A World Away

I'm impressed by how different this world is. I've been blessed to travel across Canada, throughout Europe and to all four corners of Ghana within the past year and a half and I am awestruck at how diverse God's earth is. Not only are the landscapes vastly different across the globe, but the cultures and lifestyles vary even within one country. As I struggled to stay awake and remain comfortable on the 20 hour plane ride back to Canada, I watched "Arctic Tale," a movie that follows a polar bear cub and a walrus pup through the tundra for a year. That snowy kingdom stands in stark contrast to the green, hot, rainy climate of Asamankese. There are mountains on one end of Canada and red dirt hills on the other, all dotted with evergreen trees along the way, while Ghana hosts mountain ranges in the east, rainforest and palm trees in the south and dry savannah in the north, all dotted with plantain trees along the way. The Canadian culture (which finds it very normal to go doting on Santa Claus, our own pleasures and our vehicles) is entirely different from the Ghanaian culture (which finds it part of everyday life to be outside with the community all day, do things with your hands and work hard and not be selfish with your belongings). In France and Canada it is against the law to be paid less than minimum wage for your work, while in Ghana people are making ends meet on less than two dollars a day. If you don't have a savings account or a retirement plan in the West, there's something wrong. If you have a savings account or a retirement plan in Ghana, you're filthy rich.

So how on earth am I supposed to reintegrate myself into Canadian culture and all of its pressuring demands and sly suggestions after being immersed in a simple lifestyle, living side by side with Ghanaians? Yes, I am incredibly thankful for this country that I grew up in. I slid a slice of bread into the toaster today and marvelled at how bread can toast. I feel guilty every time that I flush the toilet without having to pour buckets of water into it first and when I turn on the tap to wash my hands in warm water with liquid soap and strong water pressure. Warm water hurts my body at initial contact since my skin has not felt it in a few months. I was only in Ghana for one semester and yet it is incredible how quickly another part of the world (and those who live there) can have an impact on you!

Peddle back to a week ago. I had one more night in Asamankese and I was writing the names of our literacy ladies on their graduation certificates. On December 4, we handed out twelve certificates to the women who have come faithfully and worked diligently to master the alphabet, the tricky spelling of words and the precise grammar of the English language. Karen, Steph and I sat at the head table with the other teachers and honoured guests during the graduation ceremony only minutes after balling our eyes out while saying goodbye to our children. A heavy, deafening rain pounded outside for the opening minutes of the ceremony and the women sang praises while the water quieted down. Smiles were secretly shared across the room as I glanced at my Level 2 ladies and all of our friends in Asamankese who had come to share in the moment. I stood proudly beside the ladies as they read Psalm 25:8 in English and they clapped and cheered after I struggled through reading the same verse in Twi. I smiled at each of them as they came up, one by one, to receive their certificates and a gift from Kujo and I. They have come so far and have desired to better themselves and their businesses. They want to be able to communicate with their English-speaking customers more effectively and they want to be able to read the Bible by themselves. After finishing my major in Religion and Theology, I cannot imagine not being able to read the Bible by myself! These people rely on whatever the pastor talks about during Sunday services to increase their biblical knowledge. Thinking for themselves and double checking if what the pastor says is true are not practices that these Ghanaian women can engage in without being literate. Many of them cannot read in Twi, their first language, much less in English, but they desire to come closer to their Saviour through reading the Bible. Their joy at making even small steps, or realizing even a single concept, is inspiring and graduation was a way to celebrate their achievements.

Everyone wanted to take pictures with the obrunis after the ceremony and I was pulled every which way to smile for people in pictures that I never got to see. We had to make hasty goodbyes before packing up the truck and fighting a headache and tears as we made our way, for the last time, down the bumpy road to Pokuase (where we stayed until we flew out two days later).

