American Honey

Amurrrrrrica.

I've been back for a month.

I've been feeling, experiencing, seeing, and questioning a lot.

These are figments and pieces of my thoughts, emotions, and feelings as I have adjusted to America again.
They all come from my cute, gold, flowery journal.

Peace and love.

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It just took over 72 hours for it all to really start sinking in. I can’t really pinpoint what triggered it, but I was at the gym doing crunches, and then BAM! Someday by Rob Thomas came on my IPOD and I glanced around and saw white, and I thought of Rukia. Closing my eyes, it was like I was in Ghana again, back in another world. The tears came fast; I headed to the bathroom to be alone. I was supposed to stay for Pilates, but I couldn’t do it. I wanted to explore; I didn’t want to be trapped. Maybe I was afraid of being alone with my thoughts. Whatever it was, I left. I got in my car and headed home. Soon, I was on my bike. I wasn’t headed anywhere in particular, but I found myself at the soccer complex near my house, just off of Arapahoe Road. The fields are green and lush, reminiscent of the soccer fields I played on just a few hundred feet away, just a few years ago. Now, where I once adorned shin guards and blue and white for Colorado Storm Soccer club, stands Target, Best Buy, Dick’s, and Sunflower Market. Hello, infrastructure. As I bike over a creaky wooden path and park my bike against the old brown bark of a tree, I just stare. Immaculate and well groomed fields are everywhere, as kids of all ages are learning the game of soccer. Coaches, players, parents, everywhere. Will everything always go back to Ghana? Because my mind reminded me of how almost one week ago, I too was playing football, in Ghana, mind you. I played in Kissemahn park, on rock filled dirt, with stones marking the goals. I played with Godwin, with Daniel, with Forgive. My friends. My children. Football rules. Period. Grass or not, they will play. One game, two different experiences, two worlds.

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Relatively speaking, I’ve suffered little in my 21 years of life. I’ve grown up comfortably, I successfully graduated high school, and I’ve found great opportunities at Hendrix College. I’ve always had a roof, a family, a support system. I’ve fallen in love with God. And, I have friends that are unquestionably my soul mates. They get me. I’ve had struggles in my life, no question. Life is hard. But SUFFERING. What does that mean to me? I have been a witness to suffering: The Gathering Place, Pascagoula, New Orleans, Vietnam, Birmingham, Conway, Kissemahn. Suffering is everywhere. I have seen pain and true brokenness. And, I have also seen some that have nothing and possess everything. I pray I have the heart to feel, eyes to see, and to find solidarity from the suffering in this world.

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Summer always has a certain smell, feel, and vibe to it. I think a lot of that is a true sense of FREEDOM. Less responsibility, more time in the sun, and lazy afternoons. Or was that what summer WAS? Summer was always about the pool, friends, family, and relaxation. I’m struggling to find any of the above. Other things are looming, and adjusting into the fanciful expectations of summer after months and months in Ghana is challenging. I’m not alone, I know that, but sometimes even with all the love and my family around me, it’s been hard not to feel that way.

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Walmart.

Why?

Out. Of. Control.

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Back in Colorado for the summer. Only this time, this transitioning period is new. Unmarked territory—full of tension. Tension, not in the wow, I feel uptight and uncomfortable sense, but rather in the I’m a crossroad, becoming sense. I’m coming off a whirlwind experience in Ghana. In a couple months I will head off to my senior year in college. I’m a woman. Don’t be fooled, I am not afraid to jump in and make sand castles with the kids, or even take part in an occasional puppet show. It’s just, I’ve grown up too. So, fitting here has been hard.

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Amidst the excitement and joy of our family as we took pictures outside the Ritchie Center in Denver, I glanced over and saw a woman in beautiful African garb. Complete with the headdress. I got so excited, I tugged at my grandma, wanting her to see the beauty of Ghanaian fashion. She smiled and seemed excited too. More and more, I am wishing I made my diva dress into a Ghanaian women’s outfit. I just don’t think I could ever be that fabulous. I mean REALLY. It was nice to see the vibrant colors, styles, and designs again. So beautiful.

