that is too hard to fight.
I work at a group home for adults with developmental disabilities, a job I typically enjoy. However we encountered a difficult situation this week that has no clear solution. Doing the right thing will mean doing the hard thing, and that will still not guarantee a successful outcome.
These two situations have prompted a lot of reflection for me over the past few days. They remind me of the Serenity Prayer:
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can,
And wisdom to know the difference.
Maybe it bothers me that it's called the Serenity Prayer.
How often is our first reflex to shrug and say, "That's just the way it is"? Why are we so often content to believe we have no capacity to implement change? What if we taught ourselves to ask for courage first, and serenity only as a last resort?
I personally believe there are very few things in life we actually don't have any ability to change. I also believe most problems are bigger than what we could tackle by ourselves, but there's no cosmic rule that says you can't fight something unless you can fight it alone.
Getting rid of corporal punishment in Ghanaian schools is going to be a long, uphill battle. Perhaps it's a battle that all of us with SSF aren't going to be able to win by ourselves. Maybe the best we'll ever be able to do is chip away at this problem, and it will be someone else down the line who finally breaks through.
My dilemma at work is most definitely a problem that will outlive my time as an employee there. My impact will only be a ripple in a solution that should be a tidal wave. I'm going to make that ripple anyway.
There are so many things I want to help change; problems I don't have any intention of developing a sense of peace about.
I'm going to need a different prayer, I think.
I work at a group home for adults with developmental disabilities, a job I typically enjoy. However we encountered a difficult situation this week that has no clear solution. Doing the right thing will mean doing the hard thing, and that will still not guarantee a successful outcome.
These two situations have prompted a lot of reflection for me over the past few days. They remind me of the Serenity Prayer:
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can,
And wisdom to know the difference.
Maybe it bothers me that it's called the Serenity Prayer.
How often is our first reflex to shrug and say, "That's just the way it is"? Why are we so often content to believe we have no capacity to implement change? What if we taught ourselves to ask for courage first, and serenity only as a last resort?
I personally believe there are very few things in life we actually don't have any ability to change. I also believe most problems are bigger than what we could tackle by ourselves, but there's no cosmic rule that says you can't fight something unless you can fight it alone.
Getting rid of corporal punishment in Ghanaian schools is going to be a long, uphill battle. Perhaps it's a battle that all of us with SSF aren't going to be able to win by ourselves. Maybe the best we'll ever be able to do is chip away at this problem, and it will be someone else down the line who finally breaks through.
My dilemma at work is most definitely a problem that will outlive my time as an employee there. My impact will only be a ripple in a solution that should be a tidal wave. I'm going to make that ripple anyway.
There are so many things I want to help change; problems I don't have any intention of developing a sense of peace about.
I'm going to need a different prayer, I think.
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
You Have Arrived
I'm just full of good news these days!
I was eating our traditional St. Patty's Day dinner with my friends and roommates when I got the call from my dad that we had met our third and final fundraising goal. My friend said he'd never seen someone have to sit down because of good news before.
Only two and a half weeks after the Open Challenge began, Students of Success met and exceeded it's $7,500 goal.
As the Open Challenge drew to a close yesterday, we have raised over $8,400 from 76 donors.
Although we are certainly continuing to fundraise, today I am taking a moment to step back and enjoy the view.
Thank you to everyone who helped us reach this incredible milestone.
Sunday, March 16, 2014
The First Pancake
I got a package from my mom yesterday.
The first thing I pulled out was a box of pancake mix.
Which both my roommate and I thought was a little weird... until I was reaching into the box to see what else was in there and suddenly it hit me:
"Hillary, it's the first pancake!!!"
All week leading up to our "An Evening For Africa" fundraiser, I was referring to it as my "first pancake." See, the first pancake is the experiment, and therefore the one that usually gets thrown out. Maybe the griddle's too cold and it's all runny and weird. Maybe it's too hot and then it gets burned. There's no shame in throwing out the first pancake.
As our first official event as a foundation - not to mention the first time I've personally ever tried to plan an event on that scale - I was pretty worried about the outcome of our first pancake.
