On the Ground

We’ve made a terrible mistake

Bags quietly hit the floor and we remove our shoes.

She gently draws the curtains and we peer through accordion bars at a yellowish-gray wall, neatly crowned with spiraling barbed wire.

Nobody getting in here

Or out

Light filters in, but it’s a musty, flaccid light, with little soul, or flare.

We exchange a silent glance and survey the room. Fresh paint, clean enough, but uninspiring, at best.

The boys run up and down the endless hallway, a burst of nervous, shouted energy.

look at this room!

this place is so big!

•

There’s an inevitable moment in every transition, prerequisite to finding peace with a move.

Sometimes it’s subtle and understated, others it’s a hammer, knocking you for a loop, taking your reason and sapping your spirit. It usually visits once you’ve grabbed a sense for shocks and cultures, once you’ve encountered the realization that your life, as lived to this moment, is now,

here

Often, it comes calling about two weeks in.

This time, it happened in two hours.

•

I’m not great with transitions.

To wit:

I arrive home after weekly football a sweaty mess. I pull open the front door and step inside, and need a couple minutes to stand, survey the room, process what was and what now is.

Gentle coaxing from my family reminds me that I’ve done this before and know what to do. With concerted effort I manage to pull off my socks and make my way into the shower.

So, now.

Imagine this same guy, but instead of getting home from football it’s arriving in West Africa after ten hours onboard a restless overnight, plus two hours navigating immigration at Kotoka.

A surprising and unnerving transit to our new apartment

do all the street merchants walk right up to the car?

and we’re not quite right.

Jet lagged, overloaded, shaky.

But, together.

With the ones who matter most.

And slowly, steadily. It gets better.

We sleep. We unpack, sock by sock.

We meet our colleagues, destined to become our friends. We explore our new neighborhood, encountering locals with the warmest, brightest smiles.

They greet, tell us

you are welcome

and it feels true.

The boys adjust, twice as quickly as we do, and their happiness fuels our own.

We lean on each other, open our eyes to the beauty, fire, and abundance of love that is Accra.

We fight through the less frequent tears.

And as we grow into home, we understand.

We’ve made a glorious mistake