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"Fail splendidly. Fail comfortably. Use failure as a redirect. Not as a measure of your worth or value. Fail beautifully."

“creativity keeps the world alive, yet, everyday we are asked to be ashamed of honoring it, wanting to live our lives as artists. i’ve carried the shame of being a ‘creative’ since i came to the planet; have been asked to be something different, more, less my whole life. thank spirit, my wisdom is deeper than my shame, and i listened to who i was. i want to say to all the creatives who have been taught to believe who you are is not enough for this world, taught that a life of art will amount to nothing, know that who we are, and what we do is life. when we create, we are creating the world. remember this, and commit.” Nayyirah Waheed

It’s been a long time since my last post, but I have a really good explanation, so please bear with me. I couldn’t figure out how to deal with the emotions I’m having, so I figured I’d do it the best way I know how, through written word.

I was conversing with bae regarding my upcoming events and travels as we often do, and I mentioned that I will be hosting two sessions at the GLOW/BRO camp for the Upper West region of Ghana. These sessions, “Gender Equity and Women’s Empowerment” and “My Black is Beautiful”, are ones that I’m extremely passionate about and could barely contain my enthusiasm as I explained to him the activities and content I would be sharing with the students. He then asked to see a curriculum for the “My Black is Beautiful” session, or lesson plan, to which I responded “uuuhhhh, it’s in my head, I got this”. As we were discussing this well into the night, I couldn’t see him roll his eyes till he could see the back of his head, but I felt it, in my spirit.

He gave me this amazing pep talk about how these two topics are crucial not only for students to hear, but also for many adult audiences. I wanted him to not ruin my high, but he made a valid point, so I agreed. Then he mentioned that for as long as he’s known me, these have been my passions, but had I really made any conscious efforts to follow those passions. That’s where I lost it and ugly cried for two hours straight wondering when my fire died, who put it out, how it happened, and most importantly, why I let that happen.

When I accepted this position in the Peace Corps, I came here as an empty vessel, ready to absorb what this experience had in store for me. This method had worked for me in the past so I figured if it ain’t broke … while I’ve definitely had many challenges throughout the course of my service, this philosophy worked for me, until I got back from visiting the US. While I witnessed some injustices on a regular basis in Ghana, these same concerns proved to be unbearable upon my return from home. Things that I’d become desensitized to, I could no longer bear to witness or be a part of. However, because I know being a PCV is a 24/7 job, I put this at the forefront of my mind. I always had to be this model volunteer, and, in the end, I neglected to attend to the most important thing, my mental health. During the beginning of my service, it was crucial for me to show up to school on time or early, and I always had events planned after school. Now I find it difficult just to make it to 11am. Unless I’m travelling, I’ve never missed teaching my class, I show up on time and do what I’m supposed to do, but lately, I don’t linger around the school campus or in town. I head home, just so I can have peace of mind. I first started realizing that I was falling back into a depression after I’d gone home early for a week. I’d get to the house and immediately turn on my computer and play something from my hard drive. It would play until well around 9 pm when I decide that it was bedtime to which I would shut my computer down and head to sleep. The next day would repeat virtually the same.

As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, I have a history of depression as well as an anxiety disorder. Gone are the days when I forgot to eat because I was so engaged in a book, I honestly don’t remember the last time I read. I miss writing stories and poetry, the smell of a book, or adjusting the brightness on my kindle, to quench the intense desire I have for knowledge. I’ve neglected my self-care and instead filled it with filler noise from my phone and my laptop and suffocated my passions with the crippling anxiety I get from not succeeding. What if no one likes what I have to say? And because at this point I’m an emotional wreck, the love of my life reminded me that failing is a part of life. You can’t be afraid to go for things you want in life because you are afraid to fail. If you failed, at least you tried, and you will learn from that attempt.

So here I am, it’s almost midnight and I’m thinking about the direction of my life. I’ll be 26 in 8 days (which I’m not exactly thrilled about), my service is coming to an end in 4 months and while this might excite some people, it terrifies me. I’m not sure what to do next, where my life is going, because if I’m being honest, idk what I’m doing half the time, it just works. I need to reevaluate how my purpose aligns with my current work because I believe I’m in this current position for a reason. I need to start believing in myself and my abilities again, that way I can be able to do the same for other women.

I refuse to let the experiences I’ve had thus far dim my light or even worse put it out. My life in country hasn’t been all bad, I’ve met some amazing people that will be in my life forever and this isn’t an experience that I regret. If anything, I’ve learned how resilient I can be. I need to make myself accountable for my well-being and really take active steps towards bettering my mental health. For me, this means reading more, turning off the background noises, because I’m afraid to be with my thoughts, and really start listening to the inner voice I’ve been ignoring. I believe that once I start listening to Her again, I will find my center and be able to really carry out my passion not just once in a while, but throughout my days. I’m hoping that my remaining time in Ghana will rekindle the love I have for myself and my creative process to really flourish and use it to inspire not only myself, but also others

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On Race, Love, and Appreciation: A WoC Experience Abroad

Being in Ghana has taught me to be resilient and to advocate strongly for myself. Among many other things, it has also taught me to recognize these qualities within myself. As a result, I’ve become a more confident woman, a woman not to be pushed around physically, and more importantly, emotionally. Naturally, these qualities have attracted the attention of the opposite sex. In fact, these are the qualities that secured me my now bae. While I’d like to confidently say that I came to Ghana extremely confident in myself, that would be a half truth. I came to Ghana with no expectations whatsoever and was extremely excited about it. My attitude was to take it a day at a time and just enjoy and absorb everything I experienced. I had in no way intended to fall in love. It’s about to get sappy and cheesy so prepare yourselves.

