Goodbye, Sweat Rag: Mainstream Beauty Revisited

We're going to sidestep from reflections on South Africa and Swaziland – I'd rather talk about how pretty I felt on New Year's Eve. I don't care how ridiculous that sounds.

Since returning to the states after almost two years on "The Dark Continent," I've felt attractive again. That is, attractive as depicted by the media; how I adorned myself semi-accordingly from age 12 to 23. Attractive in the sense of no longer exuding the scent of toxic bug spray every night and sweating profusely from every pore, two disadvantages of living in malaria-riddled sub-Saharan Africa.

You know those celebrity interviews in beauty magazines with those dull questions like, which beauty item would you never leave the house without? While living in Ghana, mine was a handkerchief. As someone who perspires more than the average human, bearing a sweat rag was as much a necessity as oxygen. Okay, less dramatic: imagine caffeine addicts without caffeine. I could survive a day without a handkerchief, but I wouldn't be in my element. My sweat rags weren't a beauty tool, rather they permitted concentration and helped Ghanaians take me more seriously. (Nothing in physical appearance gives away "I'm not from West Africa and will always be an outsider" more than dripping in sweat over peeling burnt skin inflamed by mosquito bites.)

No, I would not like to revert back to constantly looking moist and feeling slippery. I do miss the exotic inconvenience of every bit of exposed skin being covered in red dust and dirt at the end of my days; yet, adapt as I tried, it didn't fit my standards of "pretty."

I spent this recent New Year's Eve in my hometown in the U.S., Omaha, Nebraska. It was the first big event I've been to since being back in America for two months. To my delight, besides hours of sweaty high-energy dancing, no outside interference converted my appearance. Not heat, rain, humidity, mosquitos or sickness. I took a laughable amount of time to get ready for the evening, but I enjoyed every minute.

I'm grateful for my hiatus from hair products and tools, heels, perfume, make-up, fancy dresses and other beauty enhancers. Although I have a limitless tolerance for discomfort; for instance, squatting on a ledge to urinate into a hole in the ground in a doorless, ceilingless public urinal under the scorching sun, I realized I'm still a girly girl in the end. I guess some things never change – every once in a while it's fun to try (really hard) to look extra pretty. Oh, so pretty.

Happy 2012.

Leaving Ghana and "How It Was"

I went on holiday to South Africa for six weeks after completing my work in Ghana at the end of August 2011. I enjoyed Cape Coast for another week, finishing my 14-month adventure with the annual "Oguaa Fetu Afahye," or Cape Coast Festival.

Somehow, leaving Ghana was more painless than anticipated. I was ready for my next chapter. More than that, I left knowing I will return some day, and Ghana will be waiting with welcoming arms. However, leaving the Ghanaians I had grown close to... well, that was the most difficult thing I've ever had to do. Bursting into sporadic fits of tears the entire week before my departure, it was messy. Sometimes a mere glance from a Ghanaian friend - a stranger, even - would chagrin me. During the last drumming and dance performance I attended of the cultural group who had become my brothers and sisters I sobbed the entire second half and, as if that wasn't theatric enough, ran up the stage's steps and left the performance early.

What saddened me most was the idea that every relationship I made while in Ghana would never again be as I remember it. When I return to Ghana, we will all have changed. I'm not opposed to change, but the concept of "how it was" is sacred to me. Leaving my Ghanaian community was like waking up too soon from a good dream. You have the mental power, the imagination to finish it however you want, but instead you want to try to find the happy ending by dreaming. You go back to sleep, try to access and continue the good dream, but you can't. "How it was" reshaped me, maybe just as much as a childhood shapes a person. And now "how it was" will be only a memory.

Before I left Ghana I learned the organization I worked for was planning to open a site in Cape Town, South Africa. I offered to work on the set-up of the site since I'd be there anyway. So, from September through October I spent a weekend in Johannesburg, a week in Durban, a week around Mbabane, Swaziland (was stranded there because of the public transportation drivers' riots), and four weeks in Cape Town. Three of those four weeks I worked on contract for my former employer. I met with over one dozen community partners and set up the projects, accommodation and excursions, reporting to the organization's management team each week. The site's Country Director flew into Cape Town today, over three weeks after I left. I've made the batter, rolled it out and placed the cookie cutters. All he has to do is press firmly, lift the cut-out shapes and put them in the oven before January 2012, when the site officially launches.


More on South Africa and Swaziland later.