My anxiety didn't get much better when we had a smaller turnout than I would have liked. There wasn't much of a difference between the number of people in attendance and the number of people we needed to cover the cost of our overhead, so I wasn't overly optimistic that we'd made enough money to justify the time, energy and funds I'd put into hosting this event.
Despite my worries, it was a lovely evening. I was so amazed by the interest and support I received from our guests. They were generous and responsive. Afternoon Delight Cafe provided us with delicious desserts and we had two professional cellists playing duets. My presentation went off without a hitch. I figured that I may not have raised much money, but at least I'd gotten the event-planning experience.
That night I went home and did the math.
Then I did the math again.
Then I made my mom do the math.
"An Evening For Africa" raised over $1,500!
Little did I realize that the fundraiser was only the beginning...
Wednesday was Bonus Day, which meant that Global Giving was matching donations at 15%. We urged people at the fundraiser to wait to pay for their auction items or make any further contributions until then.
As Bonus Day dawned, Karina called me to discuss some things, and told me that we were at almost $3,000 and 29 donors. (Our participation in Global Giving's Open Challenge is threefold: To earn a permanent place on the website we must raise at least $5,000 from at least 40 unique donors, and we also set a personal goal of $7,500.)
By the time I got home from class at 2 pm, I got the news from my mom that we had met the $5,000 and 40 donor mark.
We were officially part of Global Giving.
I went to work at 3 pm and ecstatically told my boss the good news.
About two hours later, one of my friends who was keeping an eye on the website for me (without me even having to ask!) told me we had broken $6,000.
The texts and phone calls were pouring in for those several hours when we were rising by more than $500/hour. I walked around work in a daze.
By the end of the day, we had raised over $3,500 and earned 4th place for the most donations received for Bonus Day.
Currently we are at over $6,800 - just shy of our personal goal - from over 60 donors, and only just halfway through Open Challenge month.
I am amazed, and moved beyond words by these results. Unless you have lived in a developing community, it is almost impossible to convey the impact this amount of money can have.
More than that though... I cannot describe the feeling of realizing that somehow we have gotten people to care about what we're doing. I have carried around this fierce love for Ghana and my Aflao family for nearly four years now. Suddenly I have come face-to-face with proof that those sparks have somehow set light to a fire. Somehow we have convinced other people to care about my Aflao family too without even having met them - enough to raise almost $7,000 in two weeks.
That is astounding.
How can I express how powerful that is?
I have worked single-mindedly since July to accomplish exactly what we finally achieved on Wednesday, March 12th: a permanent place with Global Giving, and with it the means to sustain the work we've begun half a world away. We have been given this wondrous ability to make a real impact on this world because 60 people (and many more, really) chose to believe in our vision for our students. I hope I never fail to be humbled by and grateful for that responsibility.
The rest of the package from my mom included a bottle of maple syrup and a card that read, "Sometimes you don't throw out your first pancake after all..."
The first thing I pulled out was a box of pancake mix.
Which both my roommate and I thought was a little weird... until I was reaching into the box to see what else was in there and suddenly it hit me:
"Hillary, it's the first pancake!!!"
All week leading up to our "An Evening For Africa" fundraiser, I was referring to it as my "first pancake." See, the first pancake is the experiment, and therefore the one that usually gets thrown out. Maybe the griddle's too cold and it's all runny and weird. Maybe it's too hot and then it gets burned. There's no shame in throwing out the first pancake.
As our first official event as a foundation - not to mention the first time I've personally ever tried to plan an event on that scale - I was pretty worried about the outcome of our first pancake.
My anxiety didn't get much better when we had a smaller turnout than I would have liked. There wasn't much of a difference between the number of people in attendance and the number of people we needed to cover the cost of our overhead, so I wasn't overly optimistic that we'd made enough money to justify the time, energy and funds I'd put into hosting this event.
Despite my worries, it was a lovely evening. I was so amazed by the interest and support I received from our guests. They were generous and responsive. Afternoon Delight Cafe provided us with delicious desserts and we had two professional cellists playing duets. My presentation went off without a hitch. I figured that I may not have raised much money, but at least I'd gotten the event-planning experience.
That night I went home and did the math.
Then I did the math again.