I remember my first couple of months at my site were filled with extreme anxiety as to what my community would think of me. I was new to my small community so everyone knew who I was. I often felt gawked at so going into market for an introvert like myself was extremely daunting. It was market day and I needed cash to purchase my food so heading into town was inevitable. I was walking to the ATM with my head down because I did not want to make eye contact with anyone. I recall having tunnel vision and walking extremely fast because I knew that everyone would stop me wanting to say hello and ask me questions in a language I wasn’t confident speaking yet, and being the introvert that I am, I wasn’t ready to have those conversations yet.  So I walked extremely fast, did my transaction, and as I was getting ready to leave just as fast as I’d come, I stopped dead in my tracks as the most gorgeous man exited the bank, made eye contact with me and made his way to the restroom.

The narrative regarding Black women feeling more romantically appreciated while working, travelling, or living abroad is one that is widespread and one that many Black women can relate to. Travelling solo is already nerve wrecking and brings a lot of anxiety to some, especially if you identify as being female. Now imagine that same anxiety, and amplify it by ten, when you include being Black into the mix. I’ve always loved to travel, whether it be with my family or friends. The exchange of culture and seeing different types of people is what attracts me to travelling. Most of my travel experiences outside the US have been nothing but wonderful.

The first time I travelled outside the US semi solo was in 2012 when I went back to my native Kenya with my sister. We were young and good looking so you can only imagine the trouble we got into. I remember having a conversation with her one night while we were out. We had set out to use public transportation and on our way into town to meet up with our cousins, three different men offered to pay our fare into town. As we got into the bar, the entire night we paid for not one drink or dinner, and neither did we pay for our fare back home. As we were getting ready for bed at 6 am, we discussed how men in the US don’t treat us with such zeal as the men in our native land just did. This pattern became more and more apparent with everywhere we went. Going for a stroll in the neighborhood, trying to catch a matatu (public transportation) or getting some lunch. After that trip, I went back to the States ready to test and prove my theory. I was entering my last year of college and as I went to a PWI (Predominantly White Institution), I knew my theory would have to wait a while to get tested.

Since then, I’ve mostly travelled solo within Africa, and a trip to Costa Rica. My travel experiences have opened me to the realization that I am more appreciated by men as a Black woman whenever I leave the US. Similar to the objectification that happens to Black women in the US, it also happens abroad. I often struggle to differentiate on whether my romantic experiences abroad are more of me being objectified or men are genuinely appreciating the force that is my essence. Dating in the US for me has been a somewhat negative experience due to many factors that I’ve encountered, more specifically racism, especially internalized racism and body image. However, I’ve realized that outside the US, what might appear to be negative experiences, are deeply rooted in a lack of knowledge or understanding of the Black experience. While travelling, I’m always eager to share my experiences as a Black woman and show the culture, that I’m currently in, that there are different types of Americans. Now that I’m in Ghana as a Peace Corp Volunteer, I’ve had my most exciting and exhilarating experience yet: I found the love of my life, outside the US.

This is not my first cross-cultural relationship, but it’s the first one I’ve experienced outside the US. It has been both exhilarating and terrifying as I navigate this journey with my partner. Language and cultural barriers have been my biggest challenge in trying to communicate effectively and efficiently not only with him, but my future family. For me, these conversations are really uncomfortable and more often than not, I try to avoid them. However, it’s extremely important to have them for not only our sanity, but also to ensure that we are not blurring cultural lines and are respecting each other’s traditions (then our families can be happy). Our relationship has also brought forth new and exciting experiences. One of my favorite things is how excited he gets when i’m teaching him Kiswahili. His interest in not only my family history, but also my culture and language is one of the purest experiences we share. The other thing i value in our relationship is that he shows me Ghana, through his eyes. He takes me to his favorite places, cooks for me his favorite foods, while also teaching me how to prepare them, and introduces me to different perspectives on how i view ghana.    

In an attempt to test whether or not my narrative is singular, I asked fellow Black women who have been past or current Peace Corps Volunteers, as well as some friends, regarding their experiences dating abroad. These are their responses . . .

PCV - Peace Corps Volunteer (currently serving)

RPCV - Returned Peace Corps Volunteer (done with their service)

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Riddle Me This

Even though women constitute a substantial proportion of the world’s population, it is common knowledge that women are disadvantaged socially, economically, and politically. Women in Africa have always played an essential role in African culture, especially in patriarchal societies. There is a great burden placed on women to take care of and raise the children, maintain the household, and provide nutritional food for the family. Women are the backbone of providing necessities for their families, as well as the main source of food production.

Even as I write this, teachers still try to convince girls that their only career options are teachers or nurses. While there is extreme merit and validity in these professions, it is imperative that we inform our girl children that there is so much more. By investing in the education of a girl, their entire world will open. It’s no secret that more educated girls lead to reduced rates of child marriage, smaller and more sustainable families, a decrease in child mortality and maternal deaths, an increase in economic growth, an improvement in women’s wages and jobs, and it results in healthier and better educated children. As an educator, I do my best to foster a student friendly environment that encourages both boys and girls to take ownership of their learning and to be fully engaged, as well as address any gender barriers/issues I see within the school. We need to talk to women and girls about how their gender identity might affect their businesses if they chose to be entrepreneurs and business owners; ensure that financial services, agriculture trainings and extensions reach women, especially in rural communities, while also encouraging the boys and men to be supportive in such endeavors.

