I ate breakfast this morning around 8:30, and as I glanced up at the wall clock above the freezer, I suddenly remembered what I had been doing exactly two weeks earlier. 8:30 AM in Accra is 1:30 AM in Los Angeles. Exactly two weeks earlier, I was at my parents’ house, sipping a glass of champagne, surrounded by my friends who loved me enough to come to my going away party. It was such a wonderful night!
This morning, two weeks after my party, I was sitting at a table with two African nuns, sipping hot chocolate and feeling very nostalgic and lonely. Sister Dorothy and Sister Bibi chatted about pear trees and hospitals, and I sat at my seat in between them. I picked at my bread and let my mind wander to people and places far away from here. (It’s very easy to tune people out in this country. Everyone here has such an accent, and if I’m not concentrating on what they’re saying, I don’t even notice the conversation.)
I’ve only been here for less than two weeks, and I already miss my family and friends quite a bit.
Write me a letter, letting me know you haven’t forgotten me, and send it to:
Miss Kate Deaton
P.O. Box AH 92
Ghana, West Africa
...please. Oh, and please put something pretty inside, like a postcard or a photo or a picture from a magazine, something I can put up on my wall to make my room look nice. I think I’d be happier if my room were prettier, and I think receiving mail would make me feel like I still belong somewhere, like I’m not thousands of miles away from everyone.