Potential

My cell phone alarm went off at 6a.m. this morning, but I was already awake lying in bed. The roosters wandering outside our house had made sure of that over an hour before. I fumbled for the cell phone alarm on the bed stand to turn it off before it woke Elle who slumbered beside me…well across me really. I slipped out from under her, placing her head on the pillow then headed to the kitchen to make Dakota breakfast before his big day. I stepped into the hall rubbing my eyes and stepped into Cody’s path. He jumped back, “AAHH! You scared me!”

“Sorry,” we smiled then went to the sink. Scott had found a fry pan at the market the evening before so I washed it, opened the stove cover and then walked the long hallway to Cody’s room.

Yesterday, he found out he would start school today at the University Practice Secondary School. Big John gave him some advice, “Be humble, Learn Hard, and That’s it.” When he told me, he very softly, very gently said, “Mom,” as if talking to a child, “you’re not going to come in my classroom with your camera and take pictures are you?” I must admit it had crossed my mind, but I haven’t totally forgotten what being a teenager was like.

 “No, I won’t do that, but in a few months I will ask if you can bring a camera to school and snap some pictures of your friends at break time.”

He would walk 15 minutes to and from school Monday through Friday. Today he was expected in the headmistress’s office at 7:15, who would show him to his class. Lunch break was not until 1:50, so I had asked Cody last night, “What will you eat for breakfast before you leave.”

He answered, “I’ll just have a banana and some bread.” I told him I would get up and make him eggs if he wanted. “No mom, I can just fry an egg myself.” He was never a kid who wanted others to wait on him.

 “That’s o.k. Cody. Cooking here isn’t like at home. You have to turn on the gas and light the fuse with a lighter.”

Scott jumped in, “Yeah, I don’t really feel comfortable with you doing that.”

“So I’ll get up with you tomorrow, what time do you plan to leave?” I asked. I was excited and nervous for him so the early wake-up wasn’t an issue.

“I want to leave here by 6:50 so I’ll have breakfast at 6:30.”

“O.K. then. I’ll be up.” Cody is very conscientious about time. He is very anxious about being early to everything (no, he didn’t get that from me) so I took his 6:30 breakfast request seriously.

I stuck my head through Cody’s cracked door, “Woah woah, dressing here.”

 I pulled out of the doorway, “Sorry, did you want one egg or two.”

“One, fried.” I’m usually pretty sensitive to how Dakota speaks to me but this morning I knew he was nervous. He would never admit it but his nerves practically bristled visibly through his skin. So I dismissed his shortness and made him a fried egg and toast (bread with butter fried in a pan, but “toast” is shorter). He ate, swallowed the malaria pill I handed him, allowed one picture without complaint and put on his backpack to leave.

 I was able to corner him in the hallway, “I’m getting a hug before you leave.” I wouldn’t take no for an answer.  I think he sensed it so he resignedly leaned over and stayed still so I could hug him. I held him until I felt one hand pat my back, “OkOkOk all done. I gotta go.”

I let him pass, “I’m proud of you, Cody. Have a good day.” He walked out the door. I felt like he was my little Coda Bear again, and this was his first day of preschool. The same pride and unavoidable letting-go coursed through my veins straight to my full heart.

Students normally wear uniforms, yellowy-white collared shirt, blue pants or shorts, white ankle socks and black shoes. Scott had taken Cody to the market to find black shoes, which they bought for 45 cedis from a 20-something young man with the words “Don’t F*** With This” printed across his t-shirt. I don’t really know what to say about that…maybe it translates differently here?

Dakota hadn’t gotten his uniform yet so he wore a white polo shirt and tan cargo shorts along with his new shoes. I felt neglectful because his clothes were a little wrinkled - we certainly don’t have an iron – but maybe the humidity would smooth them out before he reached school.

I watched him walk the driveway out to the road. It took some willpower not to do something ridiculously melodramatic, like yell out a final “I love you,” or run down the dirt road after him for another hug. Instead, I scurried to grab my camera, leaned out the screen door and hit zoom. I snapped one last picture as he walked off alone to an unfamiliar school, in a foreign place, where he would be the only white American among 1400 high school students. He was so brave about it. I know I couldn’t have done the same. I admired him and envied him… and missed him already.

It was before 7 a.m.. Scott and Elle were still sleeping so I climbed into bed with them and laid awake. The roosters crowed, screeching  back and forth as if in some obnoxious contest. I thought. Dakota started school today. He would be gone from 6:30 to 4:30 Monday through Friday. Scott would start teaching in less than a week. The thought of being left alone with Elle tightened my guts. My saliva thickened in my throat. The only other people I knew were the three students from GVSU, who would be busy with school, and who don’t want some old lady tagging along. Other than that, I just knew Big John the taxi driver and Yahaya, the choreographer/director of the drumming/dancing group we saw last week.

Throughout the week, tons of guys have come and gone, helping us get the house together. Quincy, the electrician, Alex, the laundry guy, Don, the UCC housing guy, the plumber, the wall cleaners, the carpenter, Mohammed Ali, the travelling African craft salesman. They all come to speak with “Doctor Scott,” “Prof,” or “Daddy.” In the whole week, only one woman had stepped through our door, and she had already travelled back to America. I felt lonely and panicked. I knew no one and saw no potential to meet someone who may become a friend. Where could I go to find a friend? I had no clue. And in less than a week, I would be left in this house alone, trapped by the fearful unknown outside the flappy door.

