Once upon a time, there was a storytelling class at OIHS. It was only for girls. They were from different countries, and spoke different languages. They liked to tell their stories, and learn about other people’s stories. Suddenly one day, Ms. Adwoa gave all of us a free camera and all of us were astonished. Also everyone was so sad, because this is our last class and every girl thanked Ms. Adwoa for giving us this wonderful opportunity.

So we all sat together one last time to say what we would miss about the class – Adwoa would miss the laughter most of all. BamBam will miss all the people and the laughing. Sunonthesky will miss Ms. Adwoa a lot because she didn’t continue this job and will never see her again. [Editor’s note: Our class will be reunited to compile and bind the chapbook in the spring! I’m looking forward to it.]

Epadoh will miss Ms. Adwoa a lot because she’s so nice and she’s the best. She will also miss that LoveForever told her during the street fashion day that she liked to wear sexy clothes, which made us all laugh so hard. [Ed. note: Indeed!] RockSand is going to miss Ms. Adwoa and the time together, and lots of funny stuff that happened in these days. LoveForever is going to miss Ms. Adwoa, she is so kind and good. I like her smile. I will miss my friends. But even though the class is ending: all of our stories are just beginning.

I’m now blushing, a bit. After the class she taught, one of my fabulous co-teachers asked, “Are they always this sweet?” They really are. I’ve been exceptionally lucky with this project and this group of girls.

Feeling profoundly grateful – and so excited and curious to see the stories they continue to tell. I’ve turned the site over to the girls now, and we would love for you to stay engaged. Every so often, they might invite us back to continue to walk in their shoes.

We looked at Jane Justice Leibrock’s wonderful blog May I Admire You?, to get a feel for what a street fashion interview can be. Then we talked about the parts of ourselves that are visible in the clothes that we wear, and how adornment can tell its own story. I loved the details that emerged: a favorite color, a style of dress that would have been frowned upon in one’s home country. Clothing that shows our travels, our senses of humor, and the components of our daily lives (like Laura, mom to a newborn and a toddler, needing to wear shirts or dresses that button down the front while she’s still breastfeeding).

She taught the girls camera technique and some tricks to get great shots, and we reviewed interview techniques and generated questions that would help us get at a story. Then we sent the girls and their cameras out into the world. We’d hoped to do this out on Telegraph Avenue (Humans of Temescal, anyone?), but the first rainy day in weeks meant that busting the drought took precedence over the amazing mustache photos we would have gotten outside the Temescal Alley Barber Shop in the last weeks of November).

So we stayed on campus – take a gander at Humans of OIHS instead! They came back with some great shots; a sampling of my favorites are below. More details on the stories behind them will be coming this week; when those are finished, you can keep up with them under the photo tag here.

As ever, as always – these girls crack me up and astonish me with ease. The stories they gathered about their classmates will be as unique as the students themselves. In the meantime, they say a picture’s worth a thousand words: enjoy.

I also asked the girls to write a piece to share the sound of home for them. It could be anything – their alarm clock in the morning, their parents cooking a meal, the sound of wind through a particular tree outside their window. (We all got super into the sounds you can take in with a good recorder when the headphone volume is turned all the way up – wind can be absolutely gorgeous. Who knew?) I thought about this for myself, and it hit me while walking through the courtyard at OIHS, listening to conversations in Karen and Spanish and Arabic and Somali and Farsi. The sound of home for me… is languages that I recognize, but don’t speak.

Growing up, my parents didn’t teach my sister and me to speak Twi. But it was always in the background, meaning that now I have this ghostly grammar hanging out when I hear it spoken. I can pick out insults in Akan languages, certain verbs in French, certain place names in Tagalog. When I was younger, I worried a lot that my sense of displacement meant I’d never find a permanent home anywhere. It’s beginning to seem, though, that it’s giving me the ability to sink in wherever I may find myself – even, to my occasional surprise, in Oakland. Along with the girls, I’m learning how to settle in and make this place home.

I’m finalizing curricula and planning my outfit for tomorrow (shoes especially) and just sitting in incredible gratitude and a little bit of awe. In the end I have seven students from five countries, with amazing hair ranging from black to pink to blue. I’m a little nervous, and a lot excited, to see where this project takes us.

And I say us, because I’ll be doing each assignment alongside the girls. It feels important not to ask them to do anything I wouldn’t do myself – not to mention, the story of displacement and connection and making your home wherever it is that you find yourself is not one that’s foreign to me, either.

We’ve lived in so many nations; we carry so much history. It is a delight, and an enormous honor, to stand alongside these young women, and invite you to walk in my shoes.