Then I made my mom do the math.
"An Evening For Africa" raised over $1,500!
Little did I realize that the fundraiser was only the beginning...
Wednesday was Bonus Day, which meant that Global Giving was matching donations at 15%. We urged people at the fundraiser to wait to pay for their auction items or make any further contributions until then.
As Bonus Day dawned, Karina called me to discuss some things, and told me that we were at almost $3,000 and 29 donors. (Our participation in Global Giving's Open Challenge is threefold: To earn a permanent place on the website we must raise at least $5,000 from at least 40 unique donors, and we also set a personal goal of $7,500.)
By the time I got home from class at 2 pm, I got the news from my mom that we had met the $5,000 and 40 donor mark.
We were officially part of Global Giving.
I went to work at 3 pm and ecstatically told my boss the good news.
About two hours later, one of my friends who was keeping an eye on the website for me (without me even having to ask!) told me we had broken $6,000.
The texts and phone calls were pouring in for those several hours when we were rising by more than $500/hour. I walked around work in a daze.
By the end of the day, we had raised over $3,500 and earned 4th place for the most donations received for Bonus Day.
Currently we are at over $6,800 - just shy of our personal goal - from over 60 donors, and only just halfway through Open Challenge month.
I am amazed, and moved beyond words by these results. Unless you have lived in a developing community, it is almost impossible to convey the impact this amount of money can have.
More than that though... I cannot describe the feeling of realizing that somehow we have gotten people to care about what we're doing. I have carried around this fierce love for Ghana and my Aflao family for nearly four years now. Suddenly I have come face-to-face with proof that those sparks have somehow set light to a fire. Somehow we have convinced other people to care about my Aflao family too without even having met them - enough to raise almost $7,000 in two weeks.
That is astounding.
How can I express how powerful that is?
I have worked single-mindedly since July to accomplish exactly what we finally achieved on Wednesday, March 12th: a permanent place with Global Giving, and with it the means to sustain the work we've begun half a world away. We have been given this wondrous ability to make a real impact on this world because 60 people (and many more, really) chose to believe in our vision for our students. I hope I never fail to be humbled by and grateful for that responsibility.
The rest of the package from my mom included a bottle of maple syrup and a card that read, "Sometimes you don't throw out your first pancake after all..."
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
Marvelous Golden Moments
I'm back in Ann Arbor, scrambling to finish organizing our "Evening For Africa" fundraiser before Sunday. And so the day was spent tromping around downtown to ask local businesses to donate to our silent auction, which until today only had 2 items. (Some awesome jewelry from the Silver Crow and a basket of Alaffia body products from the co-op, both in Marquette.)
The day got off to a rough start. For some reason I just felt really unsure of myself, scattered and awkward. It didn't help that most of the businesses I specifically wanted to visit didn't open until 11 (it was just after 9). Or that the first business I approached very dismissively answered my pitch with, "Fine, fine. Just leave me your stuff."
To which I replied something along the lines of, "....Uhhhhhhh, stuff?"
Oy. Smack forehead. Go home and whip up a short letter explaining who we are and why we're fundraising. Print off a couple dozen. Return downtown. Remember to wear gloves this time.
One deer-in-the-headlights moment at a time I will learn how to do this job properly!
I got a lot of maybe's - some of them more promising than others. I'm expecting quite a few calls - some of them more likely than others. Got a handful of regretful no's. Got one or two unapologetic no's, come to think of it.
Then there were the marvelous golden moments when people said YES.
The owner of Elixir Vitae Coffee & Tea handed me two $20 gift cards without a moment's hesitation. I don't think I'd even finished my sentence.
A worker at one shop volunteered her own time as a professional photographer even though all I'd asked about was the store.
Bivouac (Yikes. This is about the 10th time today I have spelled that word and I am still spelling it a different way each time...) didn't even ask who we were or what we do until after they'd handed over a $25 gift card.
Dawntreader gave me a $40 gift certificate as soon as they heard the word "literacy."
The owner of La Marsa Mediterranean restaurant refused to give me a gift card because he wants to run a week long promotion instead where he will donate 20% of the bill of anyone who brings in our coupon.
