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!

Christianity and Isalm

His Majesty's Christian School is exactly what it sounds like: a Christian school. Ghana is at least 60% Christian and there are signs of it everywhere. People name their shops in ways that bring attention to God (for example: Nothing formed against us shall prosper cold store, or God be praised salon, or something of the sort) and no one can miss the deafening sounds of extremely loud music and praise on Sunday mornings throughout the entirety of Asamankese (and Ghana in genera). We were told that the majority of the Muslim population is in the north of Ghana, so I didn't expect to come in contact with it much.

Earlier this month I received a rude awakening when, after Wednesday morning worship, my co-teacher started to explain the religious differences between Christians and Muslims, calling one of my favourite students, Mardiatu, up to the front to show the class how Muslims pray. My heart fairly stopped as my brain grasped the reality that she is a Muslim. I had to leave the classroom to conceal my tears as I learned that in fact  five of my students are Muslim. There are two more in Karen's class and one in Steph's class. I was not prepared to teach Muslim children. I had been going through some of the stories in the Old Testament in "The Beginner's Bible" during Language and Literacy class but I have since switched to New Testament stories, emphasizing the importance of Jesus and the fact that He is God's Son. These 5 year old children don't comprehend the theological differences that I am trying to overcome as I try and reveal the truth about Jesus to them, but I figure that maybe something will stick with them and maybe years down the road they will remember something small that they learned in kindergarten about a man named Jesus who loves them. All that I can do right now is be a positive influence for them, doing the best I can to show them the love of Jesus, patiently teaching them English in a way that will make sense to them and letting them simply be what they are...children (even if that involves letting them run around a bit longer than they probably should or playing with something in a way that they probably shouldn't or talking at a time when they are supposed to be quiet).

"The Beginner's Bible" often sits on my wobbly table in the front corner of the classroom as I refer to it before classes. The box of story books from Canada is also located right by my table and some students will often want to leaf through the Bible instead of grabbing a story book. There have been a few times when one of the Muslim children stand at my table and ask me, "What is this?" as they point to pictures of Abraham, David, Jonah and Jesus. Their attention spans are short, especially in their second language, so I have about 10 seconds or less (often only one sentence) to relate whatever story they are currently captivated by to them before they flip the page. I'm pretty sure I ran through Jesus' life in about 30 seconds for Ramadan as his eager eyes quickly scanned the pages of his unknown Saviour. It breaks my heart that these children I love are currently being raised in a different religion, but there is hope since their parents have allowed them to come to a Christian school, to learn the Bible stories from the Christian point of view and sing songs that testify to the greatness of our God. Every time that I wrap my arms around them or give them a big smile or a high five, I hope that the Holy Spirit is doing the exact same through me and that the children can see how important Jesus really is. I will be leaving these children to return to Canada in a few shorts weeks (which is coming far too quickly and pierces my heart every time I think about it), but maybe I will see them again on the other side of eternity. One can only hope and pray. And give lots of hugs and encouragement in the meantime.

Depleting supply of malaria pills

With only 6 weeks left until our tanned bodies board our final flights back to snowy Canada, we are realizing how short this internship really is. It seems like just yesterday that we were climbing onto our first trotro and trying to get our bearings in this town in the Eastern Region. We have done so much, seen so much, cried a few times, laughed often, shouted (for both discipline and joy) and walked over small dirt paths as well as main, capital city roads.

We have come to know all of the children's habits, issues and loves, though I can remember meeting them that first day and coming up with little tricks to keep their names separate. It seems as though the literacy classes have just begun and yet the midterm tests will be conducted next week (which reminds me that I still need to draw that up). We have battled the elements of the African rainy season and we are now surviving the dry season with the aid of multiple bottles of water, whose contents we just sweat out. We have gone without running water for two weeks now and the power likes to flicker on and off and go out for 24 hours periods from time to time. We have scrubbed our clothes with our hands for hours and treated our raw and bleeding fingers after hanging the wet articles to dry. We have drawn water from a well, eaten spicy, Ghanaian food and danced azunto (a type of dance that every Ghanaian knows). We have visited various schools and churches and shops of our literacy women and have stood before both young children and grown women (some twice our age,) to teach them our native language. We have learned the Ghanaian national anthem (the children sing it in assembly every morning) and we have taught them a bit more about our country that is completed foreign to them. They often think when we have been away for a day or two that we went back to Canada, when really we have been traveling around their own country and seeing the different way of living of these welcoming people and what their beautiful country has to offer. We have been completely lost in Twi conversations that constantly take place around us and we have learned that smiling is a universal language. We have carried babies on our backs, carried heavy loads on our heads and carried children who come running to us for a hug, to play, to read or to take pictures with our cameras. We have eaten soup with our fingers and almost entirely neglected our left hands in order to remain culturally correct by using our right hands for everything. We have learned how precious of a commodity the internet is and we have be reminded of how little you actually need to live. We have seen how to enjoy taking our time, especially in preparing food and in paying visits and we have seen the positive and negative aspects of both Western and African culture. We have eaten more fried food than we should for our entire lifetime and we have drunk hot chocolate in plus 40 degree temperatures.

