The First Few Hours in Ghana

It’s only been a few hours since landing in Ghana, but my head and heart are already full.

I came here with a suitcase and a task—to determine whether there’s a viable market for Valmont Irrigation in West Africa. But I can already tell this trip will shape far more than my resume.

The truth is, I’ve felt the weight of this trip long before we landed in Accra, because this work isn’t just about water. It’s about the role water plays in shaping livelihoods, restoring dignity, and changing the trajectory of entire communities. How on earth do you prepare for work like that?! For me, it was a lot of prayer.

Somewhere over the Atlantic, I watched the sunrise stretch across the airplane window, experiencing a wave of emotion I hadn’t fully anticipated. Anticipation, pressure, and purpose all tangled together. I want to do a good job. I want to ask the right questions and contribute to work that actually makes a difference. I kept asking myself, "What if I miss something important? What if I get it wrong?"

On that flight, I found myself circling back to the same desperate prayer—not just that I would do well, whatever that even means, but that I would stop trying to carry the weight of it all on my own. Instead of striving to have the right words, I would be guided by a spirit of humility and learning. I was reminded of the passage in Luke 12:11–12: “Do not worry about how to defend yourself or what to say, for the Holy Spirit will teach you at that very hour what you should say.” That’s the kind of peace I want to carry here. Not a confidence in my own ability, but in the One who goes before me, equipping me for what I cannot do on my own. Dependence isn’t a limitation—it’s my greatest strength.

Travel always reminds me how little of life is actually within my control. In just a matter of 10 hours and 5,300 miles, the time, temperature, humidity, culture, language, plug in adapter, and food all changed before my eyes. The one thing that stayed the same? God. His consistency in character and care is comforting in the middle of so much newness. When you’re pulled out of routine, it becomes easier—and far more necessary—to lean on someone far more dependable than Accra traffic.

A few months ago, I took the Intercultural Development Inventory (IDI) as part of my training as an Agriculture Future of America student ambassador. Sure, your ranking falls on a spectrum, but mine was definitely trending toward the less open-minded end. During my one-on-one coaching session, we unpacked my tendency to think in black and white. That binary lens may have helped me make sense of the world in the past—but I’m beginning to understand the importance of nuance and the ability to move beyond snap judgments and lean into curiosity.

So my prayer continued: That the Lord would give me a posture of learning. That He would work in and through me to glorify His kingdom by asking insightful questions and seeking wisdom—not just information. That I would see things not as “good” or “bad,” but simply different. That I would ask why instead of assuming I already know. That I would be open to perspectives that challenge me, stretch me, and shape me into someone more empathetic, thoughtful and more aware.

And while I’ve never done actual field research before, I’m beginning to realize that this work isn’t just about economics or infrastructure- it’s an examination of everything that came before us with the intention of making the future better. And as someone with the opportunity to participate in this kind of work, I feel a responsibility to do so thoughtfully and with care.

I've been wrestling with the tension between my ideals and the reality of working in this area. Development is messy. I know that some of the deepest wounds across this continent were inflicted by people who came with good intentions but lacked understanding, who thought they were helping but, in their haste, caused deep harm. Colonialism no longer wears the same uniform, but its legacy lingers in fractured systems, displaced communities and development projects that promised progress but left dependency or disarray.

And if I’m honest, I’m afraid of contributing to that same story, stepping into this work thinking I’m helping, only to leave things more broken than before. That fear is real. But maybe that fear is also what keeps me grounded. It reminds me that good intentions aren’t ever good enough. That the only way forward is with humility, careful listening and a deep respect for the people whose lives this work touches. I hope that my dependence on God and on the wisdom of those already rooted here will keep me from repeating the mistakes of the past.

This is just the beginning of my time in Ghana, but already, I feel myself being undone in the best way. My assumptions are being stretched, my heart stirred and my understanding reshaped with every conversation. I came here hoping to contribute to meaningful work, but I’m beginning to see that the most meaningful work might be the one happening within me. More than anything, I want to keep learning—not just about development or agriculture, but about people, about purpose, and what it truly means to serve with humility in a world that’s anything but simple. If I leave here with anything, I hope it’s not just knowledge or data—but a deeper compassion, a quieter spirit and a greater reverence for the complexity and beauty of the lives I’m lucky enough to witness.