Day seven. My last and final day in Ghana. I decided I wanted to experience a church service in Ghana, but that I wanted to worship with, instead of merely spectating. When I was in Ukraine, I was able to go to the outside of a church, but because I did not have a full head covering, was unable to enter. In Japan, I had seen various temples; and I walked through multiple temples and places of worship in China. It’s become a weird, unplanned tradition when I travel internationally. The great part of Ghana is that because Christianity is the number one religion in Ghana, I had high hopes that I would find a church that I could participate in. I found “Hope City Church Accra.” I felt welcomed immediately and the people were incredibly friendly. It was definitely a westernized worship practice and I felt right at home. Being able to experience worship with people overseas was memorable.
After the service ended and I was done talking to all of the people who wanted to introduce themselves to me, I had to face the reality that it was time to start the journey home. I enjoyed one last meal of red-red at the restaurant near the hostel and made sure I packed all of my belongings. I sat outside of the hostel gate, waiting on my Uber, and I couldn’t help but soak in the sights of the neighborhood one last time. The trenching on the side of the road, the wild chickens and goats roaming about, the potholes and traffic jams, the bright blue house at the end of the street, the local residents with their little shops… This neighborhood had grown on me.
On the ride to the airport, my Uber driver, Wisdom, and I had a great conversation. He had asked me where I was headed to and I told him I was flying home. He asked, “where’s home?” I almost dreaded answering this question as I wasn’t in the mood to talk about Donald Trump again, but I said, “United States.” Wisdom’s eyes lit up and he exclaimed, “I’ve always wanted to go to California!” Well, funny thing, Wisdom… that’s the part I’m headed to. I told him that I was from California and that if heading to California was his dream, he should make that happen. He proceeded to provide excuses as to why he wouldn’t go and talked about how he’s never left Ghana and how his “family and life are here.” I definitely laughed a little and told him that my family and life are all in California, yet I made it out to Ghana. The conversation ended with me trying to encourage him to pursue his dreams, even if it takes a long time to make them a reality. After all, I’ve dreamt of going to Africa since I was little, and it took over 18 years to make that dream happen. Of course, it didn’t happen without a lot of hard work and frustration, but it still happened.
Twenty-seven hours of travel, layovers, and delayed flights later, I make it home. It’s now been almost a month since I stepped back on American soil, and it’s taken me that long to figure out how to put into words how much the trip to Ghana meant. This 6-pages of single spaced, Times New Roman, size 12 font, is barely enough to scratch the surface. What I can say is that at some point in my future, I would enjoy going back to Ghana.
Until then, "nante yiye" (goodbye / walk well), Ghana.