I’ve always loved flying. While many people see airports through the lens of stress because of delays, long layovers, lost bags, extensive security lines, and potentially unhelpful customer service attendants, I’ve come to find airports as a place of peace. I’ve realized that there are few other places that can regularly foster such polarized kinds of interactions between absolute strangers. When you’re stuck in a metal tube 30,000 feet above the ground, or stuck in the same building for hours on end awaiting said metal tube, you can learn a lot about humanity (or sometimes, lack thereof).

Before even boarding, our small group of UO students had encountered an obstacle when Jeff ended up not getting a seat on the flight. Feeling a whirlwind of emotions, we boarded, leaving him behind. As I settled into my seat for my flight from New York to Accra, I looked across the aisles to find a sizeable group on a mission trip. The ninety high school students and pastors, all in matching bright orange shirts, seemed to take over the space quickly. My stomach sank, as this sight was one that I had thought of too often, as it paints the stereotypical picture that too many Americans think of when they hear of a trip to ‘Africa.’ Our group spent a fair amount of time talking Ghana’s media image in the U.S. leading up to this trip, which made me even more hyper-aware of the complicated dynamics between the two countries– how would I play into this dynamic? Could I be an agent of change in shifting what many people in the U.S. think of Africa? Could I, during the next six weeks, figure out ways to break down some of the stereotypes upon my return?

After an hour or so of staring at the city below us grow further and further away, I began to get to know the woman seated next to me, wearing a dress and matching headpiece of looked to be the traditional Ghanaian patterned fabric, kente. When she asked me what brought me to Ghana, I was excited to share that I would be interning with the Center for Democratic Development in Accra. Our back and forth conversation remained cheerful– I learned she had been living in New York for a few decades now, but is originally from Ghana and still has family there. I was all smiles until she shared her reason for taking this trip; “My daughter died,” she said, looking me in the eyes. She continued saying she needed to come for a while in order to bring her some peace. She spoke on the subject for a few more moments– seemingly experiencing a moment of release as the words left her mind, until the flight attendant interrupted to hand out dinner.

After taking my first bite into the reheated fried rice meal, I look over to find my new friend pull out a cooler (complete with napkins and silverware) of her own version of the plane’s dinner that she had made at home. “This is better,” she said to me, as she insisted I shared her container of homemade rice and chicken– a meal that I would become very familiar with in the next six weeks. We ate in silence together for a few moments, but it was a comfortable silence. I began to think about the saying of how everyone is fighting a battle that we know nothing about. I began to think about her pain, and her empathy and kindness. And, this moment reminded me that this trip was going to be about much more than an internship or class credits or blog posts; this trip was about human connection. I couldn’t have thought of a warmer or more sobering welcome to Ghana.