And at the end of my long day I came home to discover that someone has made the largest donation yet. As a result, we have raised more than $400 in 4 days!
Today was frustrating. It was tiring and stressful and I am really, really worried my event is not going to be nearly as successful as I'd hoped. No matter how excited I am about our progress so far, I will probably not sleep easy until we hit at least our minimum $5,000 mark and secure our spot on Global Giving.
And yet... there's those marvelous golden moments.
The day got off to a rough start. For some reason I just felt really unsure of myself, scattered and awkward. It didn't help that most of the businesses I specifically wanted to visit didn't open until 11 (it was just after 9). Or that the first business I approached very dismissively answered my pitch with, "Fine, fine. Just leave me your stuff."
To which I replied something along the lines of, "....Uhhhhhhh, stuff?"
Oy. Smack forehead. Go home and whip up a short letter explaining who we are and why we're fundraising. Print off a couple dozen. Return downtown. Remember to wear gloves this time.
One deer-in-the-headlights moment at a time I will learn how to do this job properly!
I got a lot of maybe's - some of them more promising than others. I'm expecting quite a few calls - some of them more likely than others. Got a handful of regretful no's. Got one or two unapologetic no's, come to think of it.
Then there were the marvelous golden moments when people said YES.
The owner of Elixir Vitae Coffee & Tea handed me two $20 gift cards without a moment's hesitation. I don't think I'd even finished my sentence.
A worker at one shop volunteered her own time as a professional photographer even though all I'd asked about was the store.
Bivouac (Yikes. This is about the 10th time today I have spelled that word and I am still spelling it a different way each time...) didn't even ask who we were or what we do until after they'd handed over a $25 gift card.
Dawntreader gave me a $40 gift certificate as soon as they heard the word "literacy."
The owner of La Marsa Mediterranean restaurant refused to give me a gift card because he wants to run a week long promotion instead where he will donate 20% of the bill of anyone who brings in our coupon.
And at the end of my long day I came home to discover that someone has made the largest donation yet. As a result, we have raised more than $400 in 4 days!
Today was frustrating. It was tiring and stressful and I am really, really worried my event is not going to be nearly as successful as I'd hoped. No matter how excited I am about our progress so far, I will probably not sleep easy until we hit at least our minimum $5,000 mark and secure our spot on Global Giving.
And yet... there's those marvelous golden moments.
Today was a good day.
Monday, February 24, 2014
4 days, 5 hours, 19 minutes and 24 seconds
I just received the news that our project (the posting for our foundation) has been pre-approved for Global Giving!!!
In other words, we're on a website I didn't make myself!
Becoming a non-profit was an unbelievably enormous and exciting step. I will never forget the feeling of holding our first set of certificates the day Karina and I flew home from Ghana, or how it felt to receive Daniel's emailed photograph of the final certificate that signaled our full certification with the Ghanaian government.
Being accepted to compete in Global Giving's Open Challenge was another monumental landmark for us. I got together as many friends as I could on such short notice (about 7...) when I received the email and we popped a bottle of champagne to celebrate that victory.
And there have been a thousand other thrilling moments in between. Opening our bank account... Creating our website... Planning our Evening For Africa event in just two short weeks...
But this.
Oh this.
This makes all of that other stuff real. THIS represents everything we've worked for over the past 7 1/2 months. Joining Global Giving, earning the ability to fundraise in the US and give our foundation a real chance to do some good in this world... that is everything.
I didn't expect this moment to be quite so exciting, but I find myself ecstatic. I can't stop staring at our Global Giving page and watching the clock that is counting down to midnight on Saturday, when the Open Challenge officially begins and we can start accepting donations for the first time.
This is really happening. All of the pain and the challenges and the setbacks and the effort and the agony of not knowing how things would work out is paying off.
I feel like I've been handed the keys to the kingdom and I just can't stop grinning ear to ear. None of my roommates were home when I found out, which is problematic because squealing and jumping is best done with company. But instead I took advantage of the empty house to blast happy music and throw myself a dance party. Every time I paused to catch my breath, I remembered what this means and the journey it took to get here, and got the itch to dance to some more. I ended up jumping around my room for a good 45 minutes before my joy was exhausted enough to sit down.
