"They have left home, they are going"

Sometimes standing still is a challenge.  To stay home when everyone else seems to be scampering away can make us feel a little bereft.  In my life, I’ve often been the first to dash off on a new adventure.  Maybe that sense of mobility is my way of trying to outrun loneliness.

The following submission was written by one of my former students from Accra, Ghana.  Phoebe is a 2012 graduate of the Herman Gmeiner International College (HGIC) who has decided to take a gap year to stay home and work.  She is an outstanding student who took top honors in History at a school that prides itself on excellence in academics.  She’s also a voracious reader and an ambitious writer. 

Never afraid to speak her mind or share her feelings, she is an undeniable force of nature.  One day during our 11^th grade English class, she dropped and broke her laptop.   I don’t think the machine had even hit the ground before poor Phoebe went apoplectic.  Were it not for the immediate intervention of almost everyone in the room, the computer and the girl would have been down for the count. 

Phoebe sent me this poem after reading my blog’s introductory remarks about seeking new adventures.  By offering this differing point of view, she provides an important perspective on our increasingly mobile society . 

In her desire to see her classmates someday return to their homeland, she echoes the motto of HGIC – “Knowledge in the Service of Africa”.  It takes great faith to educate people who will take their learning elsewhere, but maybe that faith is a hopeful element of our global culture.

12^th August, 2012:

“Wore fe fie, worekoo”

(~They have left home, they are going)

One day they will leave the land of their birth,

Then, the sun will grieve; she will refuse to set,

She will scatter her sons all about the earth,

And she will know not of their return; not just yet.

The sower will sow seeds as the parable tells,

On paths, in good soil, in rocks and in thorns,

They will find themselves in a world so new,

And so different from where they were born,

Can these seeds so accustomed to our warm red earth,

Thrive and bear fruit in this strange, foreign man’s land?

Can they, through the perilous journey to their peaks

and biting cold and cruel winters stand?

Yet they will be thrust into the thrills of orientation, and college greek life,

House parties, stimulating lectures, and freshmen events,

Most importantly they’ll take on ambassadorial roles,

Their countries, and the entire African continent to defend

These are seeds of no ordinary kind,

They are a rare breed of genius, straight from the Master’s mind,

Planted in fertile soils, in the milk and honey land,

They will sprout, and bear fruit to the pride of their homeland,

Maybe Christmas, summer, or four years later they shall return,

ushered back by the rhythms of Osibisa’s “Welcome home”

the motherland awaits our service, seedlings

let us come back and unravel our manifold of blessings.

The Leap!

Full disclosure: I have seen snow.  

As a native Montanan, I have marveled at snow as often as I have cursed it.  I’ve shoveled the stuff until I ached, and I have giggled inside the fragile caves and imaginary forts it formed during my childish play. Snow is cool, but it’s also an icy nemesis when you want to drive to work, run through the sprinklers, or simply walk out your front door without having to bury yourself in bulky sweaters, cumbersome mittens, and seriously unsexy boots.  I know snow and snow knows me.

What I really intend to celebrate through this blog is curiosity and adventure.  Whether the focus is a solo trip through Ethiopia, a first-ever encounter with freezing rain, or quitting a job and leaning into the unknown, Never Seen Snow will document my journeys and explorations and those of others I meet along the way.

I like to wander and I love a good story.

 ·      An explanation of the title, “Never Seen Snow” (part 1):

This blog’s title is literally inspired by the arrival of a handful of young people who are (this week!) moving to North America from Africa to begin their university experience.  I taught these ambitious scholars in Ghana during their 11^th grade year of high school. 

They are daring adventurers who have made some remarkable sacrifices in pursuit of education.  While they attended secondary school in West Africa, they are natives of such countries as Burundi, Tanzania, Ethiopia, Uganda, and Zimbabwe. 

And to the best of my knowledge, not one of them has ever seen snow.

These students are college freshmen, and they have amazing life stories already, but this move will present them with a new set of challenges and successes.  

I will invite some of these individuals to share their observations and opinions here at Never Seen Snow throughout the semester.

-       How will it feel to experience a first American winter in the heart of Michigan?

-       What will they think of the US Presidential election?

-       Who will explain pep rallies and will cheerleaders make any sense? 

-       What does Vancouver have in common with Bujumbura?

·      An explanation of the title, “Never Seen Snow” (part 2):

I just quit my job.  Yes, in this economy and without a parachute I just leapt out of the security of a tenured teaching position and into the void - no lesson plans, no guaranteed paycheck, and no clue as to what my future holds. 

After thirteen years of full-time teaching at public and private schools from the Silicon Valley to West Africa, I resigned to find new inspiration and to take some risks.  My last paycheck was deposited on August 18^th and my group health care plan turned into a pumpkin at the stroke of midnight last night.

My father is worried.  My friends are excited.  My bank account is nervous. 

Here I go…