That was a week ago. I am now sitting on a couch in a fluffy sweater with Christmas music in the CD player and snow covering the ground under a dull, grey sky. I am a world away from the life that I have known and become accustomed to for the last few months. My literacy ladies asked if we would forget about them once we returned to Canada and my heart melted as I reassured them that nothing could make me forget the time that I've spent with them. Africa is a part of me now and I have become a part of Africa. I have left behind an influence there, as well as multiple memories. I may not have touched many people's lives, but it's not the quantity that matters. There are some kindergarten children there that want to be played with and picked up and spun around and read to again and there are some business women who want to deepen their level of literacy and have more conversations with their obruni friends again. I can only hope that I will have the opportunity to return to them one day and see how much they've grown and how far they've come. I can only hope that their knowledge of and relationship with Jesus forms wider, deeper roots. I can only hope that someday, beyond the borders of this big world, we will stand together, side by side, hand in hand, and raise our voices in one glorious language in praise to our God for the work that has been done on this earth. And on that day, I'm sure that God will smile with the language that needs no words and resound in our souls the joy of being one people, one church, His one beloved bride. Then the real graduation celebration will begin and the friendships we have made will be shared for all of eternity. It all started down in Africa.

Can you imagine?

Karen and I are back on Canadian soil. (Steph traveled down to South Africa to visit her uncle.) After about 20 hours of planes and airports, we stepped into the land of being able to understand everyone's accents and we immediately went to the bathroom to change into our slit and kaba, traditional Ghanaian dress that we wore for the literacy graduation. A breeze through customs and baggage claim and we walked out into the view of our waiting families and showed off our braided hair and new outfits. I had asked my mom to bring my big, furry coat to the airport and I nearly had frostbite on my hands as I walked out to the car, parked in the garage. Canada is cold!

Silent tears slid down my face as we drove home. We could drive 110 km on the 401 on perfect paved roads that had no bumps in it. The towering buildings and the desolate, dull streets of grey and brown is uglier than normal compared to the deep green of the palm trees and the multi-coloured shops along the streets in Ghana. A Christmas song that had been playing in the airport was stuck in my head. I knew that the reverse culture shock would be hard, but it is proving to be incredibly more difficult than I anticipated. It's not just that I miss the people that I came to know and love; I miss the atmosphere of Ghana. I miss the sun, even though it made us all sweat out all our insides. I miss everyone welcoming each other as the pass by, even if you don't know each other. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I even miss the deafeningly loud music that would blare along the street and which could be heard from my room up on the hill. I miss people not being entirely overtaken by Christmas and stuff (although maybe I'm just not entirely in the Christmas spirit yet because I haven't been around it for long).

After a 10 hour sleep (which could have been longer), my mom, my sister and I went to Black Creek Pioneer Village. We used to go there every winter when I was a kid and I love seeing the historic buildings and listening to stories about life in the mid-19th century town. The first shop that you come to in the village is the tinsmith's shop and we stopped in (out of the frozen cold which I am not used to by any means and that is also adding to the shock of being back,) and talked with those working there. As we turned to leave, a group of kids and their parents walked in and the lady started to describe what life was like for the pioneers. She said," Girls had to wear dresses and there was no electricity. Can you imagine? That would be hard." Instantly, tears started to tumble down my cheeks and I hastily followed Mom and Alisha out the antique door. Yes, I can imagine what a life where girls wear dresses and there is no electricity is like. The kids who were listening today had no clue how the kids in Ghana are living. After those kids went home from Black Creek, they did not have to go draw water or walk into town with a bucket of something on their heads. None of them had to worry about helping their families to earn money and I'm sure that they had more than one or two sets of clothes. The mothers at Black Creek did not have to work today, selling fruit or drinks or cloths off of their heads in order to keep their families alive. They were probably all literate and, if they so choose, they could read the Bible themselves. Many of the women who were a part of the literacy class wanted to learn how to read so that they could read the Bible by themselves. It was quieting to learn of how many people cannot read, even in Twi, and how they simply want to know the truth that is in the Bible and be able to read it by themselves. The churches in Ghana are sold out to God, but there are quite a few things that they are saying and teaching that I do not believe to be correct and I wonder what reforms would happen if the people could all read the Bible for themselves. I wonder how many children would be able to bring their parents to Jesus if they had children's Bibles available to them to read in school. Education is important, but religious education and literacy that enables Bible reading is even more life-giving.