I was sitting at a spot (local drinking bar) in the company of others completely unaware of the conversations going on around me. Once again, there was a hiccup with the girl’s empowerment camp, Camp GLOW/BRO, I was in charge of organizing. For the umpteenth time, the budget needed to be repaired and time was unforgiving so once again, I was doing damage control. Eventually, the company I was with realized that I was pretty engaged with my phone and typing furiously. One of the Trainees required my attention for a riddle he had shared with the rest of the group earlier while I wasn’t paying attention, and he asked me for two minutes of my time. Half listening, he had to repeat the riddle three times before I saw the exasperation on his face until I finally gave him my full attention:

A boy and his father are driving and they get into a horrible accident. The boy’s father dies at the scene, but the boy is critically injured. They transport him to the nearest hospital for surgery. The surgeon walks into the operating room and says, “I can’t operate on this boy. He is my son”. How is this possible?

Now, I hope you thought of the solution to the riddle.

As I was racking my brain in the moment, I thought “so if the father is dead, could the surgeon be Jesus … No, Jesus isn’t a surgeon, he could also not be dead cause he’s everlasting”, then “Of course, the son had two dads. It only makes sense”. From the excitement on his face and the uproar from the rest of the table, my assumption was “Yes, I’ve finally solved it. Now I can go back to what I was doing”. Unfortunately, although that was an answer he’d never heard before, and one he informed me was “technically correct”, It was not the right answer for the lesson of the riddle. After what felt like 5 very long minutes, I grew weary and anxious because with every passing second, I knew my camp planning committee was waiting for my response, and here I was wasting it on riddles. I, along with those I was with, gave up and asked for the answer to the riddle. As soon as he said it, all the feminist molecules in my body died a thousand deaths.

The SURGEON was the MOTHER.

I sat there livid and feeling like I’d been cheated. My anger, at first, was directed at him, then in a self-reflective moment, I realized I was enraged at myself. He explained how deeply entrenched patriarchy and gender roles are engrained into our psyche, so much so, that unconsciously, we cannot even entertain the possibility that a woman, can be a surgeon.

Most of the countries and communities I’ve visited and lived have been ones in which, historically, they don’t value the girl child. Women and girls are seen to not have any value in the community, let alone the society, so they are treated like objects, even currency. Knowing this, I’ve consciously done my best to make women and girls know their worth, even when I often questioned my own. The women in my life made it easy to provide examples of strong and resilient women. When I’m teaching my classes, I encourage the girls to answer questions, offer them leadership opportunities during class and through extracurricular activities, while also engaging the boys to think about gender roles. In Ghana, girls are culturally in charge of sweeping the classroom and collecting the water for the school in the morning, while boys oversee cleaning the compound before classes begin. When we are short on time, or when the girl in charge of sweeping the class that day is late, I often have the boys take the brooms and start sweeping the class because to me, it doesn’t make sense for school to start late because one girl was late doing her chores while there were other capable hands that could have done the job.

I believe that female empowerment, of the masses, and more importantly of the self, is my life’s purpose, my calling. In my opinion, this is best achieved by investing in the education of girls. Most of my collegiate and life experiences have led me to working towards empowering women and girls by providing and improving financial literacy as well as including women and girls in financial practices. Not surprisingly, It’s the reason I chose to be a Peace Corps Volunteer, and even more fitting, my community requested someone that would help them empower the girl child. So, why did the fact that the SURGEON was the MOTHER escape me? Why wasn’t that my first instinctive answer?

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“Grieve. So that you can be free to feel something else.”

Thursday morning I was getting ready for training sessions for the new Education volunteers. I busied myself with brushing my teeth, wondering how I managed to get through so much floss during my time in Ghana, and why the room I was sleeping in smelled funny. In the midst of all of my self-made chaos, I had a nagging feeling telling me I should check my phone. I had 10 missed calls from my brother, sister, and mom…and that’s when my stomach sank.

I’ve struggled with depression in my past, something I’m not entirely ashamed of, but even my immediate family is unaware of. It comes and goes, as depression usually does. I have amazing days, and days when facing the world becomes too much that I cannot leave my house for a week at a time. This time around, these feeling started once I got back from Christmas vacation. It was the beginning of the second term of school. My first term was truly trial and error since I’d never taught before. Regardless, I grew fond of my students and we taught and learned from each other.

However, classroom management the second term proved to be my biggest challenge thus far for me in Peace Corps. The disciplines that I thought were effective the first term became more so a game for my students, so motivation and moral declined. They showed up to class late more often or didn’t show up at all, neglected doing their homework, and would talk when I was teaching resulting in me having to raise my voice. After a very frustrating class one day, I closed by asking them why they weren’t behaving in my class compared to how they behave with other teachers. One of my students said, “Madam, it’s because you don’t cane us. No one takes you seriously cause you don’t punish us.” I packed my belongings and fought back tears as I left the classroom.

After this incident, all the issues I’d been facing at site materialized and I hit the bottom of my PC rollercoaster. Not only was I dealing with not having respect from my students, I felt I didn’t fit in with the staff either; my attempts at Twi often left me frustrated so I spoke the little English I could, and when that wasn’t enough, I’d mumble, or simply say nothing at all. Since the people I could talk to about my frustrations were oceans away, I grew extremely homesick. I missed my dad’s laugh, my mom’s cooking, my little brother pretending I don’t exist while still showing small slithers of love through his actions, and my other brother yelling at me when I’m not listening and responding with “Winnie, there’s nothing more important than me right now. I’m your life”. I missed binge watching Vampire Diaries with my best friends from High School, and recreating iconic videos with the ones that I met in college.

