There was still a good amount of water outside of our house, and I looked at my nearly 60lb suitcase trying to decide how I was going to get it across the small river. It was deja vu from the first day I arrived. My sister had joked that I would need a suitcase that could turn into a backpack because I'd probably have to wade through a river with my belongings at some point. The joke wasn't funny anymore. I said my goodbyes, rolled up my pant legs, and hauled my ridiculously cumbersome and heavy suitcase onto my back. I began to wade through the water, at mid calf by now. The mud was slippery, and I almost lost my footing with that stupid bag throwing off my balance. By nothing short of a small miracle, I made it to dry land and took a taxi to the bus station. In order to save some of the little money I had left I decided to take a tro-tro to Accra, a 2 hour journey. I had arrived very early since I would have to wait for all the seats in the tro-tro to fill up before we could leave, and I bought a loaf of sweet bread and made myself comfortable in the van. It was nicer than most of the ones I had been in before, and despite the woman breast feeding a screaming child right behind me the 2 hour journey wasn't that bad. Maybe it was just the idea that I would be home in 24 hours that made everything more bearable though. Coming into Accra was much different than what I remembered from 5 weeks earlier. It was such strange mixture of urban and rural, and the traffic could rival LA on its worst day. My tro-tro finally came to a stop at a bustling market, the same were I had fearfully gotten on my first tro-tro. The experience was no less terrifying this time around. Every taxi wanted to take me to the airport, and I chose the first one I saw just to get away from the yelling. Everyone wanted to take the "rich obruni" to the airport. At that point, I didn't even care how much I got ripped off, I just wanted to get on a plane. Having made much better time than expected, I was almost 5 hours early for my flight. Who would've thought Ghanaians would be on such a good time schedule that day. Relieved I was almost home, I bought a terrible 12 cedi airport meal and tried to clean myself up. Sheer exhaustion took hold and the wait was endless. After being asked if there was anything to declare in my almost overweight bag, I checked it and sat at my gate trying to decide where to spend the rest of my Ghanaian money. The bank where I would normally have been able to exchange it back into American dollars was closed that day for no reason. I bought some overpriced Ghanian chocolate, which I never ate, and got patted down for a third time before I walked across the tarmac to get on my plane. I had a 14 hour red eye ahead of me and I was less than thrilled, but I kept my hopes up because I was going home! The Ghanian children next to me had never been on a plane before, and for some reason the remote that was bungeed to my arm rest was a big point of interest for the one girl. In fact, it kept her occuppied through most of the night. She'd pull it out, then let it slam back into my armrest, shaking my entire seat and keeping me awake. The sickening smell of airplane breakfast soon filled the cabin. It was one of the best meals I've had. My layover in Atlanta yielded me a cinnabon, coffee and a makeshift shower! I looked and probably smelled like hell, but I was so close to home. 2 hours later I was taking the best shower of my life and stuffing my face with twizzlers (a coming home present from my sister). I had been up for nearly 24 hours by then. Needless to say, Ohio hasn't seemed so bad since I finally got back to it.