I will probably write at least one more blog post about the last few days in Ghana, but it will anything written now is written with fond memories and a desire to never lose the fruits of the impact that Ghana made on me. It will be a hard go, getting used to Canadian culture again. There's nothing wrong with the technology that we live in, but we are so dependent on it. Everything works properly and there are no delays, since we are an impatient people who value our time a bit too much. I took the back off of the toilet today and watched the water fill up. Sounds odd, I know and believe me, it's not a regular practice of mine, but the speed with which the water filled up was shocking. There's water pressure here. I don't have to pour a bucket of water into the toilet tank to flush it. There's more than a trickle of water that comes from the sinks and the water is hot! Hot water hurts my hands. My hands sting and burn every time they touch hot water since my body is not used to that. These are only some of the material differences between Canada and Ghana and I feel as though I must find a way to reconcile both of these cultures within me, since both have been part of my life.

"I will go to Canada."

I am currently sitting on my bed in the mansion in ACP Estates in Pokuase by Emma and Doc's house. I have left Asamankese potentially for the last time in my life (though I hope that that is not true). This week has been one of utter chaos in terms of keeping my mind. We have had to say goodbye, very quickly, I might add, to our entire life here in Ghana and I have not had much time to process it all since we've been so busy doing last minute packing, tying up loose ends for the program (since we are the last interns and all that), organizing gifts, writing letters, saying goodbye and making some last minute memories with those we care about most. The tears have come and there will be many more to fall as the sorrow of leaving these people is still so fresh.

There is too much to write about if I were to describe all that has happened during our last week in Asamanakese, but there are some moments that stick out more than others, though many of them are painful. On Sunday we went to church with Belinda for our last Ghanaian church service. We all wanted to learn how to make jollof (our most favourite, most delicious Ghanaian dish), so Belinda gave us step by step instructions as we crammed into the kitchen at our house that afternoon. That evening we got a little dressed up, piled into a taxi with May and Belinda and headed to First Stop, a restaurant on the outskirts of town. The music was loud, the food was good, the company was amazing and everyone loved seeing the obrunis dancing. Something to add to the list of odd things I've eaten: a fish eye. Don't do it.

I did my best to capture every moment with the children at school this week. Every time that I had to raise my voice at them or try to get them to sit down or stop beating their friends, I reminded myself that I will one day miss yelling at them. It hit me this morning as I awoke from dreams of those I've left in Asamankese; if I am yelling at them then that would mean that I am with them and that is all that matters. On Monday the rain began to fall just as my KG2 class was supposed to be hunkering down for their naptime. A huge crash of thunder received a large cry of both excitement and nervousness, so I went over to one of the mats and laid down on it with the kids as the rain, pounding on the tin roof, made it impossible to hear anything. A group of about seven students crowded around me as we lay on our stomachs and put our heads close together. I told them how Jesus sometimes speaks in the thunder and as another crash rumbled through the walls, my beloved Mardiatu asked me what Jesus was saying. He was telling my dear kids that He loves them. We then began a series of stories. One child would say, "Story, story," and the others would respond, "Story," which would be the key for the child to tell their story. As I weaved a story for them in simple English, feeling their little hands on my arms and seeing their little eyes all big and attentive, I melted in another moment of pure love for these kids.

Our women came on Tuesday for a graduation rehearsal (which just meant that they practiced their Bible verses over and over again). The women asked us if we will remember them when we leave and that broke my heart. Mama Vida has asked me before, "Sharon, do you love me?" and so I have made it a point to tell them every class how much I love them. I am so incredibly proud of those ladies and the efforts and sacrifices that they have made.