As doubts of my reasons for being in Ghana crept in, I started goggling flights home, job and school hunting, and making an escape plan because Peace Corps was draining me mentally. As if I wasn’t punishing myself enough, I found myself comparing myself to the accomplishments of other volunteers in my cohort. Here they were building football (soccer) nets from water sachets, farming and maintain gardens, and having almost no trouble at all communication with their host communities. I was holding all these emotions and what I saw as shortcomings inside and my heart grew heavy. I stopped leaving my house until it was absolutely necessary. The only company I wanted was my own, because that was the only one I felt I could handle.

My sister was the first person I called, and it was from her I learned that my maternal grandmother (Cucu) had passed. I hung up and called my Mom, gave her my support and asked what she needed me to do. It didn’t really hit me until I called my boyfriend and told him that I may not be seeing him that weekend because I’d have to fly to Kenya. When he asked why, all the tension that had been building up inside of me erupted. And for the next 5 hours with every tear, my mind, body, and soul lightened.

In an odd way, her passing healed me.

I was reminded of her passion of continuous learning in all aspects of life, finding joy even in the most trivial of things, and that family is everything and there’s no love more powerful. As I was saying goodbye to her, I was reminded of the joy I get from interacting with my students outside of school, seeing them in town selling Okra or bar soap, conversing with them about their caretakers, what they did over the weekend, or what their favorite TV show is; she reminded me to treat my dogs well so my kids and other community members will learn how to better care and love their animals; she reminded me that once you meet that special someone (especially when your family was starting to worry), mom will be the hardest to convince so start with her first.

Her departure afforded me the opportunity to travel back to my native Kenya. I got to not only see my parents and sister who I hadn’t seen in a year, but also my extended family as well who I hadn’t seen for 5 years.

Coming back to Ghana, I feel rejuvenated, healed, and ready to take on the exhausting challenges because they are still there. I’m reminded of why I continue to stay here in Ghana despite the challenges I face daily. I’m also constantly working on accepting that I’m not like other volunteers, and that I enact change in my own way. I’ve accepted that I’m not here to change my community. I’m sorely a witness to them tapping into the potential that was within them all along.

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Leaving. Doesn’t mean that you’ve left. - Linger

In Sub-Saharan Africa, corruption and culture are two factors that often coexist in many social, political, and economic institutions. Oftentimes, culture is understood to be a driving force in economic development, while corruption is a hindrance. Corruption and culture are two multifaceted social phenomena’s that are difficult to measure; How does one systematically, and credibly capture the scale and depth of these two concepts? There are many governments and institutions in Sub-Saharan Africa that support and promote culture while fighting corruption. Despite these efforts, corruption continues to stain the traditional values and historic importance of culture not only for an individual, but also for a community. Culture is what gives an individual a unique identity which translates into how that individual treats another. It provides a group of people with personalities, language, customs, and traditions. Where do these two factors meet? Where do they diverge? If cultural dimensions’ influence individual and collective socialization, can anti-corruption cultural initiatives impact social, political, and economic institutions in Sub-Saharan Africa, or are they a functional part of the regions livelihood? Lastly, can collective mentality therefore influence the level of corruption?

Per Transparency International, corruption is defined as the abuse of entrusted power for private gain, which hurts everyone who depends on the integrity of people in a position of authority (Transparency International 2015). Corruption exists in many platforms; it is present in the private sector, education, defense and security, poverty and development, and humanitarian assistance/aid among other places. The Sub-Saharan region shows very high levels of economic growth; however, this growth is challenged by widespread corruption that threatens the region’s way of life. When one thinks of corruption, the African continent comes to mind. Stories of bribes, high inflation and nepotism plague news outlets. It is undeniable that corruption is present is all societies, not just African societies alone; however, the magnitude of Africa’s corruption dilemma is largely attributed to history and to the large present investments that are in the continent.

 The history of most, if not all African nations, states that before western colonization, African states thrived with little to no corruption. Corruption at the scale it is in today’s African societies is a relatively new phenomenon. African nations were, and still are, societies that are very deeply community oriented. Their successes as nations stemmed from a community-based culture of working together and caring for each other. Colonial influences created competition within and amongst nations and individuals, and eliminated a cultural sense of comradery. The centuries long enslavement of strong young people weakened the continent. This period of domination is what led to the cultural confusion within African societies. While fighting to retain control of their territories, old African kingdoms and empires perished. The traditions and cultures that they’d lived with and known to be true were now being placed into question. Their integrity was shattered once they were forced to assimilate into the dominant culture. The imposition of Britain’s language, culture, and norms on the people of Sub Saharan Africa paved the way for miscommunication, distrust, and eventually widespread corruption. The preexisting system was replaced by an unfamiliar one therefore weakening any possible ties of a stronger future generation. This confusion would later yield a confused group of Africans that were unsure of their individuality because their culture had been compromised.

 Britain and France were the two major European powers that were involved in colonizing Africa. Although there were other European nations that claimed pieces of the continent, France’s presence was greater in the north and Britain’s was greater in the Sub-Saharan region. Prior to what is known as the Scramble for Africa, Africa was doing relatively well economically, especially in trade. Trading within the continent was different than the new trading system that colonial powers implemented. The new trading system was meant to benefit the demands of the colonizer and the African citizens got what was left over if anything at all.

