Despite the title of this post, in which I am un-creatively stating the obvious, those exact words swirled endlessly through my head (I’m also pretty sure I said them about 200 times, which I’m sure sounded intelligent) as I stepped off of the plane and breathed in the humid, tropical air. The last few weeks leading up to this trip have been surreal, to say the least. I talked about this trip constantly and spouted all the facts I had learned about Ghana in our orientation class to anyone who would listen, yet it all felt abstract and difficult to fully comprehend. This being the farthest I have ever been from home, it seemed hard to picture actually being in Africa. The plane rides where long and dull but that’s to be expected.

Landing in the Accra airport and going through customs felt like a dream. It wasn’t until we were getting read to leave the airport that I truly was reminded how far from home we were. We had been told that we should not allow people to help us with our bags, no matter how hard we tried, because they were going to expect money for it. I kept on the lookout for these people and made a point to avoid them. Ah, but they are tricky! A women dressed in a Virgin Airline uniform approached and directed us to were to go. I said no thanks right away but she assured me that she worked for the airport. I was a little bit worried but too tired to think it through so I let her help me with one of my bags as we walked to the van where Leslie and Doc, the two amazing people who run this program, were waiting for us. It should have come as no surprise to me when the woman handed me my bag and asked me for money. I was confused and a little freaked out, as I thought she was airport staff. Luckily, Doc and Leslie came to my rescue and asked her to leave before I tried to pay her. I later learned that these people who try to help with bags at the airport have gotten creative and begun impersonating airport personnel in order to try to get money out of tourists. The experience, though a bit off-putting, reminded me that things are going to be very different than what we are used to at home.

The van ride was entertaining as we took in our first view of the outskirts of the Accra area. People in the street approach cars stuck in traffic, attempting to sell anything from peanuts, to gum, to phone minutes. We learned about this before we left, so it was very fun to see in person.

About 15 minutes later, we pulled up to our house. We are living in a suburb of Accra called East Legon, which is near the University of Ghana campus. Our house is located near American House Road and is in a compound called the Aya Center. The house is beautiful and HUGE; we even have our very own guard dog named Aya, who is adorable! I live in one of the downstairs rooms with Ericca and Megan, two other members of our group. Among other things, the main aspects of living in this house that differ from home are: throwing toilet paper in the trash rather than the toilet, which felt really odd at first, but I’m starting to get used to it; no hot water, though the cool showers provide great relief from the humidity; and power outages, while we have yet to experience one, we have been told that we will have many before we leave due to the power shortage in Ghana. I’ve also been working on getting used to sleeping with a mosquito net, which is somewhat claustrophobic and was quite an ordeal to put up. I guess the thought of Malaria is worse!

After settling into our home, Leslie took us to a nearby restaurant called Chez Afrique. I ordered a Ghanaian dish called red-red. Absolutely delicious! It was made out of beans (I believe black eyed peas) in a spicy sauce with a side of fried plantains. Being Puerto Rican I am of course no stranger to a good fried plantain, so I’m thrilled with how often they are served around here. After dinner we went home and attempted to go online (Internet can be a bit spotty and only works in part of the house) then went to bed. As a sat in my dark room staring up at my mosquito net floating a few inches from my face I repeated the phrase, “I’m in Africa,” a few more times in my head. Maybe by morning it will finally sink in.