Wednesday, the last day that I woke up in my bed in Asamankese, was one of the hardest days of my life. We walked along the road to His Majesty's, waving to all those who said hi or called out, "Obruni! Buh bye!" and started the school day with worship before moving into a bunch of fun activities that we had planned. Mary, our professor who arrived in Ghana on Sunday, came up to me and said that Mardiatu had asked her this morning," Do you know that Madam Cheryl is leaving? I don't want her to go." I turned away from Mary, unresponsive, as a piece of my heart tore away and seeped out of my soul in the form of tears, the same tears that wet my eyes even now. We played games with our students, took class photos, gave them lemonade for the first time (gotta love Crystal Light packages), put Canada tattoos on their hands and threw a frisbee around the courtyard. We left after lunch to say goodbye to people in town and change into our kaba and slit (traditional, formal, Ghanaian dress) in preparation for the graduation. Upon arriving back at the school, the kids went crazy seeing their white Madams looking Ghanaian.

We stood in front of the students during the closing assembly and at Rita's signal my KG2 children ran into my arms for a last, big hug and the tears started to fall as I gazed into their faces for the last time. As they began to pull away and move towards the bus, I called Mardiatu over and picked her up, asking for one more hug. I have never felt her arms cling so tightly to my neck as I carried her out to the bus. The closer we got, she began to repeat one sentence, "I will go to Canada." Trying not to let her see my tears, I told her that she needed to stay here and she couldn't come to Canada with me, as much as we both wish that she could. Her response was the same and her voice more earnest, "I will go to Canada. I will go to Canada." As I put her on the bus, fairly having to push her to go and trying not to see the sadness in her eyes, I heard one final, "I will go to Canada." We waved until the bus was out of sight and even though the ladies were already gathering for the literacy graduation that would start in ten minutes, I covered my face and wept. Maybe someday she really will be able to come to Canada. Maybe someday I will come back and find her here in Ghana, but for right now, the pain of saying goodbye makes the thought of stepping onto the plane tonight unbearable. There is more adventure ahead for  myself, my students and my women, but they will be lived separately and I can only pray that God sees fit to entwine our adventures again one day. I don't know what the future will hold, but for today, the adventure of traveling back to Canada begins.

While in the waning sun

The first post that I put on this blog was typed while sitting in my backyard in Courtice on a cushioned chair beside a propane fireplace. Over three months later, I am now sitting in the front yard of my house in Asamankese in a green, plastic chair, watching the sun set behind the palm trees and the cooler evening breeze blow the pink and golden clouds. We only have four sleeps left here in Asamankese and six sleeps until I am back in Canada, which my mind cannot wrap itself around. Mary flies in tomorrow night and we have a busy few days of saying goodbye to people, teaching our final classes, reading our final stories to the children and celebrating the accomplishments of the women with the graduation ceremony on Wednesday.

Crazy things happen every week. We've started a list of things that we find in the children's mouths, as they like to chew on EVERYTHING! Leaves off of the bus floor, pieces of wire from the fence, money, moth balls, candy bottle lids, pieces of their shoes, their socks and pencil led are only a few. I've learned how valuable good quality pencils are, since most of the pencils here are of the poorest quality and cannot even sharpen properly. Once I hand out the books and pencils to the kids to copy something from the board (they LOVE to write!), I have a continual stream of children coming to my desk with their pencils that "won't come", as they say. They've either bitten the led off, broken it on the table, or they were legitimately not sharp. There have been a few times that blisters have formed on my fingers from sharpening so many pencils and the pencil shavings go everywhere, including into the kids' mouths. I end up sharpening half of the pencil before it is actually ready to be used since the quality is so bad. One positive side to having the kids come to my wobbly, plastic table is that the Beginner's Bible usually sits there and the kids will leaf through it viciously and ask me who the people are as they wait for me to struggle with their pencil and to keep my patience.