 The dependency theory by Omar Sanchez suggests that poorer countries do not benefit from the economic activities of richer countries. It also suggests that the division of labor is an explanation of poverty and that the capitalistic system continuously suppresses many nations leading them further into underdevelopment. Using Walter Rodney’s definition, “Underdevelopment makes sense only as a means of comparing levels of development. It is very much tied to the fact that human social development has been uneven and from a strictly economic view-point some human groups have advanced further by producing more and becoming wealthy.” For Britain and its colonies in Africa, the economy was without a doubt growing due to high productivity and advances in technology. For a society to thrive economically, social indicators like literacy rates, life expectancy and education must be high, while mortality rates must be low. While Britain’s social indicators rose, those of the African continent declined. To improve conditions among themselves, Africans grew competitive over political power. This is where they saw favor from their colonizers and where the power and wealth lay.

Corruption is at its highest form within the political sector. Thus, there is pressure placed on African governments to fight corruption. Since most sectors of a society are intertwined, this also affects other aspects of that society. Political corruption yields mistrust of the government and its officials. It undermines democracy and governance while providing less than adequate services for the citizens of that society. The lack of public policies translates into education causing unequal access to education, lax sanitary conditions, and poor teachers; this then translates to the health sector which affects poor people the most. With little funds being allocated to medicines and hospitals/clinics, deaths that are preventable continue to rise.

 Although this level of corruption exists on a macro scale, it’s important to understand that corruption, like many forms of oppression, is learned. It begins small with a small offense: the police officer asking for money so they won’t arrest you; the land lord asking for something in return for not charging you for water or electricity; a mother selling sex to get school fees for her child to go to school; or the driving test facilitator asking for a bribe to pass you and give you your ID or driver’s license. Petty corruption is performed mostly by poor people as a means of survival. As mentioned before, poor people suffer the most from corruption. Lack of access to education, adequate transportation or sanitary conditions are forms of petty crimes that became large scale forms of corruption. The interwoven nature of a society is still at play even when corruption is present. The basic needs of the most vulnerable citizens are not being met. Therefore, petty corruption will occur. Circular in offense, people with a lack of resources are then affected and to survive, fuel the cycle to begin once again.

Dependency upon another nation is extremely hard to break, especially when the people and institutions involved before colonization cease to exist. Those born during colonial rule and post-colonial Africa know no other way of life. Traditions have been lost and culture has been white washed. It is therefore hard to preach self-reliance when it is unclear what that looks like. Although foreign aid has proven in some cases to be beneficial, it is not necessarily a good choice for Africa. Africa has the knowledge and capacity to grow itself economically and developmentally. This can be achieved by looking at the existing institutions and finding the areas that provide the most problems. The strict moral and ethical codes of traditional Africa are hard to find in today’s African societies. These codes made for respectful and sacred governance of all people.

 Fighting corruption in any form in Sub-Saharan Africa has proven to be a difficult task because the continent inherited deeply rooted institutions and values from colonial governments. Existing institutions also continue to be corrupt due to the emerging powers that are entering the continent. That power is stifling the African governments; these powers need to also hold their governments and businesses accountable to ensure that their work is not corrupt therefore deepening the roots of the existing corrupt institutions.

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“we were not slaves. we were enslaved africans. the difference is a matter of life and death.” — self esteem/ definition, nayyirah waheed “In everlasting memory Of the anguish of our ancestors May those who died rest in peace May those who return find their roots May humanity never again perpetrate Such Injustice against humanity We. The living. Vow to uphold this” (at Cape Coast Castle)

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Eat this: An Unapologetic Memoir on Being a Fat Black Girl

I wasn’t just Kenyan anymore . . . now I identified as Black? That’s when I noticed that although there was a sprinkle of my classmates that looked like me in terms of color, no one had my body build. Kids in middle school are cruel. I was bodacious even at 13 and they were not, so they mocked me.

My body issues began at the age of 13 when I moved from Kenya to the United States. Coincidentally, I began to struggle with my identity at the same time.  At school, I was new and wasn’t very sociable; I often ate alone, and thus, the judgement and shame of what and how much I ate was eliminated. By junior high, I gained around 50 lbs. I remember being caught by mother eating donuts in our bathroom. I was having a bad day so I locked myself in the bathroom (or so I thought) with a box of donuts. She opened the door, took the box from me and gave me a long talk about how it was unacceptable for me to, not only be eating in the bathroom, but also to be eating such fatty foods. I stood there as she lectured me with donut powder around my mouth and hands in a haze. I don’t recall what we talked about mostly because I was ashamed, but more importantly, I’d become numb to these talks we so often seemed to have.  Although it was the elephant in our household that I was blowing up and was extremely overweight for my age and height, I couldn’t tip-toe around that incident. In addition to being shamed in school and practically everywhere I went, my safe space, my home, was no longer safe. My family did not share their feelings regarding anything, so it made it difficult to discuss the issues I was facing at school. I fell into a deep depression because of the isolation I felt. I had no one to talk to because I felt like I was the only person in the world going through what I was going through. I felt misunderstood and judged, especially by myself. Thus, I found comfort in the very thing that was tearing me apart/bringing me down—food.