And we have taken so many malaria pills that have made us unafraid of the incredibly itchy mosquito bites that dot our arms, legs and feet. As I swallow a pill each evening with supper, the remaining pills count down how many days we have left, and the amount of malaria pills seems to deplete at an astonishing speed.

There is still so much that we want to see and experience here and we have made a list of all the things that we have yet to accomplish, though we have already seen enough to give our minds thoughts and memories to sort through for eons. We need to focus on what ought to be accomplished for today and worry about tomorrow, tomorrow. We can't sit back today in order to save energy for what is to come. God, in His grace, continues to grant us the strength necessary for each new day, each hour, each lesson, each step, each breath and, beyond a shadow of a doubt, we could not have made it thus far without His power surging through us and urging us on. It is in Him that we can face each challenge and each new situation with determination, patience, wisdom and a smile.

Turtles, Stilts and Heaven's Shores

Last weekend we took the long trip (8.5 hours there, 11 hours back) to  the Western Region of Ghana, incredibly close to the border of the Ivory Coast in the west. We drove and walked down the red dirt roads and paths to Beyin Beach Resort which would be our home base for three days. Picture an episode of "Survivor" with all of the board walks, thatch-roofed huts/cabins and everything made out of bamboo poles. The roar of the Atlantic Ocean was in our ears as we ate, slept, read, journaled and swam and regained our focus and our sanity. Beyin is known as being a safe place for turtles, which can be seen laying their eggs in the soft, sandy beach after nightfall and whose babies are protected as they run from their nests to the crashing waters of the ocean. Apparently the season for viewing turtles at Beyin is between August and March, so we figured that we had a decent chance of spotting one or two. Negatory. Unfortunately. But we did have quite the adventure creeping down to the beach late at night on a turtle hunt.

Nearby to the town of Beyin is Nzulezo, a village built on stilts on the corner of a lake. Home to 600 people, the village is constructed entirely of wood (be careful lighting a match!), has three churches and a primary school. Under the leadership of our guide, Solomon, we climbed into a wooden canoe and paddled out onto a deeply quiet canal. I don't think that I have ever been in such serenity. The peace and stillness of that stretch of water, listening to the melodic sound of the paddles dipping gracefully and easily into the canal and the sight of the jungles, marshes and palm tree forests that we passed through caused some of the stressful thoughts and pent up emotions to evaporate into the silent air.

After about an hour of working out our arm muscles while paddling, we spotted the stilt village and climbed onto the small, wooden dock, welcomed by a young, naked boy and his brother who wanted to shake our hands. That was the most welcoming gesture that we received in Nzulezo. Most of the inhabitants seemed displeased at our presence and we did not receive the same "obruni! obruni!" treatment that we attract everywhere else in Ghana. I can understand the reasoning behind their discontent: here are strangers (white ones at that) who have paid money to come and scope out their homes. I would wager that hundreds of people come everyday to view their living situation, and that village is incredibly small, so it would be impossible to avoid tourists. We were respectful to not take pictures of people without asking, though I was bombarded by a group of young children who all wanted me to take their picture and give my hand a high five that could have been hard enough to break a bone. There is one main "road" (appearing more like a long dock) in Nzulezo and each diversion off of it belongs to one family. The living quarters would be on the right side of the "road" and the cooking area on the left. The school was found at the end of the village where children can attend up until Primary 6. In order to attend Junior or Senior high school, students will have to paddle the hour out down the canal that we had travelled, abandon their canoes in the wetlands and walk the rest of the way to the town and to school. Most of the children of Nzulezo will grow up to remain in the village, just as their ancestors have done for about 600 years! The living situation seems to be quite cyclical and I'm not entirely sure why the children would go to school if they won't even do anything with their education but instead become fishermen, farmers and mothers. But who am I to judge the lifestyle of these people?

We spent a significant amount of time on the beach, soaking up the sun and the waves. I dubbed the place, "Heaven's Shores," for the awesome, picturesque location, the endless beach that faded into a haze, the tall palm trees that reached up to brush the clouds and the waters that spread out farther than the eye could possibly see reminded me of the waters at the threshold of Aslan's Land in "The Voyage of the Dawn Treader". The breath-taking sunsets, the power of the thundering waves and the expanse of sea that continues, unhindered, until the icy shores of Antarctica had a way of bringing my imagination back to life and my heart to swell at the anticipation of what heaven will actually be like. If such a perfect place exists on Earth, how much more speechless will we be when we dwell in heaven's beauty, shining in the golden light of God's presence? It is certainly something that gives us hope and encourages us to press on and do the work, as little Christs in this world, that God has called us to do in Matthew 28.