So check out our page http://www.globalgiving.org/
4 days, 5 hours, 19 minutes and 24 seconds from now!
In other words, we're on a website I didn't make myself!
Becoming a non-profit was an unbelievably enormous and exciting step. I will never forget the feeling of holding our first set of certificates the day Karina and I flew home from Ghana, or how it felt to receive Daniel's emailed photograph of the final certificate that signaled our full certification with the Ghanaian government.
Being accepted to compete in Global Giving's Open Challenge was another monumental landmark for us. I got together as many friends as I could on such short notice (about 7...) when I received the email and we popped a bottle of champagne to celebrate that victory.
And there have been a thousand other thrilling moments in between. Opening our bank account... Creating our website... Planning our Evening For Africa event in just two short weeks...
But this.
Oh this.
This makes all of that other stuff real. THIS represents everything we've worked for over the past 7 1/2 months. Joining Global Giving, earning the ability to fundraise in the US and give our foundation a real chance to do some good in this world... that is everything.
I didn't expect this moment to be quite so exciting, but I find myself ecstatic. I can't stop staring at our Global Giving page and watching the clock that is counting down to midnight on Saturday, when the Open Challenge officially begins and we can start accepting donations for the first time.
This is really happening. All of the pain and the challenges and the setbacks and the effort and the agony of not knowing how things would work out is paying off.
I feel like I've been handed the keys to the kingdom and I just can't stop grinning ear to ear. None of my roommates were home when I found out, which is problematic because squealing and jumping is best done with company. But instead I took advantage of the empty house to blast happy music and throw myself a dance party. Every time I paused to catch my breath, I remembered what this means and the journey it took to get here, and got the itch to dance to some more. I ended up jumping around my room for a good 45 minutes before my joy was exhausted enough to sit down.
So check out our page http://www.globalgiving.org/
4 days, 5 hours, 19 minutes and 24 seconds from now!
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
200 Characters or Less
I'm putting in some late-night effort to get the foundation ready to be posted on Global Giving. (*Coughcough* the Open Challenge starts in less than 2 weeks!) I have to do things like describe our entire mission - compellingly - in 200 characters or less. State the problem, our solution and the long-term impacts of our work, each in 200 characters or less. Pick pictures and create captions that will be informative and speak to people's soft sides. I feel like I'm trying to explain the most monumentally important part of my life through a series of tweets. Hmmm, how to sum up the impact we're trying to make on the lives of hundreds of people in less words than I would use to describe what I made for dinner...
I'm being snarky; I'm actually enjoying the challenge of trying to frame the foundation in a marketable way. And of course I'm BEYOND excited for us to be officially posted to the Global Giving website. Anticipation of the moment I see that is fueling this late-night rally.
But as I struggle to shrink our mission into bite-sized pieces, this... I don't even have the word for it... little ache... keeps resurfacing that nothing I could ever write could ever be eloquent or professional or effective enough to convey just how much I care about what it is I'm describing.
I guess it's something I mention a lot, but it's something that never fails to startle me when I'm acting as founder of Students of Success and not just regular me. I mean, people hear my pitch and most of them want to help, but...do they really understand? What words convince people, "This is my second home. This is my family, my community I'm asking you to help" ? I think regular me can portray that pretty well with all my ridiculous jumping and squealing and raving, but can founder me manage to do it when I'm wearing my dress pants and politely shaking hands?
Well, appropriately as this nagging thought was tumbling around, "Hey Brother" by Aviici started playing on my Itunes. It's already a favorite of mine, and some of the lyrics hit home tonight: "What if I'm far from home? Oh brother, I will hear you call. What if I lose it all? Oh sister, I will help you out. Oh if the sky comes falling down for you, there's nothing in this world I wouldn't do."
Such simple words and yet they sum up so beautifully how I feel about my Ghanaian family.
Hmm....and it's just about 200 characters....
I'm being snarky; I'm actually enjoying the challenge of trying to frame the foundation in a marketable way. And of course I'm BEYOND excited for us to be officially posted to the Global Giving website. Anticipation of the moment I see that is fueling this late-night rally.
