DM:Ghana 2013 I

Sweaty Hands

I sat with sweaty hands clenched together in my incredibly uncomfortable world traveler seat on British Airways. It seemed that the worst was over, yet here on the ground I sat in an airplane not entirely sure I wanted to get off. I writhed my hands a little more as I stared into the darkened city of Accra. The city glowing with street lights at a very dark 8:30ish p.m. A feeling swept over me that wasn’t present in my previous trips this year to El Salvador and Brazil. The feeling of inferiority sapped me of my excitement. This feeling lingered much like the taste of taking a drink straight from the milk carton to find that it had soured. My self-talk failed to save me from the wave of despair that hit me on that tarmac. This weight was a familiar one, not in the sense of