By the time I started high school, I was 300lbs.  I knew I was big but my mind didn’t want to accept it. I felt my size shouldn’t hinder me to do anything and everything I wanted to do. I joined the volleyball team and did track and field. I was surprisingly good at both but they were more for fulfilling the PE requirements than actual enjoyment of physical activity. My teammates never made me feel like I was any less of a person based on how I looked. In fact, they often encouraged me when we did activities like suicides, all of which I was often the last to cross the white gym lines. The encouragement also came from my coaches. Yes, I wasn’t great at running, but they placed emphasis on the things I was good at. When college rolled around, I gained the freshman 20, sophomore 10, junior 10, and senior 10. I was now carrying 350 lbs. with me everywhere.

I was waiting for a bus to take me to an after-school tutoring program with my favorite twins. I was feeling extremely insecure that day, and in true Tubman fashion, they wanted to “dive into WHY I was feeling that way”. For about an hour, we dissected (while I cried) my past experiences, the people that had belittled me, how my existence contributes to the greater picture and my validity. It’s an experience I hated that hour, but I’m extremely grateful for. Since that day, I developed a different outlook on my life. I worked on reaching a mind space that this is the body I was given, so why should be ashamed of it. Comments about my weight rolled off my back and I did what I wanted whether people thought my weight would hinder me or not.

Around 2014-2016 I was 360, my all-time high. I was almost 400 lbs.

Summer before grad school, I woke up and decided to go on a walk around the golf course by my house. I was during this extremely hot August morning that I reflected on what I want my life to be like and decided today was the day. I’d said that phrase many times before regarding my weight loss journey but something about this time felt different.

Two year later, I’m 80 lbs. lighter and still learning to love myself.

I travelled to South Africa and Costa Rica alone and did adventure seeking expeditions, and I had my first real relationship when I was at my heaviest. These experiences reaffirmed my decision to live a life that I enjoyed and to truly take care of my mental well-being. The people I met and places I went brought me tremendous joy, filled me with love, and a desire to learn more, broaden my mind, and love harder. I practically live a lifestyle of “F**CK YOU” to everyone that had ever ridiculed me.

I find myself in Ghana, in the Peace Corps. Africa has been the place where I felt I didn’t have to be ashamed of my body. I never felt that way while living in Kenya, or during my visits there as an adult, during my stay in South Africa, and now definitely not Ghana. On this continent, culturally, larger people are more beautiful, wealthy and healthy. There is less shame placed on food and therefore larger people, compared to other parts of the world. Here, my body is worshiped and that’s refreshing. Yea my head gets big when men almost get into car accidents from focusing on my essence as I cross the street, but nothing makes me glow more than when it comes from a woman.

Women tell ME they wish they had curves like mine. My internal response is, “Excuse me, are you talking about me?” Despite my progress, I still feel self-conscious when I sit in a tro tro and my butt occupies part of the other seat, or when I decide to work out and I’m ashamed to run because things in my body jiggle, and on my off days, when simply being in public makes me feel like what everyone sees is only fatness. Sure, I would like to lose 150 more lbs. But this is the body I have now, and its functioning and I’m happy with that. I’ve stopped covering my arms because they are flabby and filled with stretch marks. They are proof of how far I’ve come. My battle scars with myself

After years of belittling my existence and trying to make myself small, Ghana is building me up to embrace who I am. I’m a fat black girl, yes I take up space and I matter.

[sqrt-ed-in-ghana]

Wars

Lately I've been dreaming of wars

Victim of circumstance

Time

Drafted for being at the wrong place,

At the war time.

The victory is never clear,

Near

I've watched as innocence has been tainted,

children

turned into adults,

empty

broken

shells

Weapons

Objects

And although I remain physically unharmed,

my emotional wounds are deep

bleeding

scaring

I

always outsmart the War Lord into giving me my life,

something he can so easily

take away

I

always leave the building before it crumbles

Performing gravity defying stunts

as I make my way down the stairs,

which seem to be plenty,

and around the corridors

pushing past oblivious people

Recognizing which packages are bombs

Knowing the exact moment, they will explode

I

always survive

There are others with me.

Those that saw me leave the building

breathe less.

Those that made it just in time,

those like me,

that sensed the danger

Yet

I

never raise an alarm

Selfishly,

I

run for my life

and neglect to inform others

But there are always survivors,

And those that tend to our wounds

Help us heal

Grow

Love

Trust.

They too are impacted by war

They are survivors,

ones who had no compassion shown towards them

No one was there to tend to their wounds.

Yet they give me the curtesy

I

did not share with those

I

left behind.

Lately I've been living in a war zone

One of body and soul

The streets are filled with tainted children

that become broken adults,

Mothers lose their sons

Fathers lose their daughters

I

lose my faith

The little compassion I now have

It's hard to love in times of war

Yet

I

still survive

Because my survival depends on that of another.

I

need to survive

for those that sacrificed themselves

for me

to get out of the building

I

need to survive for my brothers,

my sister,

my parents,

I

need to survive to tend to their wounds

Even though war is ugly,

it can be kind of

beautiful

[sqrt-ed-in-ghana]

The Queen of Volta Region.

[sqrt-ed-in-ghana]

[sqrt-ed-in-ghana]

“Sometimes it feels like someone else is wearing my body.”

It’s been six months.

Six months of laughter, joy, sadness, loneliness, gratitude, wholeness, satisfaction, belonging. It’s been six months of nothing but overwhelming emotions.