I do not remember much from kindergarten, but I do remember using scissors and glue. Which kid doesn't love scissors and glue? In addition to English, I teach Creative Arts  and I have come up with a few fun crafts for my eager KG2 students that involve cutting up paper and tissue paper and gluing things to it. The cleanup takes longer than the actual craft does, but every child, even the ones that rarely ever sit still during class, are extremely intent on their work as they try to figure out how to hold the scissors and how to use the popsicle sticks to paste the white glue on their work. After our craft on Thursday, a pair of scissors still laid on my table that had not been put away. Trinity, one of my dear students who is just something else, was standing behind my chair on the table during morning break while I read a story to one of the other girls. I felt Trinity playing with my braided hair, as the girls have not ceased to twist it even though it's already in braids. Something felt different. I turned around and Trinity's face broke into a nervous smile as she lowered her hand with the scissors in them to her side. Had she actually cut my hair, I don't know what I would have done, but I am so thankful that that situation didn't happen.

The children are preparing for their Christmas program and I am incredibly sad that we will not be here to see the actual performance! Margaret asked me to teach them some Christmas songs so I have spent a few hours slowly going over the words to "Away in a Manger" and "Joy to the World". Children remember things so easily and with the aid of a musical tune, they catch on to a song with ease. I had to correct them after the first afternoon of going through the verse to "Away in a Manger", as they were saying, "Amanga, a manga," and although their voices and accents were cute and made me smile, the first words were slurred. They LOVE singing "The Twelve  Days of Christmas" and I'm pretty sure that they know it better than most North Americans know it. Their Bible quotations are coming along and it melts my heart to see some of the Muslim kids reciting verses from the Bible and I hope that they remember those life-giving words when they are older. Trinity, Christiana and Mardiatu were inside with me at morning break the other day and Trinity had the Bible open on her lap and said she loves Jesus. Mardiatu joined in and dramatically said, "I love, love, love , love, love Jesus!" I don't know if she understands the gravity of those beautiful words, but I hope that one day her heart will help her mind to fully accept it.

The final exams for the literacy program went well on Wednesday and there are a few of my students who would be graduating to Level 3 next semester if the program was continuing. They have thrown themselves into their studies upon learning that the funding is being cut and no more interns will be coming and therefore the program will, unfortunately, be ceasing. I am looking forward to the graduation rehearsal on Tuesday and then celebrating with and showering gifts and love on the women on Wednesday. Wednesday will be our last day in Asamankese. We are planning on having a party in the morning for the kids, decorating for the graduation ceremony in the afternoon and then we have to say goodbye to the children, the women and our friends in Asamankese (the majority of whom will be at the ceremony) all within the span of about 3 hours. I expect it to be emotionally draining.

Climbing Mountains

This past weekend marked our final voyage of exploring the corners of Ghana. We set off on Friday for the Volta Region in the east and after making our way through the stalls of eager merchants in the Centre for National Culture to buy some souvenirs in Accra, we took a seven hour tro tro ride to Hohoe in Volta. The trip was not supposed to take that long, but getting out of Accra took approximately an hour and a half, which is absolutely ridiculous! Our driver decided to take the oddest round about route, zigzagging through random side streets in an attempt to shorten the way out. We ended up driving past the Kotoka International Airport which we had not been near since we arrived here. Millions of thoughts rolled through my mind as we drove by: we have less than two weeks left in Ghana, we have so much to do before we leave, we have so many people to say goodbye to, we have so much to look forward to with final activities with the school and the graduation ceremony for the literacy program.

