I did do something nice for Christiana before I left.
I took her, Harrison and Henry for dinner at a restaurant on top of the mall in Osu. We went up in the great glass elevator and Henry, who is 5, went bezerk at the sensation: the two boys had never been in a lift before. We ate fried rice and chicken as Henry flirted outrageously with the waitress and danced azonto on his chair. All the while Harrison, 11, sat calmly in his best white shirt and told me how he is working hard at school so he can become a pilot and fly jets around the world. He thinks his mother works too hard: she gets up at 4am everyday to hold down three jobs. Christiana knows Harrison will take care of her when he is older; in many ways he already is.
After dinner we went to Pinocchio's for ice cream and everyone got chocolate and more chocolate. Henry got his everywhere. He fell asleep in the taxi home. As we said goodbye at the corner of our road I linked arms with David, who came along for company and crowd control, and told him it was my favourite night in Ghana to date. It remains that way.
I took her, Harrison and Henry for dinner at a restaurant on top of the mall in Osu. We went up in the great glass elevator and Henry, who is 5, went bezerk at the sensation: the two boys had never been in a lift before. We ate fried rice and chicken as Henry flirted outrageously with the waitress and danced azonto on his chair. All the while Harrison, 11, sat calmly in his best white shirt and told me how he is working hard at school so he can become a pilot and fly jets around the world. He thinks his mother works too hard: she gets up at 4am everyday to hold down three jobs. Christiana knows Harrison will take care of her when he is older; in many ways he already is.
After dinner we went to Pinocchio's for ice cream and everyone got chocolate and more chocolate. Henry got his everywhere. He fell asleep in the taxi home. As we said goodbye at the corner of our road I linked arms with David, who came along for company and crowd control, and told him it was my favourite night in Ghana to date. It remains that way.
Goodbyes are already hard. And I have many to make. In Nima alone the goodbyes are endless: Betty and her plantain balls, James and his paintings, Fatima and her handbags, Blessing in her yellow hut, Idris standing against his taxi. These are the fleeting faces, the chance encounters, the moments that every day put a smile on my face.
I am, of course, unbelievably excited to come home: to have that bath, to walk the river, to hug my parents and see my friends. In the first fortnight alone I have two weddings to attend, three plays to see, one band to dance to and one new job to start. I have always been a planner.
I am, of course, unbelievably excited to come home: to have that bath, to walk the river, to hug my parents and see my friends. In the first fortnight alone I have two weddings to attend, three plays to see, one band to dance to and one new job to start. I have always been a planner.
I am, understandably, sad: to pack my bags, to say goodbye, to leave the life I have been leading behind. I will miss the faces I have grown accustomed to; I will miss the trotro rides, the sunsets, the music, the beaches. I will miss greeting Christiana at the end of a long day and taking the corn that she has prepared for me. I will miss rising at 6 to see Quarshie already collapsed in the garden after a two hour run. I will miss Aisha invading my bedroom as and when she pleases and claiming ownership of my technical equipment: she is amazingly advanced for her age.
More than anything, I feel eternally grateful. To the people I have met and the places I have seen, to the friends I have made and the knowledge I have gained. I wish I could name and thank every soul who has made a mark on this experience for me but truth be told there are too many. Many of them will be reading this: you know who you are and my thanks are yours. Many of them will not be able to read this: I will find my own way to thank them.
There are, however, three special thank yous that I would now like to make.
More than anything, I feel eternally grateful. To the people I have met and the places I have seen, to the friends I have made and the knowledge I have gained. I wish I could name and thank every soul who has made a mark on this experience for me but truth be told there are too many. Many of them will be reading this: you know who you are and my thanks are yours. Many of them will not be able to read this: I will find my own way to thank them.
There are, however, three special thank yous that I would now like to make.
Firstly, my thanks to Agoo Hostel: my harbour, my home. David, Helen, Lawrence, Quarshie and Awa, you are spectacular. Thank you for providing me with safety and security and enormous friendship. Thank you for the movie nights, the boot camps, the weekend trips, the drumming, the dancing, the cooking, the drawings on the chalk wall. I will never forget the evenings I have spent in the back yard washing clothes with Awa, the kitchen sink conversations I have enjoyed with Quarshie or the laughter I have shared with David over many a gin and tonic and a dance floor (usually our own living room).
Secondly, my thanks to Theatre for a Change, its people and its participants. This blog will never do justice the amount I have seen and learnt as part of this amazingly versatile organisation. At times it has been challenging, overwhelming, intense. But it has been all consuming in the best possible way. I said goodbye to the women in the place we first met: that dark and airy hall in Jamestown. I was instructed to close my eyes and walk through the midst of them. One by one they approached me, offering hands, arms and embraces. As I reached the end of their human tunnel they all engulfed me in one warm, collective hug. I will remember that forever.
Secondly, my thanks to Theatre for a Change, its people and its participants. This blog will never do justice the amount I have seen and learnt as part of this amazingly versatile organisation. At times it has been challenging, overwhelming, intense. But it has been all consuming in the best possible way. I said goodbye to the women in the place we first met: that dark and airy hall in Jamestown. I was instructed to close my eyes and walk through the midst of them. One by one they approached me, offering hands, arms and embraces. As I reached the end of their human tunnel they all engulfed me in one warm, collective hug. I will remember that forever.
I am pleased to say that this trip to Ghana will not be my last; there is a way back through the wardrobe. As of September I will be taking up full time employment with Theatre for a Change. I will be based in London supporting the work of the teams out here in Ghana and Malawi. I am excited that I can take what I have learned onwards and that the passion and creativity I feel can continue to infuse my work back at home. Most of all I am thrilled that, albeit remotely, our participants will remain very much a part of my life.
So finally, I would like to thank you all for reading this and taking such an active interest in my time here. Writing a blog was an activity I embarked upon with great trepidation but in actuality it has been an incredible platform to process this experience. And I am so grateful to have had such a receptive audience. Thank you for all the emails, comments and encouragement. I will find new ways to continue writing but, as for this website, this post will be my last.
So now I must close the chapter. Not quite the whole book. Mother Ghana, it has been a pleasure; my thanks and admiration are yours. And, in the words of one of my favourite childhood musicals… So long fare thee well. Pip pip cheerio.
I’ll be back soon.
So finally, I would like to thank you all for reading this and taking such an active interest in my time here. Writing a blog was an activity I embarked upon with great trepidation but in actuality it has been an incredible platform to process this experience. And I am so grateful to have had such a receptive audience. Thank you for all the emails, comments and encouragement. I will find new ways to continue writing but, as for this website, this post will be my last.
So now I must close the chapter. Not quite the whole book. Mother Ghana, it has been a pleasure; my thanks and admiration are yours. And, in the words of one of my favourite childhood musicals… So long fare thee well. Pip pip cheerio.
I’ll be back soon.