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I’ve been sad, anxious, and confused. Unsure of where God is leading me next. Yet, fully aware of the passion inside of me. There is so much ahead. It’s insane, really. There’s also so much here.

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As I was asking God for peace in my heart, I realized that even if I don’t fit, it doesn’t mean I don’t belong. This is home. It always will be. So, as I deal with this tension I can find grace in knowing I am here for a reason. I am home. And it might just be as sweet as American honey. Like the wise and poetic Lady Antebellum says.

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I talked with a Liberian woman, Ida, who has been a favorite at the Gathering Place for years today. Her accent, her dress, she was a give away. I knew she had that West African woman spirit, seriously. The minute she mentioned plantains, I had to approach her. We had an instant connection, and for me, an instant admiration. A Liberian refugee, bringing her children her to America and making a life for her family here, I was truly humbled. I asked her how in the world she adjusted to this crazy American life. She scoffed, laughed, and simply said, “I didn’t really have a choice. You do what you have to do, and you just keep on loving God.” Two days later, she brought me and the rest of the family area staff fried plantains and a Liberian stew. West African women might just be some of the strongest, most intense, passionate, and kind people you will ever meet.

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God never ceases to amaze me. On the same day that I got to talk on the phone with the children of Kissemahn, I got to spend all day with 4 children at the Gathering Place who I developed close relationships with two years ago. I finally got to see them again—Betty, Jesus, Janet, and Lizzy. Needless to say, the blessings and beauty of this world come unexpectedly sometimes. That’s the best part, isn’t it? I forgot how much I loved being called Auntie Heather, and I forgot how great it was to hear prayers in Spanish. Life is beautiful.

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Maybe if all of America knew about Ghana time, life would be felt a little more. Are people that rush around, barely looking away from their closed tunnel vision, numb to what is going on around them? Why don’t people say hi to each other more? Why don’t we just STOP and just enjoy? Hospitality goes a long way. I know this. I know this, because the other day, as I got into my car, absorbing all of the thoughts racing through my mind, a man in a wheelchair waved. I felt loved. I felt the way it felt when people spewed out “Akwaaba!” and “How are youuuu?” in the markets of Accra, or even walking towards Blessed Bless to get an egg sandwhich. Yes, hospitality is a gift, and something I hope offer more to the people around me. My family, my friends, and complete strangers. It might just slowly help the world become a better place.

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I feel like I am trying to vicariously live my Ghanaian life through the Black Stars during the World Cup. When the camera crew shows the flag, and Ghanaian football enthusiasts I get teary eyed. Do I need counseling? No, not really, but it's funny that I feel much more strongly about rooting for a team that I lived in that nation for over 4 months, versus my OWN nation, in which I have lived for well over 20 years. Ghana makes you do funny things.

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It’s Father’s Day. I feel even more grateful and blessed with a wonderful father than ever before. My dad is a silly man, most people would tell you that, but they would also say that he seeks to understand me than a lot of other people. We are close, not because he knows the intricate details of my life, but because he has a deeper understanding of what makes me happy. My dad came to Ghana for me. It was the most wonderful act of love he could have done, and now, he understands, more than anyone, how weird, strange, and hard it is to live back in America. That makes things easier. Even in just that week and half in the land of the Black Stars, he caught a glimpse of Ghana, and what it’s like to live in a completely different part of the world. He gets it. Sometimes I just need a hug when things feel overwhelming here. And he knows that. So, I’m extra thankful today. I also have a wonderfully supportive stepdad in Randy, and a wonderful Grandpa too. How did I get so lucky? The men in my life are strong, compassionate, and loyal. They have the things that I hope to find one day in a man, and I think that’s a pretty cool thing.

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