Switching Worlds

As I hug the last of my American friends goodbye, it hit me. When I come back to Ghana none of them will be there. I feel so close to so many of them. What will I do without Davey's dance moves, Nathan's goofiness, or Marilyn's surprising jokes? Mike keeps telling me to just miss my flight. But I can't. I have to go.

Rose and I get to the airport and we separate from our different airlines. Customs is a pain. We have to open our bags for them to sift through them- which is great because I had to sit on my suitcase to close it in the first place. The guys asks me too many questions about my jewelry. Why does it matter where I got it? I'm rude right back to him. I don't have the patience for it now. Finally he lets me through. My predictions were correct- my bag's overweight. I have to buy a new bag to avoid being charged more. The lady won't help me. She helps this Ghanaian couple first who had their bags weighed after me. She brags about how much money she just saved me. Whatever. After I get all of the repacking done and get through a long line, I'm told that I have to get my new bag wrapped in plastic so it doesn't open. 4 more Cedis and 20 minutes later I finally get my bags checked.

Eventually I make it through immigration. I hate airports sometimes. I have to pay over a Cedi for a Kalyppo- in the real world they're supposed to be 35 pesewas. I bump into Sammy and that makes me happy. I spot some chocolate that I'd been trying to find around Accra, and he's trying to spend his last Cedis. We sift through the over-priced duty-free shop and then head over to our gate. I see Rose! Her flight is late so I get to say goodbye to her. We sit for a few and we have to listen to another girl in our program babble about when she first met her current "love." I really don't give a shit. And neither does Rose. Saying goodbye is hard. It's always exponentially harder when the other person is obviously down, too. I say goodbye to Sammy one last time... I'll see him in Chicago, I keep telling myself.

I sit down to wait for my plane to board. Bored, I call my parents and text Chelsea. Some crazy Russian guy is yelling because airport security is trying to take something away from him. Some girls from another program walk by and tell me that people are sitting down the hall. I pick up my backpack and walk over to the group. I recognize all of them, know a few. I talk with one girl that I have an awkward history with. She's nice to me. Then she says something that bothers me; but she doesn't know that I know the background to the story, that I was close to the person she speaks of. So she doesn't find our conversation awkward. Just me.

FINALLY. We board. Lucky me. I get to sit close to her. It's really not that bad. She just irritates me sometimes. I get over it, though. The meal we're served is Ghanaian style. Chicken, jollof rice, plantains, spinach. It's crappy like all airplane food, but somehow comforting. After watching Mamma Mia, I fall asleep. When I wake up we're only a half hour from landing. I feel numb, neutral. I'm going into London, I should be excited. But I just feel normal. We go down the stairs to get to the shuttle that'll take us to the terminal. It's really cold, but I guess it's not as bad as I thought it'd be. I get into the line for the UK border and very easily get through. The guy's even really nice. Really nice. I guess I was expecting someone like a US customs officer. I get into the nice part of the terminal, outside of the security, and find an ATM. I take out 30 pounds. Ouch. I walk around a bit, and find myself scared to approach people or even go order food. That's strange. If I were in a busy tro-tro station in Accra I'd feel fine going up to a mate and asking him where I can get a tro to Osu or Madina. Why am I afraid and uncomfortable in a place so similar to my own home? It seems that I've become so accustomed to Ghana that Ghana now feels like home.

I see that there's still time before Chelsea is supposed to arrive. I go put 10 more pounds on my Oyster card for the Underground train. I finally find the courage to go get breakfast. I go to a coffee shop type place. They have muffins and pastries. I order Peppermint tea and a blueberry muffin. The man at the cash register is Middle Eastern. I have to pay. All of my stuff is in my right hand, so I spend a good 20 seconds to switch everything over to my left hand so I can hand him the money with my right hand. He gives me a weird look and asks me where I just came from. Oops. No one here cares if you hand them things or receive things with your left hand. We laugh it off.

I sit down in a comfy chair in a prime position for people watching. Ahh.. the tea is so good. I look at people walking around. For some reason whenever I see an African I feel a certain level of comfort. There's a little British girl sitting down at a nearby table staring at me. I smile and wave. She darts her eyes away to pretend like she wasn't watching me. I feel hurt. This isn't Africa. I start to feel overwhelmed with the feeling that I'm not in Africa anymore. My eyes start to tear. I can tell the woman beside can see and she feels awkward. I feel lost.