The past three months i’ve been teaching in my very rural village in the Volta Region. My mornings begin with opening my front door and letting Sarabi out to stretch her legs. I then make her breakfast and make a cup of Nescafe, one cedi bread, and ground nut paste (peanut butter) for myself. On my way out, i see my neigbours making the banku hunched over a charcoal stove with faces glimmering with evidence of their hard morning. On the way to school, Sarabi and I are greeted by the faces of children and adults as they make it to their various destinations. The children yell “Madam, good morning” and i respond with the usual “Maakye, ete sen?”. Others yell, “Sarabi, Sarabi” while she looks towards the sound of her name and runs towards that person.

The school day is long but i always feel a sense of both accomplishment and “what the hell are you doing here” Math is no doubt a tough subject to learn so i understand their frustrations. Being their teacher has taught me patience more than anything else. I’ve learned to be patient with my students and not get frustrated, no matter how many times i have to repeat myself, and i’ve also learned to be patient with myself. Navigating the language, as well as being a first time teacher in a different country really alters your sense of reality. everything is challenged and you’re left feeling like “What the f**K????!!!” Then there are those moments that really reassure my decision of being here.

One day after finishing my lesson plans for the week, I requested permission from the ICT teacher to take the form 1 and form 2 students to the computer lab. It's not located on school grounds, so most of the students have never visited it, meaning they've never had access to the computers that have been in the town. I'd been informed that the computer lab had been in the town for a bit over a year and i found it strange, and even as a misuse of resources to have computers, and have them go unused.

When it was time for ICT, i gathered the form 1's and we walked to the community center, where the computer lab is located. I collaborated with the primary ICT teacher to have access to the computer lab and to assist the students to power up the devices. I really did not have a plan of action, so i was just going with the flow. I decided to teach them the basics of typing. I was going to teach them where their fingers go on the keyboard. Once in the lab, the atmosphere changed and it was filled with excitement. I paired the students 4 to a computer and instructed them on how to open Microsoft word. Once opened, we reviewed which fingers went on which letters on the keyboard and instructed them to practice writing their names one at a time. Once everyone had a turn, i instructed them to write out a sentence using the same method of typing and to practice it three times.

Once they had the basics down, i let them have free time to explore the other capabilities of the computer. Naturally, they found the games and all 20 students were playing solitaire or chess. Once the lesson was over, we walked back to the school and decided to ask them how i was performing as a teacher. Almost in unison, they replied with "Madam, you're a good teacher. I know you don't feel like that sometimes but you are. We are just bad students". And that's when i started to cry.

Last week we had our Reconnect, when Peace Corps brings all the volunteers in your cohort together for a week to discuss how the last three months at site have been. It was wonderful to see them all again and pick their brains on what worked in their classrooms and what still needed improvement. We swapped stories of new pets, new friendships formed, new projects in the works, and foreseen projects in the future. Hearing their stories made me want to be a more proactive member of my community. It also made me realize that just teaching is ok. Everything else will fall into place and i’m ok with that.

I spend a lot of time thinking about the type of volunteer i want to be. Sometimes i get lost in my brain a bit and have to claw my way out cause i can go to some pretty dark spaces and it alters my mental and emotional well being. But when i do find that place to critically think about my role here. It both excites me and saddens me. 

“is my role here beneficial to my students?” 

“what am i really contributing?”

“I miss wifi”

“Should i just go home?”

“Where did that bite come from?”

“ Have i taken my malaria medication?”

“I haven’t pooped all week. Should i be worried?”

These are the questions i ask myself regularly. However, i’m in a good place both mentally, emotionally, and physically. I’m happy, healthy is on a spectrum at the moment, and at peace with my decision to be here. 

[sqrt-ed-in-ghana]

Indomaniac Pets

There are different avenues that volunteers have come up with to deal with stress, companionship, or even loneliness at site. For some few volunteers in my cohort, we have found that pets are a great way and outlet for coping and enjoying life as a Peace Corps Volunteer. Here are some of them:

Mitch

I’m in the Northern Region. My pig’s name is Pancetta. I picked that name because it is a type of Bacon and it sounded better than Crispy Bacon. Pancetta loves Wagashi, napping in the sun, and rooting in the mud. She hates rain, crowds of people, and being touched (just like her daddy). They are named Pancetta (left) and Einswine (right). For the pet competition.

Charlotte

Brong Ahafo Region, Honey. I chose “Honey” because the week I left for Ghana, one of my pets I was leaving behind, “Miele”, died. Miele means honey in Italian, so this is an homage to her. I also like the idea of saying “Honey, I’m home!”

Things she likes:

- Banku

- The toy I made her from scraps of fabric tied together

- Dried fish

Things she doesn’t like:

- being alone

- being picked up by small children

- goats

You all know this cutie from the Volta Region. She goes by Sarabi. Named after Simba’s mother in The Lion King. She loves sleeping on my bed, eating, chasing after baby goats and piglets, barking at strangers as they approach my front door. She hates taking a bath, when i yell at her for chewing on important things, and when i refuse for her to get in my bed.

[sqrt-ed-in-ghana]

"it is being honest about my pain that makes me invincible." Nayyirah Waheed

[sqrt-ed-in-ghana]

“Of course I want to be successful. But I don’t crave success for me. I need to be successful to gain, enough milk and honey to help those around me succeed” Everything I do is for them. They are the reason I smile. #worldsmileday #wakabasmile (at Howard University)

[sqrt-ed-in-ghana]

“be easy. take your time. you are coming home. to yourself. — the becoming”

The end of September marks my fourth month in Ghana. Saying that it's been a roller coaster would be simplifying things. In the middle of August, my cohort and I had our Swearing In Ceremony and transitioned from Trainees to Volunteers. Since then, I have moved to my permanent home on the east side of Ghana in the Volta Region.