On Saturday we took a taxi (since tros were scarce) to the base of Afadjato Mountain, the highest peak in Ghana, right on the Togolese border. We followed our 15 year old tour guide out onto the path through the forest and began the hour and 15 minute ascent. As we climbed, many connections were made between our hike and our semester here. There was a sign at the bottom of the mount that told us to take a deep breath as we were about to climb 882 m upwards. I remember taking a deep breath before we boarded our plane in Toronto to come here. It seemed as though we had a long way to go. The path up Afadjato was incredibly steep and consisted of large and small rocks scattered across the dirt which gave our thighs a thorough workout. We had to take large strides to reach the next good rock or sturdy tree root. The same happened for us when we first arrived here. We were not used to the culture that we were thrown into. We had to quickly overcome the initial shock of being called by the colour of our skin and we learned how to enjoy walking down the street and having to wave or say good morning to every person we meet (and that's a lot). We cannot step outside of this house (and sometimes I can't even go outside of my room) without people being there and talking to us because we are white and they are curious about our culture. It was an incredibly big step to begin teaching both the women and the children and to step into the shoes of the previous interns. Just last week Kujo was sick and had to go to the clinic during our literacy class, so I taught Mama Vida solo. Those first big steps prepared me for taking on the class alone and to form the relationship with her that I have. As we climbed the mountain, my legs seemed to get stronger with each step. They were tired, yes, but they were motivated to keep moving.

There were signs posted along the rocky path up to the peak of Afadjato that told us how far we had come, and not long into our trip we reached the sign that said we had come 216 m, a quarter of the way up. A quarter of the way into our internship here, I was still in transition mode. The food was different, the lifestyle was different (like different modes of transportation, for example. Taxis here don't cost like two bucks just for sitting in it,) and we were just beginning different friendships and meeting new acquaintances. What a comparison to now! There are certain people along the road to school or into town that we specifically say hi to as we pass (in addition to responding to the continuous chant of "obruni!") and we know their names and receive hugs from their kids. There is a group of about six children down the road on the way to town who used to immediately follow their "obruni!" with, "Give me bicycle!" We tend to stop almost every time we pass them now and they no longer ask for bicycles, but they just want to give us a high five or a quick hug or say, "How are you?" We pass Auntie Sophia (Belinda's mother) sitting by the junction on the way to school every morning, selling water. She always gives us a big smile and wave and we stop to ask how her day went on the way back home. May is always eager to welcome us at her shop and we've stopped asking her for phone credit or plantain chips - now we simply go and get whatever we need ourselves and leave the money where we know we should put it. We can jump right into crazy conversations with her and Faustina (the wonderful lady who braided our hair), can be down right ridiculous with them and not be afraid of making a fool of ourselves. I thought that these friendships wouldn't happen when we were at the quarter mark.

One of the girls that I climbed the mountain with has asthma and we had to stop quite a few times for her to catch her breath and she wasn't feeling very well. There have been plenty of times when we have had to take a break during our time here in Asamankese and try to return our breathing to its regular rhythm. I have often felt as though I am incapable of filling the shoes of the previous interns and that I wasn't benefiting the women or children at all by being here. The enemy likes to discourage us by saying that the small work that we're doing is not worthwhile, but it's quite on the contrary. We do not have to see huge steps being taken in the learning of our students, but we can just rest in the thought that our small contributions will take root and will one day produce fruit. Maybe one day the Muslim children in my class will remember the stories of Jesus that I am telling them and they will see how divine Jesus really is. One day the women will be able to read novels, even though all I can read with them right now are simple sentences. Had we given up and remained in that state of taking a breather, thinking that we couldn't do it, we wouldn't have seen the small steps that we've seen taken.

It felt good to keep going after a break while climbing Afadjato. We were sweating like we've never sweat before and the air that our bodies cut through as we climbed cooled us down. There were often mornings that I woke up and felt as though it was just another day, another 17 hours that needed to pass before I could go back to sleep. There were times when I didn't want to go out of my room so that I didn't have to interact with the many people again, but in God's marvelous working power, it was never as bad as I expected it to be to start going again after a break. Walking down the street should be an incredibly draining experience for me (and it often is), but I've learned the importance of smiling and I've realized that it can actually cheer you up even to put on a forced smile and to stop and see the people as individuals, not just an entire community of people who exclaim at seeing a white person all the time. It has been more refreshing to continue than I expected.

