Westerly Winds

My sincerest apologies for the lack of creative flow through this blog as of late. The westerly winds recently swept me away from the states to Cape Coast, Ghana, a change that has consumed my mind for the past month. But to be fair, I was distracted even before my new adventure.

In May I left my temporary and humbling stint working at a hotel front desk and moved to Austin, Texas in search of nonprofit work and inspiration to make something tangible out of my writing. I lived rent-free for a month with as much gratitude as fear with my aunt, a volcano of a woman, who eventually erupted on me during week four, as predicted by everyone who knew her. I took refuge (I love her because she's family, but yes, refuge) with two of the four friends I had in Austin. My second night on the couch of their one-bedroom apartment I received an email from the organization I volunteered for in Peru last fall. It was the founder; he wanted me to work at the Ghana site as a Project Coordinator for at least one year. After a Skype interview with the Ghana Site Director and a job offer a few days later, I hauled ass back up I-35 and I-81 to Omaha to gather a few bags and say my goodbyes. I had only two and a half weeks between the job offer and flight but felt okay with that because it's best to rip off a Band-Aid rather than peeling it back slowly. You lose hair and sometimes skin either way.

After my first week, I've decided one year here might not be enough, considering how fascinated I am by everything. I could easily dedicate my entire first year in Cape Coast to learning how to slice a coconut. Life skill learned: Agile handling of knives. How applicable: When stranded on an island with nothing but coconuts to eat and their milk or water to drink, when suddenly a tribe of ferocious natives in warpaint and butt flaps spring out from the jungle perimeter because they, too, want the coconuts and I have of course ate all but one final luscious coconut and I must eat it quickly before the island natives, now closing in on me, devour me and my coconut. I will extend my left arm and place the coconut in my palm, pull out my machete from my knee-high gladiator sandal, raise it high above my head and come down swiftly until the coconut is huskless and I will eat it before the ferocious natives can see the whites of my eyes and then I will take my machete, coconut scent and husk hairs still on blade, raise it in the air and all war cries and impending doom will cease because I am now the Coconut Goddess because, turns out the last coconut on the face of the planet was the one I had so skillfully macheted and feasted upon.