I stared into the dark as I thought about the tremendous decision I made to come to Ghana. I
knew that I wanted to grow. I had to put my skills to work as a journalist. This internship would be good for me. Yet the night before actually going to Asaase Radio, I felt all tied up in my thoughts.

I knew I would be okay, but it felt like a new test completely. I no longer had to prove myself
based on what people could see from the outside. I was free to be me. The work that others
would see is a connection to me. I had to remind myself that I did not have to be great. I just had to put the work in. I had to try and the greatness would follow later.

Once dropped off at Asaase Radio, my fears eased off from the previous night. Maroons,
mustards, and browns surrounded me in the lobby. I was a long way away from the woman who started her multimedia masters with only the most basic information. She did not know the mechanics behind photography or videography; she just knew she wanted to do journalism. In that lobby, I knew in my heart that I was a journalist.

Touring the building secured what I already knew. There were memorials honoring African
journalists. Art displayed the passion behind the journalism that happened day to day. Each
room held a certain promise and I had the key to unlock it. A mural of microphones led to the
soundroom that the morning shows occurred in. My heart flipped at the sight of the Asaase
microphones and soundboard. It was radio! My dreams could not fathom the actuality of being in a place as prestigious as Asaase radio. Even better, I did not try to fight myself on why I did not belong. I felt like a puzzle piece that fell into place.

In the States, there feels like an imaginary scale that I am constantly trying to balance ideals on. I cut pieces away from heritage in the hopes that I appear friendly and do not make others uncomfortable. I refrain from asking questions until I know I will get the job absolutely right. There is a constant pressure to be the best version of myself.
At that moment at Asaase, I was not Jahlysa, the only black person in the room. I was just
Jahlysa.

All I had to be was me. The newsroom was welcoming. I have never experienced not being the only black person in the room. I felt honored to have received the opportunity to work alongside other journalists, but specifically black female journalists. The atmosphere completely embraced me.

In Ghana, there is a general feeling of people knowing who they are. Every person owns their
work and stands by it with pride.
As the week carried on, I ran across Accra with Philipa, the journalist I was paired with. We
gathered stories and interviews, as I learned how to pick up the fast pace of the newsroom.

By Friday, I was exhausted, but I knew I was building myself. Growth is not easy. It is work. It is running out for an interview, then running back to the station because there is no one available to actually interview. It is discovering that your turn around for editing is slow. It is finding new ways of being prepared that are different from what you are currently used to. It is finding the balance between waiting and acting. All of this is the art of growth.
I eagerly await what week 3 will bring.