We've had to push ourselves on everyday. If I didn't lift my feet as I placed foot in front of foot up Afadjato, I would trip. I caught my toes on the rocks a few times as a result of not lifting my feet high enough as I walked. We couldn't shuffle through this internship either. Conversations have had to be intentional. Words have had to be carefully chosen so that these ESL people could understand us. Visits have had to be initiated and lesson plans have had to be carefully thought through. Malachi 1:7-9 talks about how we ought to offer our best to God. We have had to do things with excellence while here and we've had to offer everything to God, for we can do nothing of lasting value on our own. We couldn't pay attention to the sweat that was wetting our clothes, but we had to just keep going.

And then we reached the final sign, saying that we had reached the top of the highest mountain in Ghana. We broke through the forest and into the bright, hot sun and could only stand in awe of the breathtaking scene that we saw spread out before us. The mountain range was a depth of shades of green and the flat landscape that was the Volta Region swelled my heart with love for Ghana. We peered into Togo, another country, from the heights of Afadjato. We have peered into another culture during our time here in Ghana. The climb was incredibly worth it and the view was beyond words as we thanked God for His marvelous creation. The challenges of this internship, mingled with the many joys, have made this internship incredibly worth it. It is beyond words what we have experienced and learned and all we can do is thank God for every minute of it and for every breath we have taken of Ghanaian air.

A picture's more than a thousand words

Myself with Auntie Jo (left) and Auntie Julie (right) at their church.

After 17 hours and two packages of fake hair, I turned slightly more brunette and have a head of heavy hair.

This is Mardiatu, one of my favourite students. I took an individual picture with all of them so I can print them and give them a picture of us before I leave.

This was the hike for 882 m up Afadjato, the tallest mountain in Ghana. (Blog post on this weekend coming soon, Lord willing.)

Conquered the mountain and peering into Togo.

The kids loved this craft - decorating face masks! #kidsloveglue

Steph, Karen and I at Wli Falls, the tallest falls in West Africa (again, blog post to follow). Absolutely gorgeous!

Mama Vida, my most faithful student and such a hospitable, generous, caring woman.

Smiling - the universal language

Phew! We just arrived back in Asamankese after 10 days of gallivanting around this hot, African country. We snaked our way up to the north, going even as far as 7 km from the Burkina Faso border. The north of Ghana is not rainforest as it is where we are here; it is a legitimate African savannah and right now it is the dry season, making everything even hotter. Disclaimer:  I apologize in advance for how long this post will be...

The first stop in our journey was a community called "Hand in Hand" which is home to 80+ mentally and physically handicapped children and young adults. In Ghana it is traditionally believed that if a child is born with a disability, that child is from the devil and are more often than not abandoned. We had the opportunity to walk around with the children, play with them, watch them chase after the ball in a game of soccer and watch them splash around in the shallow pool that they enjoy spending time in everyday. There was one boy in particular that clung to my heart.

We first met Michael as he came crying up the path towards us and went directly into Karen's arms and soon pulled me into the hug as well. He then took my hand and lead me away from the group. I spent the next significant portion of time following him around the grounds as he viewed his world through the lens of my camera. I knew that God was smiling every time Michael dropped it and I carefully put the batteries back in and handed it to him again. God wasn't going to let my precious camera break when that innocent boy was having the time of his life taking pictures for possibly the first time ever. I couldn't help but smile. As we watched the soccer game, Michael climbed onto my back like a natural monkey and clung to me like a whirlwind was trying to sweep him away. He alternated between sitting on my back and climbing onto my front for a hug and to rest his head on my shoulder to watch the game. I had prayed that morning that God would help me to interact well with the kids as I am not always certain of what to do in the unpredictable moments with mentally disabled children. God confirmed to me again (as is becoming a theme this semester,) that smiling is the universal language. Smiling transcends every spoken language. It is accepted in every religion. The deaf can see it and the blind can feel it. I believe it was Mark Twain who said that "kindness is a language the deaf can hear and the blind see." I don't have to communicate verbally with those who speak Twi to let them know all is okay when I smile. The mentally disabled who can barely speak their first language, much less English, know that it is okay to come to us for hugs or to play when they see our smiles. Sometimes a smile is all you need show for people to know that you are welcoming and open to them. All it took was a smile for the children at Hand in Hand to come up to us and put their little hands into ours and entwine their hearts with our own.