By the time Scott woke up, full-blown homesickness had set in. When Scott reached for his standard morning hug and “how are you?” I was in tears. Just to drive the point home, a huge work truck drove by and a young man waved enthusiastically from its bed. “Professor Scott!” he called as the truck turned off our road. I didn’t think one person in this country knew my name.

Scott didn’t try to comfort me. Instead he tried to fix the problem. Is that a guy thing or what? He called Yahaya to ask when I could start my dance lessons. That had been one thing I was excited about so props to my husband for paying attention. Yahaya ended up dropping by a little later. He didn’t really have a purpose other than to say hello. I told him I wanted to take dance lessons for sure but I had to schedule around Scott, who wasn’t yet sure of his work schedule. “I’ll need to wait until I know Scott’s schedule before I start so he can stay home with Elle.”

Yahaya waved off the concern, “She can come. Bring her with you!” Admittedly, that made it easier to schedule, but I really looked forward to getting away and establishing my own identity here. I didn’t want to just be Prof’s wife or Baby girl’s mommy. I admitted to Yahaya that I was having a hard time because I was homesick. Scott added by explaining that he had met lots of men, but no women ever came around.

Again, Yaya waved off the concern, “You’ll be good,” he assured, “I’ll find you some women!”

After Yahaya left, I was still weepy so Scott said, “I feel bad. I don’t really know how to make you feel better.”

“I know,” I said, “We knew I would feel this way sometimes. I just think once I have some connection back home, I’ll feel better.”

Immediately, Scott cancelled his plan to go into the University and instead offered, “Why don’t you go to the internet café for a few hours and I’ll stay here with Elle. Big John’s coming over in a minute and he can show you where it is. Then just walk back when you’re done.”

By the time I came back from the internet “café” (notice the quotes after I’ve been there for the first time), I felt much better. Just a few Facebook comments and an email from a great friend reminded me that I wasn’t forgotten. I was home by 2 o’clock so we could sneak over to Cody’s school and look around. Scott had gone the day before but still had some unanswered questions concerning curriculum, and I was dying to see where Cody’s great adventure would take place.

As promised, I didn’t take any pictures. I just strolled the square courtyard, looking through the surrounding classrooms. The high school students looked sharp in their uniforms. Each classroom had space only for the rows of desks, and small benches where pairs of students crowded behind. The front wall had only a white board and both side walls were lined with screened windows, leaving it basically open for any breeze to relieve the heat in the congested class. I spied Cody’s blond buzzcut and pale face among countless deep brown faces as we passed the Science Form 2 room. I told the counselor leading our tour, “We want to see Dakota but he doesn’t want to see us,” so we quickly moved on to peruse the cafeteria, home economics and visual arts section of the courtyard. After the tour, the protocol prefects (the student leaders) brought us plastic chairs, and we sat in the shade waiting to meet with Dakota’s Social Studies, Math and English teachers.

The counselor, Mrs. Obing, stayed with us as the different teachers and the headmistress came one by one to sit and speak with us. I noticed immediately that the shirt I’d worn was a mistake. As each teacher addressed us, their eyes darted to my shoulders. I wore two spaghetti string tanks that wouldn’t get a second glance in the U.S., but the swooped neck line and peaking bra straps were obviously distracting here. Unable to maintain eye-contact because of their quick glances to my shoulders, I soon became self-conscious about it as well.

Big John picked us up after our meetings. We wanted to get home before Dakota, hoping that he hadn’t seen us or heard from the other students about our visit (or about his mother’s bra straps). Crawling into the backseat, I teased the driver, “Big John, why didn’t you tell me not to wear this shirt to school? I don’t think the teachers liked it too much.”

He laughed loudly, “That’s wonderful! We’ll talk about that soon.” When he dropped us off, he summoned me back to the window. “When you were at the school, what did they say about your shirt?”

“Nothing,” I answered. “They just kept looking at my shoulders like they didn’t like it.”

He laughed again, “At the market I saw you buy some fabric, yes? Did you find a seamstress?”

“Yes, I have a name.”

Then he looked serious, “Good, do that because your Creator doesn’t like that either. You should dress for your Creator.”

Since the photo I tried to snap of Cody on his way to school didn’t work out (a bird had flown by at that very instant and blocked his head), I planned to get one as he walked home from his first day. I squinted out the windows overlooking the street, fixing grilled cheese sandwiches. Scott stood in the gravel driveway watching the road. “Here he comes!” Scott announced.

We were so excited to see him happy and safe, walking up the road. He spied the camera and good-naturedly shielded his face from the paparazzi, then began talking before he even got in the door. This is a boy who just two weeks ago was annoyed when I asked him, “How are you, today?” Now he was bubbling with energy to share.

The three of us munched the grilled cheese sandwiches while he told us his classes, listed names of kids he thought would be friends, described his successes and difficulties. He couldn’t even sit still. He paced back and forth and talked and talked. Needless to say, Scott and I were elated. When he left the room, we beamed at each other. His enthusiasm became our enthusiasm and we both foresaw wonderful opportunities and life-changing experiences for Dakota in the next 5 months.