Whiling away the last five weeks...

Here I sit, on a bright, not-to-hot (meaning the sweat is only beading on my face, not dripping down) Tuesday morning, and I cannot believe that I only have four of these Tuesdays left. Where did the semester go? I know that I habitually ask this question when it gets to this point every semester, but when you are in a different country, the shock is a bit heavier.
I am leaving Africa in less than five weeks.
And who knows when or if I will ever be back.
I was having a conversation with a few friends last night at dinner about this very subject and the question was posed: "Do you think you'll come back to Ghana?" I was stunned when the unanimous reply (including mine) was, "Probably not." We all kind of agreed that if we do get to continue our international travel, which we would love, there is so much of the world left to see. It's strange to think, though, that I might never be back here. I mean, I've spent a considerable part of my life here. I realize that time-wise, four months is not much in terms of life span, but experience-wise, I'm guessing my semester here will have a pretty distinct effect on my life. And to leave it forever, a thing of the past? That's hard to swallow.
I would love to be able to share Ghana with my family, not just my current family, but with my future husband and children as well. I know I'll mention it all the time and I know that no one will ever really understand what I'm talking about. But just bringing people to Ghana for a visit, like I did my Dad (who I am still thrilled I got to share a week with here), won't have the effect I want it to. A visit in no way compares to living here.
I'm sure I'm not the only one who struggles with this problem. The majority of study-abroaders are probably going through the same situation. It's just hard to know what to do with it.

In the meantime, I am trying to soak in as much of this country as I can in the last few weeks. This weekend, for example, I went with a group of friends to Ada Foah, the place where the huge Volta River reaches the Atlantic. The resort we stayed at (resort is used loosely) was called the New Estuary Beach Club and consisted of a line of huts on the 20m (I'm really bad at judging distances) sliver of beach that separates the river from the ocean. And I mean huts. Just a bed stuck in the sand surrounded by four thatched walls. We laid in the sand, drank soda and beer, and went barefoot for a good 36 hours. It was wonderful. It wasn't really what I was expecting upon coming to Africa, but then again, not much of it is.