During our stay at Hand in Hand we made a trip up to the Baoteng Monkey Sanctuary, walked through the forest with a guide and got to feed bananas to wild monkeys out of our hands! They were tentative to approach us at first but soon they were jumping up and clinging to our arms in their attempts to steal the remaining pieces of banana out of our hands. It was quite the entertaining experience, though smiling at the monkeys was not an efficient way to get them to approach us.

Continuing farther north, we hopped on a bus to take us four hours to Mole National Park. We had arrived too late to get a ticket with a seat number, so we had to stand as the bus bumped its way down the red dirt roads as the night closed in and the stars shone in all their brilliance. We were COVERED in dirt by the end of the ride; it looked like I had a beard and my backpack is still a slightly different colour than the original black. We tried to scrub the dirt off of us in the trickle of water that came from the shower that night and fell into bed in great anticipation for the next two days. In summary of those full days, we went on three safaris in the African savannah, two jeep safaris and one walking safari. We sat on the top of a safari jeep and held on as we drove carefully over bumps and rocks, through the running water of a river and across the tree-dotted grasses of the national park in search for elephants, my favourite animal. Since it is the dry season the elephants tend to move farther in, but we did manage to spot one, WAY in the distance, on our first jeep safari. I couldn't wipe the smile from my face all night. Up until that moment I didn't know that it was actually possible to tremble with joy, but as I gazed at a wild elephant in the African savannah from the top of a jeep and felt my wildest dreams become reality, I literally shook from being so happy and excited! The warthogs, Nile crocodiles, monkeys, baboons, vultures and various species of antelope were definitely amazing to see, but seeing a big elephant in its natural habitat was a definite highlight. I felt as though we were on the Discovery Channel the whole time we were at Mole.

Leaving Mole a few days later (on the bus that left at 4 o'clock in the morning and for which we received a wake up call at 3:15 am - oh joy), we went all the way up to Sirigu to an organization called SWOPA (Sirigu Women Organization for Pottery and Art) near the Burkina Faso border. Women in the small village of Sirigu used to walk 134 km with pottery and baskets on their heads to sell, so the organization was started to cut out the incredible walk that they would have to make in order to make money. During our stay we made a small basket in a basket weaving workshop (taking about 4-5 hours of getting stiff while sitting on the ground to complete), took a tour to see a traditional house in the area (which was very unique and symbolically decorated with paint and pictures of animals) and visited Mother of Mercy Babies Home. Many people believe that if a child's mother dies in childbirth, the baby is of the devil and is abandoned at birth. The Babies Home is home to 15 children in this situation, each with a caretaker, where they will stay and be looked after until the age of three when they will be reintegrated into their families and communities. The organization strives to change the mindset of the locals to show that these children are no different than any other. While we were there, smiles again became the primary means of communication and soon we had a third of the children living there holding our hands or reaching up to be carried and following us around on our tour, eager to show us their rooms and where they lived. Our guide fairly had to drag us away, saying that he knew we'd spend the whole day there otherwise. So very true. Although we couldn't communicate verbally with the children at all, our smiles, pointing to different things, playing little games and bouncing them on our laps was enough communication to let them know that they were noticed, that they are meant to have fun and play as children and that they are loved.

Taking an 11 hour bus ride from the north down to Pokuase (where we were taken care of by the incredibly hospitable Auntie Emma and Doc for the night/day) was long, but wonderful to see almost the entire country pass before our eyes in one day. We left the hot and dry savannah and entered into the side of the country with clouds and rain, the side that we are currently calling home. We have a limited amount of time left in Ghana and the next few weeks are packed with things that we need and want to do. Every day matters and we need to keep smiling as we go. Besides, joy is the fruit of the Spirit and we definitely have something to be joyful about in the death and resurrection of Jesus!