I decide to go to the bathroom to clear my head. I'm in LONDON. I should be beyond excited. I've never seen Europe or the like. I should be ecstatic. I go down to the train stop to wait for Chelsea. I end up waiting for about 45 minutes. I speak briefly with an airport worker who happens to be African. He just wants to know if I'm alright. Their hand motions here are different. This man moved his hands downward to make a slope motion. In Ghana they'd twist their wrist with their hand up. It's strange how all the little things are different.

I finally find the courage to ask this little old British man where I could make a phone call. He's so incredibly sweet. And he makes a joke about how all the young ladies approach him all the time. Haha, I laugh. I go and find a pay phone and try calling Chelsea several times, but it won't go through. I go back down the train station. I ask a man selling tickets at what stop I could find a cell phone store. A what?? He looks confused. I ask again. OH. A mobile phone shop! We laugh, realizing the difference in American and English lingo. He directs me to Hounslow Central. So off I go.

I love riding the Tube. It feels like Chicago's El. But cleaner. We emerge above ground. Surprise! It's winter! None of the trees have leaves on them, and it's dreary outside. I can't imagine that less than 24 hours before I was sweating buckets at the pool in East Legon. I get off at Hounslow Central and walk for a bit. I find the street with all the shops. A Vodafone shop! I go in and buy a SIM card from yet another really friendly Brit. I'm really surprised at how nice people are in London. For some reason I thought they'd be mean. But everyone is incredibly warm and inviting.

I can make phone calls! I call Chelsea and tell her where I am. I walk around a bit more, waiting for her to show up with Ayjay. There are these guys trying to get people to donate to a charity. I'm stopped by one of them. He yells, "I can tell you're not a shy redhead!" I'm not sure what that means, but I stop to talk. He thinks I'm British. But then he asks me my name. Anna. I push out my name with my flat Chicago-esque accent. He makes a face. Then he asks me another question. Am I currently living in the UK? No, I say. Then I explain that I'm just waiting for a friend. He looks at me and asks, "Are you....... Canadian??" Haha. I laugh. Then I tell him that I'm American. He looks scared. He asks if he just offended me. I laugh again and say no, no. We talk for a bit about a few things and then we part.

I finally meet up with Chelsea! It feels so natural to be with her again. She brought her friend Ayjay, and we walk around looking for a pub or a restaurant. We stumble upon a place called Frangos that sells chicken burgers and chicken pitas. I order the spiciest seasoning.. volcanic. It's nice to eat spicy food again. Afterwards we walk around trying to find me shoes. I just have on flip-flops and I can't feel my feet. I make eye contact with a black English guy, and he sees my Ghana bracelet tied on my purse. He nods and smiles. I find comfort in that. I love London. I can walk for several minutes and never even hear English. There are so many immigrants, it's so diverse. I fall in love with that. Another thing I like is the open food stands that spill out of the grocery stores. They're selling vegetables out in the open. It reminds me of the Night Market across the street from my dorm.

I make it back to the airport and say goodbye to them.. I'll see them again in just two weeks, so it's pretty easy to say bye. It turns out I'm in the wrong terminal so I end up having to get back on the train and go back to terminal 3. Security isn't bad. My feet hurt. My toes are blistering from being in closed shoes.

Before I know it, I'm in Chicago. Crap. I have to go through US customs. There are three large planes that just came in, and yet they only have 2 guys checking passports. It takes forever. I get through and see my family and Addie. It's surreal. On one hand I feel like I left just yesterday, but on the other hand it feels weird to see these people who are so familiar to me. I feel like I'm in a dream.

It's FREEZING outside. It's actually quite painful. After a long ride home, getting lost a few times, and a few arguments, I crash. I wake up around 8 in the morning. It's snowing outside. I mope around for awhile and then go out with my mom to get stuff done. I'm starting to feel really comfortable back in my hometown. Things don't seem weird anymore. They somehow fall into place. I go to the doctor's, and then I go to Rudy's to get my fill of Mexican food with Addie. We talk about boys, school, the usual. Addie's so great. She pays for my meal and gives me a present. I tell her that I owe her a meal after she gets back from Ecuador in the summer.

I feel sick. I just ate a ton of cheese on all of that Mexican food. My stomach is not happy with all of the new dairy. I fall asleep pretty fast when I get back home. I wake up in the middle of the night because in Ghana it'd be time to wake up for the day. I go back to bed. I wake up at 6 am. I decide to stay up. I eat cereal, but it doesn't satisfy. My body clock is way off. So now here I sit, eating Indian food and drinking a Corona beer at 10 am.

I feel stuck in two different worlds. They're oddly the same, yet endlessly different.