In the month leading to the reopening of the school year, I moved to my new place. It's a compound with three other families on the outskirts of town. An elegant white building with magnificent orange and plantain trees. The entrance to my doorway is lined with gravel laced with weeds trying to make their way to the surface. My two roomed space has become my sanctuary. It is a multipurpose room serving as my bedroom, kitchen, library, closet, office, and tv room. I'm lucky enough to have a bathroom inside so there is no need for visits outside my little sanctuary. I've spent this time painting the walls, building a desk and shelf combo, and a kitchen table.

The first week of school was uneventful, but it allowed me some time to really reflect on how I wanted to run my classroom. I am teaching form 1 through form 3, the equivalent of classes 7-9 in the States. The students spent the first week weeding the compound of the school and cleaning the classrooms. Meanwhile, the teachers planned their lesson plans and made last minute adjustments to the lessons they would soon be giving. The second week marked the official beginning of the learning process. Since math is a core subject in the Ghanaian school system, the students are required to have it daily. Teaching three classes a day, back to back, has proven to be exhausting. Although I love my students, being a teacher is hard. It gives me a much more sympathetic outlook for all the crap I gave my teachers and professors.

When i'm not in school, I TRY my best to make my way around my community. I live in a small town surrounded by hills, valleys, and mountains. It's extremely beautiful it actually makes me emotional. I get to school before 7:30 and before the fog in the skies clears. When the mountains are peaking outside the mist, I often have to pinch myself. Sometimes it feels like a dream that I somehow managed to be here. I'm not going to lie and say that the ride to my little sanctuary is not extremely bumpy and often makes me question if I want to leave cause the ride is long and painful, but i'm here, and I regret nothing.

I got a puppy and she's the cutest. I've always wanted a puppy but let's face it, I can barely take care of myself, I know this, and more importantly, my mom knows this *laugh here* So growing up I never got a puppy, not because I didn't want one, but mom seems to always have her way. So naturally I came to Ghana and defied her *evil laugh*. I got her during my site visit 5 weeks into training. From the moment I saw her, I loved her. I'd been fighting with what to name her, and while I was alone in my room, watching The Lion King for the *th time, it hit me. So Sarabi became her name. I grow to love her with each passing day, but test my patience she does. I found the wires of my new fan chewed and my phone charger hanging by a thread. I have since learned my lesson and keep them at bay. Sarabi enjoys walks to see her mom, defying the trap I set for her at home so she follows me to school, almost getting run over by motos and cars, peanut butter, eggs, fish, chewing my shoes and anything that dangles, and biting my fingers and toes.

I've been into making lists lately so here are a few

Things i've cooked

Homemade corn tortillas

Banana bread in my rice cooker

Corn bread in my rice cooker

Nutella pancakes

Onion Rings

Things I want to do in my home

Draw murals on my wall

Grow veggies/fruits/herbs

Tile my bathroom

Get a nice rag

Things I want to start doing

Blogging frequently

KeEping a journal

Read more

Write more

Work on my Beyonce body goals or (BBG)

Become a better teacher

[sqrt-ed-in-ghana]

Happy 3 monthiversary to the Indomaniacs Part 3 Swearing-in ceremony for Ghana Education 16-3

[sqrt-ed-in-ghana]

“to not be safe in the earth. Simply because of the color of your skin. How does a being survive this”

Black Live Matter (BLM) a movement created by three Black Queer Women (Alicia Garza, Opal Tometi, and Patrisse Cullors) after the loss of 17-year-old Trayvon Martin. After George Zimmerman was not held accountable for his crime, #BlackLivesMatter was the response to anti-Blackness within our society. “It is an affirmation of Black folks' contributions to this society, our humanity, and our resilience in the face of deadly oppression” (Blacklivesmatter.com/herstory)

The affirmation of ALL Black lives, queer, trans, differently abled, immigrant, poor, etc,  has elevated/created hashtags like #BlackExcellence, #BlackLivesMatter, #uapologeticallyBlack#BlackGirlMagic/#BlackMagic, just to name a few. Although these are intended to remind humanity that our lives and existence are worth celebrating as they are often diminished, the BLM movement has created other hashtags that seek to erase and silence the exact thing we are fighting for. Some include #AllLivesMatter and #BlueLivesMatter. This movement is in no way saying that all lives don't matter, although with  #AllLivesMatter the assumption is that black lives are included, but that is not the case. Our lives are silenced and we are deprived of basic human rights and our dignity.

America's continuously refuses to recognize its history of racism under a capitalistic system. This refusal is a contributing factor to the same structures that were established upon its founding and continue to thrive today. It is because of these systems that I frequently worry about the safety of my siblings, my parents, and my beautiful melanin blessed friends. The deaths of black lives, some of which could have been family members or friends, is a constant reminder to me that I too, am not safe.

Being in Ghana has been liberating in the fact that my life is less threatened as far as systematic racism goes. However, being away from my loved ones and working for an organization that “addresses” how it values its volunteers of color leaves me angry, saddened, and feeling helpless. I've been contemplating what actions I would want to take from abroad and i've come out empty. I have found some great allies in country in the form of Black Peace Corps Volunteers (BPCV) as well as some members within my cohort who have proven to be very understanding and supportive during this trying time.