I rolled over to look at my screaming phone, wiping away the fatigue of a long drive on a bumpy road. “Who’s calling me at 10:45?” I picked up the phone and heard a click of rejection, “guess I’ll never know.” Seeing the silver lining of my rude awakening, I seized the opportunity for a bathroom break. I tossed back the sheet and rolled my aching legs out of their cozy cocoon, quickly splashing into an inch of chilly water on my cool tile floor. Stumbling through the dark I soon discovered the culprit, a leaking toilet tank, and set about for a solution. A short trip downstairs to the reception desk revealed that I was alone in my plight. Crap. Back upstairs. Do I sacrifice the precious hotel towels? Do I wake up my fellow hotel patron below to see if they’re drowning in toilet water? Do I just go back to bed and pretend I was unaware of my now floating bed? One more trip downstairs, rattling doors to get the attention of the night guard and a mop, and 30 minutes of bailing out my respite from the road before returning to the relief of my bed. All in all, this night was a fair representation of the dawn it preceded; sort of an omen of things to come.
Let me put this disclaimer out there from the onset; I love Ghana, unconditionally and completely, as if it were my own offspring. But every once in a while I get a day that makes me question my unquestionable love for a place that makes you earn your grays. Thursday was one of those days of days, a stint of time when all was not well. Roads winded in directions other than those specified on the map. Potholes popped up unpredictably and far too frequently. Rain poured down as if it were a preventative strike against the fiery apocalypse, and the mud ran red like a B-rated horror flick. What was supposed to be a short drive from Cape Coast to Tarkwa turned into a diesel death-march and another night in a cheap roadside hotel.
The next day, however, was much better. Perhaps it’s because of the coma-like sleep I got that night, perhaps it was because of the ever-positive attitude of Jen, EPI intern extraordinaire. But I believe the real catalyst for the flight of my sour attitude was the long drive along the coast while returning to Accra. It reminded me of just how beautiful Ghana is, even with its apocalyptic rainstorms and Pinto-sized potholes. And once home, I reflected on the real reason I’m here. There is fun to be had, that’s for sure, but I’m here to work.
That work isn’t always fun,
but it’s always worth it!







Our next trip was out to Abomosu to visit the installations we did in February with 



















