By Everett Cento

When we first walked into Anani Memorial International School, we were greeted with wide smiles and outstretched arms. The school was visibly under-resourced, but full of life. Students rushed over with hugs, laughter, and an ease that immediately softened the stress of being somewhere so unfamiliar. Still in my first week in Ghana, it was the warmest welcome I’d felt so far, genuine, unreserved, and oddly comforting.

Since it was my first time traveling alone, and being so far from home, I found it hard to adjust at times. From our first experiences going out, there was often a steady stream of vendors trying to sell us anything from artwork to water bottles. They would come up to our bus and start a conversation, blending friendliness with a strong sales pitch. We were even advised not to give out our names when leaving the bus as, when we came back, they would create a craft with the name in the hopes of making a sale. The American in me felt rude ignoring their friendly conversation starters, but it was the only way to avoid their pitch. This was a big adjustment for me and, as someone who already has a hard time saying no, it had me putting my guard up on our excursions. 

We were told the students had prepared a performance to welcome us to the school. We took our seats in the small classroom and, after a short introduction, the beat of the drums rang out. The music was loud and the energy was powerful. Then they danced. And danced. And danced some more. Every time they exited the room, I assumed it was the finale, only for them to return moments later for another round of dancing. While the dancing was amazing, I couldn’t help but notice a hint of discomfort that seemed to creep into some of the students’ eyes. While a few remained eager the whole performance, many looked as though they had reached their limit. I felt guilty that these students were being pushed past comfort on our account, and it made me very conscious of the power dynamic between us.

After giving a small donation and saying a few words of thanks, we were invited to mingle with the kids in the courtyard. I was immediately surrounded by students eager to introduce themselves and show me their favorite games. It felt especially nice to meet them on their own terms. No pretenses, no obligations, just time for play. We started with thumb wars, but at one point, the kids began asking me to arm wrestle. While I had let them win the thumb wars, something in me felt that I couldn’t just let them beat me in arm wrestling. Maybe it was pride, maybe it was the fact that, at twice the size of the kids, I knew they would be able to tell I was letting them win, or maybe it was the idea that it would be more fun for them to have a challenge. Whatever it was, the kids were loving it.

Initially we started the matches in the air, supporting our elbows with the off hand. One by one I dispatched all the challengers with relative ease. Soon they started using two hands or coming at me two at a time, but still I was able to hold them back. They didn’t play by the rules I was used to back home, but that wouldn’t have been fair for them anyway.

Then the table came out… Once again, the kids gathered, eager for a challenge. I dispatched them one, two, even three at a time. Each round more and more kids were adding their hands to the pile, hoping to finally take me down. As our time was wrapping up, a group of about five or six kids managed to finally pin my hand down. Enthusiastic challengers came in groups to get a taste of victory, and they managed to get a few wins in before we had to leave. As the kids walked us back to the bus, I remarked that they should keep practicing so that they can beat me the next time we come back, and that I was looking forward to the challenge.

I came in a little on edge, unsure of how to carry myself. I left sweaty, tired, and smiling—reminded that even when you’re far from home, a little laughter, a shared game, and some friendly competition can make your day a lot brighter.