Over the next three years I stayed in touch with HardtHaven
Children’s Home. I raised money
for them, coordinated the donation of four computers (which were ultimately
stolen by post office employees on the route to Kpando) and many boxes of
supplies (a few of which may even have arrived), and consulted Edem when he
asked for help. I had a shiny new
master’s degree in public administration and worked as a fundraiser and grant
writer for educational nonprofits in downtown Boston. Asking people for money was stressful. And tiring. And stressful.
After months of dramatically whining and crying about my
stressful and tiring life during weekly therapy sessions, I finally got the
guts to quit my job. I needed the
opposite of designer high heels, plastered on schmoozey smiles, and firm
handshakes. I was miserable and my soul needed detox. And so I booked a plane ticket to Accra.
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