But as I struggle to shrink our mission into bite-sized pieces, this... I don't even have the word for it... little ache... keeps resurfacing that nothing I could ever write could ever be eloquent or professional or effective enough to convey just how much I care about what it is I'm describing.
I guess it's something I mention a lot, but it's something that never fails to startle me when I'm acting as founder of Students of Success and not just regular me. I mean, people hear my pitch and most of them want to help, but...do they really understand? What words convince people, "This is my second home. This is my family, my community I'm asking you to help" ? I think regular me can portray that pretty well with all my ridiculous jumping and squealing and raving, but can founder me manage to do it when I'm wearing my dress pants and politely shaking hands?
Well, appropriately as this nagging thought was tumbling around, "Hey Brother" by Aviici started playing on my Itunes. It's already a favorite of mine, and some of the lyrics hit home tonight: "What if I'm far from home? Oh brother, I will hear you call. What if I lose it all? Oh sister, I will help you out. Oh if the sky comes falling down for you, there's nothing in this world I wouldn't do."
Such simple words and yet they sum up so beautifully how I feel about my Ghanaian family.
Hmm....and it's just about 200 characters....
Friday, January 31, 2014
Sincerely, A Happy Do-er
"People who say it cannot be done should not interrupt
those who are doing it"
~ George Bernard Shaw
With the marvelous news that we have been accepted into the Open Challenge, the scheming part of my brain has taken off like a racehorse. The good kind of scheming. The happy, dream-big-or-go-home scheming, because I finally get to do more of what I have always loved most about being part of this foundation (second only to being a living jungle gym for 300 kids): FUNDRAISE.
Which, although primary revolving around raising money of course, really has more to do with helping people fall in love with what we're doing, and the people we're doing it for/with. Perhaps I am too sentimental, but I personally believe that generosity has more to do with the heart than the actual wallet. Plus, it doesn't hurt that I think my strengths lie more in this type of work than the technical, legal, paperwork-y stuff I've been doing pretty much exclusively for the last six months.
So, this week finds me busily preparing for a fundraising benefit on March 9th! It's an ambitious project and I don't want to speak too soon, but so far I am quite hopeful! The businesses I've approached so far have been so generous and willing to help us out. If I can pull this off, it will be a fun, memorable event to kick start Students of Success Foundation's fundraising efforts!
As an aside, I/the foundation now have a Twitter account! I must admit it's not my social media of choice, but it seemed like a logical choice to get some more publicity. So if you're a fellow tweeter, follow us @GhanaWithLove !
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
A Well-Earned Victory Lap
In contrast to my last post, today finds me full of hope.
Although Global Giving's next Open Challenge does not begin until March, the application deadline passed yesterday -- And I am beyond pleased to say that, this time, Students of Success Foundation managed to throw its hat in the ring on time. Which is not to say we are guaranteed a spot in the Open Challenge, but at least we have the chance.
As always, each step forward comes with a mixture of celebrations and frustrations. The richness our foundation has from its multinational representation is often tempered with the challenges inherent to working across multiple cultures (Not to mention time zones...). We are all still learning to work together as a team, as well as learning what running a foundation entails - yours truly more than anyone. It took late-night effort from many people, but at the end of the day I clicked "submit" with everything I needed in place. And that is a victory that should not be understated.
Therefore, in light of that victory, I want to take this chance to honor the many, many people who made it possible. Whether our application is accepted or not, we are growing and moving forward, and that is worthy of celebrating.
So, thank you to Daniel, Worfa, Samuel, David and Thomas, who took on the project of creating a budget and in doing so put one of the most important puzzle pieces in place. Thank you to Dennis Benson-Sayram for writing us a glowing, professional letter of recommendation. Thank you to Karina for sacrificing sleep to design improved promotional materials and always being willing to help in any way possible despite her demanding schedule. Thank you to Sebastian for volunteering at SISCO and taking so many wonderful, heart-warming pictures for our website; it is exciting to be able to say that we have had our first volunteer! Thank you to Janet for advocating for our new organization where it matters most, and taking our efforts so seriously. Thank you to my roommates - Hillary, Kat and Alanna - for being my moral support, having so much patience with my turbulent emotions about this process, and in general keeping me sane.
