Too little, too much, just right

By the time you read this, I will have less than three weeks left in Ghana. I feel like I only just began this whole process yesterday – and when you consider that I only truly started thinking about studying in Ghana a bit over a year ago, it was a pretty fast turnaround. But the end of this five-month odyssey, this singular chapter of my life, still feels too sudden.

In this last stretch, I have started to think about how much time it takes to be truly attached to a place. Before choosing where to study abroad, I was told again and again that it is always best to go for a year – that with a semester-long program you only just get comfortable by the time you leave. With Tufts-in-Ghana, a semester was the only option. I can’t decide if it’s the right amount of time. Most of us have expressed, at one point or an other, that our time has not been enough. Especially now, when I meet new people, we seem to mutually recognize that there is little point to pursuing friendship with only a few weeks remaining.

In some ways five months have been long enough. Many aspects of this experience have become normalized for me. I never felt like I underwent dramatic culture shock, but lately I have found it daunting to write interesting posts for my blog because I feel as though I am now just living regular life. I can easily barter for a taxi; giant gutters are just another part of walking down the street; I can predict when power outages will hit, and know to shower and charge my devices before they do!

Yet that kind of comfort is only the beginning of settling into a place. If I were here for a year, I feel like I would establish much deeper relationships with my Ghanaian peers. I am only just figuring out how to hang out with them in a meaningful way. But would an extra five months change anything or just extend the problem? Does this sharp end to my time force me to more consciously act and interact? I tend to think not – I think I have begun the shutting-down, checking-out process, turning my sights toward home.

And what claim do I have to Ghana moving forward? Most people who come never return – or at least that’s the impression I have gotten from Ghanaian friends, who always find it hard to believe that I want to come back someday. Whatever my intentions, however I have spent my time, this has been a visit of luxury and choice. But Ghana has permanently, deeply changed me. It’s not something I can capture in the Ghanaian flag I hang on my wall or the WhatsApp contacts I hope to maintain. I will try to describe some of that personal growth next week. I feel more content and grounded and centered here than I ever did at Tufts. How much of that is illusory, an artificial product of the temporary nature of my stay?

Let me state, for the record, that I fully intend to return to Ghana. I want the attachment to remain real. I am writing this on a beach at sunset with Ghanaian highlife music playing behind me, watching a fishing boat pull in for the night. How can this just be a dream that I take advantage of for a time before returning to “normal life”?

The strongest marker of my attachment here, I believe, is that I feel fear that I will go back and find myself unchanged.