Being home is the strangest thing. My parents are away on a cruise right now and my older brother was on a fishing trip so I got a ride home from Janelle. Driving down the streets of Vancouver
, the first thing I noticed was the incredible amount of street lights that lined the roads. It was just lamp after lamp after lamp. It seems like such a trivial thing, but it's what stuck out the most to me.
I got home to a big empty house. My dog was at my Uncle's and I was supposed to pick her up when I got back. Going from living in a house with usually around 20 other people there at the same time, to a house with no one was an uncomfortable experience. I brought my backpack into my oddly familiar and uninhabited room and sat down to think.
It's too quiet. I need my dog. In almost a panic, I called my uncle to pick her up, so I'd at least have another living thing around to keep me company. No answer. My stomach falls as if I'm nervous about something. I put the phone down and look over to my desk. Sitting on a messy pile of papers I didn't put away before I left was a small box that looks like it's come by mail. I reach to it and realize it's from Becca, one of my friends from Ghana. She had left a couple weeks before me and sent the package to my house for my birthday. In my desperate situation, I cried right then and there as I carefully opened the box, which was filled with candy and card with a fantastic pun (puns are my thing). I called her right away and cherished the time I had to talk to another person! The friends I met in Ghana were what made the experience as amazing as it was.
When I tell stories about what I did in Ghana, they are always a big part of it. Seeing them leave every week and leaving them was one of the hardest things about leaving. This package and this phone call was a reminder that I haven't really
left them all.
I tried my uncle again, but still no answer. I wandered down to the kitchen of my house. The kitchen at the homebase in Ho was always where I went when I had nothing to do. Someone was always there to talk to, or I'd bring out a book to read, or my journal to write in. As I sat down in my amazingly white kitchen and rested my arm on the cool table, I blinked at my sheer lack of enthusiasm to be home. With all the discussion about home while in Ghana, I thought I'd be a little more excited to actually be there.
I drummed my fingers on the table as I waited for my uncle to call back, so I could go pick up my dog and keep my mind busy. There was nothing I really wanted to do, there was nothing I really wanted to eat - nothing really at all to eat - the fridge was empty, I really needed to get some groceries.
The phone rang and my heart leapt as I heard the news that I could go pick up my dog, and my uncle apologized, saying he was taking her for a little walk. I drove the car over as fast as I could, and it was a reunion like no other. She seemed bigger, but had the same kind heart that she always did and was as happy as ever to see me. I gave her a big hug and we got back in the car to go home.
Then I was back home. My dog was home. But I was back to square one. I still missed Ghana.