It is impossible to express how much the efforts and dedication of each and every one of these people have made a difference. I am, as always, grateful for the countless people who have supported our work every step of the way. So whether your role in the foundation takes the form of Board Member, donor, blog reader, or something else - pat yourself on the back today.
Since drafting this post, I would like to announce that I have received the news that we were accepted into the Open Challenge! It has been a week of celebrating for everyone involved with Students of Success!
Although Global Giving's next Open Challenge does not begin until March, the application deadline passed yesterday -- And I am beyond pleased to say that, this time, Students of Success Foundation managed to throw its hat in the ring on time. Which is not to say we are guaranteed a spot in the Open Challenge, but at least we have the chance.
As always, each step forward comes with a mixture of celebrations and frustrations. The richness our foundation has from its multinational representation is often tempered with the challenges inherent to working across multiple cultures (Not to mention time zones...). We are all still learning to work together as a team, as well as learning what running a foundation entails - yours truly more than anyone. It took late-night effort from many people, but at the end of the day I clicked "submit" with everything I needed in place. And that is a victory that should not be understated.
Therefore, in light of that victory, I want to take this chance to honor the many, many people who made it possible. Whether our application is accepted or not, we are growing and moving forward, and that is worthy of celebrating.
So, thank you to Daniel, Worfa, Samuel, David and Thomas, who took on the project of creating a budget and in doing so put one of the most important puzzle pieces in place. Thank you to Dennis Benson-Sayram for writing us a glowing, professional letter of recommendation. Thank you to Karina for sacrificing sleep to design improved promotional materials and always being willing to help in any way possible despite her demanding schedule. Thank you to Sebastian for volunteering at SISCO and taking so many wonderful, heart-warming pictures for our website; it is exciting to be able to say that we have had our first volunteer! Thank you to Janet for advocating for our new organization where it matters most, and taking our efforts so seriously. Thank you to my roommates - Hillary, Kat and Alanna - for being my moral support, having so much patience with my turbulent emotions about this process, and in general keeping me sane.
It is impossible to express how much the efforts and dedication of each and every one of these people have made a difference. I am, as always, grateful for the countless people who have supported our work every step of the way. So whether your role in the foundation takes the form of Board Member, donor, blog reader, or something else - pat yourself on the back today.
Since drafting this post, I would like to announce that I have received the news that we were accepted into the Open Challenge! It has been a week of celebrating for everyone involved with Students of Success!
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
What Doesn't Kill You
This foundation is actually going
to kill me. As in if I drop dead at 21, somebody tell the authorities what
happened.
Ok, I was being melodramatic, but
now I’m being serious:
The things that we care about
most are the things that tear us apart.
This foundation is the most important
thing I’ve ever done. I care about Students of Success – or more accurately the
people involved with it – more than anything else I’ve ever been committed to. Starting
a non-profit may not ever have been my plan, but I’m married to this
cause. I jumped into this role knowing that it will quite possibly be lifelong.
I am humbled and grateful to have the opportunity to help take care of the
people who have taken care of me so selflessly from the first day they met me.
I’m still trying to find my
stride in my role as a non-profit founder though. It still feels like a pair of
shoes that are too big, and I’m walking in territory that is completely unfamiliar.
Representing this foundation sometimes requires me to be someone I am not... to act
all grown-up and emotionally detached and in control, when most of the time I
am actually stressed and so, so terribly unsure of what to do. And I am
anything but emotionally detached; every part of me is invested in these people
and this community.
Sometimes I wish that wasn’t the
case. It means that setbacks hit me like a sledgehammer. I have trouble staying
objective. Trouble viewing challenges with the proper perspective. I have
always felt out of my depth in this role, and the waters just keep getting deeper.
I am not trying to whine. I am
not trying to be a pessimist. I am trying to portray this experience
accurately. And to be accurate – for all its wonderful victories and moments of
joy, my decision to take on this foundation routinely tears me apart.
I found out today we missed the
deadline for Global Giving’s open challenge. Which means we won’t be able to
participate until March. Which means we unexpectedly can’t fundraise for the next four
months.
