Sometimes I miss Ghana so much I could cry...

I miss the heat and the music and the bright smiles and dark faces. The hustle and bustle of the marketplace and tailor made clothing. The rough tro-tro rides and the sweaty dance classes. Trips to rural villages and to new cities in foreign places. Inconveniences of water, power and internet outages and conveniences of hawkers along every roadway. HUGE lectures of eager students and taxi rides to class to avoid sweat. Laroba, the small girl that made my egg sandwiches every morning, and Jane, the good hearted seamstress with a small baby boy. Fresh fruits at every turn and haggling in broken Twi over cab fares. Entire conversations without exchanging a single word and greetings every morning from complete strangers. Hearing people shout obruni at every turn and yelling back obibini to their surprise. Both the dirty and beautiful beaches, and the hot, dry Northern region. Sometimes I would give anything to go back to this seemingly perfect life that I had in Ghana and sometimes I know that its mystery and excitement would pass...