As the founder of Students of
Success Foundation, I would say that we will still be working on multiple
projects and preparing for the point when we can start actively working towards
the $5,000 goal we need to reach to earn a permanent place on the Global Giving
website.
As Katherine Niemann, college
student and confessional blogger, I want to say that I am discouraged and helpless
and beyond frustrated. Perhaps a four month delay isn’t a big deal in the big
picture, but today – right now – it certainly feels like a big deal. I feel
overwhelmed trying to be a student and an employee and a board member of a
start-up organization. Yet even when I juggle all those roles successfully, here I am with my hands tied for the next four months nonetheless.
People often ask me if I ever
feel like I gave up my chance to have a typical college
experience to be involved in the foundation.
It would be a lie to say I’ve
never regretted my decision, however briefly.
But at the end of the day… even
an extremely difficult day like this one… I imagine what life would look life
right now if I’d said no.
What if I’d told Worfa to run SISCO independently,
and returned to life as a college student without this responsibility?
Perhaps I’d cry less. Metaphorically
bang my head against walls less often. Literally throw pillows against walls
less often. Use pillows for sleeping more often. Have more free time. Maybe
tests and parties would seem more important.
Maybe I wish all those things were the case sometimes. Maybe there are moments I give in to feeling sorry for myself and
wish someone else had been called on to do this. No- definitely there are those
moments.
But if I could go back and make
that decision again – knowing what life would look like after I said yes – my
answer would be the same.
Sunday, November 3, 2013
One More Step
I am pleased to announce that as of October 8th, 2013, Students of Success Foundation is a fully registered non-profit organization with the Ghanaian government!
Although it will still be some time before we are fully operational and ready to start fundraising, we have reached a major milestone.
Feel free to check out what I've been working on (when I should be doing homework...) :
http://studentsofsuccessfoundation.weebly.com/
https://www.facebook.com/studentsofsuccessfoundation
Although it will still be some time before we are fully operational and ready to start fundraising, we have reached a major milestone.
Feel free to check out what I've been working on (when I should be doing homework...) :
http://studentsofsuccessfoundation.weebly.com/
https://www.facebook.com/studentsofsuccessfoundation
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Face In The Crowd
Marquette is alive with activity- NMU students cram every moment of the precious few remaining warm days with biking and hiking and cliffjumping, strolling through the picturesque downtown for coffee at Babycakes or a view of the sailboats spread out across Lower Harbor. The wind is brisk more often than not now, and the trees down 550 are just starting to ignite into a riot of color. Lake Superior hasn't faded to the steel gray it will be for most of the year; it is still a shade of rich, dark blue. Everywhere you turn is yet another view that looks like a postcard.
Here, I am a college student with neon-colored laces in my sneakers, a nosering and a mug of coffee perpetually in hand. My days consist of dragging myself out of bed for my 7 am shift at the group home, and pouncing on my unsuspecting housemates to perform the otoscopies (ear exams) required for my Audiology class. I frequent Black Rocks, a local brewery, and spend most Sundays catching up on homework. The contented humdrum of my routine is no different from that of any number of other college kids in Marquette.
Half a world away, the days are getting hotter. The rainy season has begun, and soon the streets of Awakorme will begin to routinely flood. 300 students at a little school called Success International have started another term. Five days a week they perch in a precarious jumble of splintery desks, scribbling furiously in flimsy notebooks bearing the faces of Hannah Montana or President Obama while Worfa copies another reading lesson onto the blackboard. The palm trees towering over the tiny school building have not changed. The wind rustling their branches still smells like sea salt and onions from the nearby farms. The ocean waves never pause, and neither do the fishermen in their constant rhythm of casting and gathering their massive nets. Sundays, the air is filled with the sound of church services that carry for miles.
I know these things as surely as if they were still happening right outside my window.
But there, I may dress in traditional, bold-patterned cloth, but the skin underneath will always be white. I can braid my hair, but it will still be blond. I may have found a home and a family in Ghana, but there's little chance of me ever passing as a Ghanaian. Although I miss Africa already, there is a certain comfort in being back in a world where I blend in seamlessly.
...Until, of course, someone asks me what I did this summer.
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