A few pictures

Petting a living, friendly crocodile at Hans Cottage Botel, near Kakum National Park

The canopy walk through the rainforest in Kakum National Park. It poured with rain as we walked over 40 meters above the forest floor!

Myself (in a Ghanaian dress) and Uncle Earnest at his church near our house. Uncle Earnest teaches the Level 3 literacy class

Our cozy, simple house

Myself, Julia, Paul and Musah at the school. Kennedy, another student, took the picture, hence the finger in the picture...

Circle time in the morning

On top of the lighthouse in James Town, overlooking the fishing village

Blurry, but a sunset walk along the Atlantic Ocean in Elmina

Mardiatu, one of my favourite students :)

Mardiatu helping Julia to write, holding her hand the way that I help to teach them to write

Ghanaian Thanksgiving

This Friday will mark the halfway point in our trip. In discussing it briefly the other day with one of the other girls, it often feels as though we just arrived here in Ghana and we can remember our first days here as though they were only last week. Other times it feels as though we've been here for a year and we know how to get around and how to do things the Ghanaian way.

Having only about 7 weeks left here in Africa brings conflicting emotions. There is so much that still needs to be accomplished here. There are many more conversations that I need to have and people that  I need to help and encourage in some way. There will be, Lord willing, more visits to Vida's shop, one of the ladies in my Level 2 literacy class. One of her daughters, Dorothy, is 18 years old and loves to ask me a gazillion questions about Canada, about who and when I will marry and what I think about this, that and the other thing in Ghana. Although I'm technically there to meet with her mother, I end up spending more time talking with Dorothy. She took me to see her high school on Saturday and I'm pretty sure she really just wanted to show off her obruni friend to all of her classmates. (It's a boarding school, which is why they were there on a Saturday.) One thing about Vida, though, she has such a giving, hospitable spirit! I can never leave from a visit without some small treat as a token of appreciation for visiting her.

I woke up yesterday morning to the morning sun and lush, green trees and plants outside. With all of the rain that's been pouring down lately, everything has turned a deeper, healthier shade of green. There was no cool breeze and no colourful, falling leaves. As I got ready for school, I placed a plastic bag of freshly picked leaves in my bag, as well as a small stack of paper. I found crayons at the school that were already peeled and I leafed through the Beginner's Bible until I found the story of Jesus and the 10 lepers. Standing in front of 20 KG2 children, who cannot sit still and who hit each other for anything and everything and sometimes even just for the fun of it, I told them the story of how only one leper out of 10 came back to Jesus to say thank you to Him for healing them. I love how their eyes light up and get all big and attentive when I tell them a story, especially a Bible story. It's as if they know that it is more important than any other story. After their little brains had grasped a story of Jesus and they remembered that we say "thank you" when someone gives something to us or does something for us, they sat in their little, plastic chairs as I handed out paper, crayons and leaves. When I was a child, my brother, sister, mom and I would go for a walk in the woods every Thanksgiving and chase the falling leaves and take some to our home that was filled with the savory smell of roasting turkey. We would then do leaf rubbings with the leaves that we had brought and use them as place mats for our Thanksgiving dinner. Why not do the same thing with my Ghanaian students?

Auntie Emma came to Asamankese yesterday with a turkey for us. She's such a wonderful, thoughtful woman! As Belinda finished preparing her first Thanksgiving dinner, Emma came to the school with a bag full of lollipops and every child in the school took their chairs outside to sing some worship songs and both the Ghanaian and Canadian national anthems (which they also sing every morning). Then I stood up in front of these small blessings and told them that it was Thanksgiving Day in Canada and why we celebrate it. I think the teachers were more curious to hear about the reason for our celebration than the kids were, for trying to explain immigration and life in the New World to 4-6 year olds is tedious work that requires wise word choices. After the children had boarded the bus with their lollipops in hand, the teachers and workers, all sat down to a Thanksgiving meal of our own - Ghanaian style - complete with turkey, vegetables, jollof rice (basically the best thing known to man) and even cupcakes! It truly was a feast that I was thankful for....though I must say that I missed my mom's stuffing.

Today is a national holiday as the Muslims celebrate the beginning of Ramadan. More on Muslims later.

Rain in the rainforest

It’s been one of those weekends where so much happened that trying to capture it all is nearly impossible without just inviting you to relive it with me. We left Asamankese on Thursday and headed down to Accra. The first Thursday night of every month, Canadians and diplomats from all over Ghana are invited to a soirée to meet other Canadians who happen to be in the same country. We met a wonderful, Christian girl from U of Ottawa and we might even go up north with her for a couple days in November.

Friday we went to Cape Coast which, as I’m sure you can gather, is on the coast of the Atlantic Ocean. We visited the Cape Coast Castle which was used during the slave trade. While on the tour, we walked through the courtyard where human beings were branded with hot irons and where the bodies of those who died were dumped, we stood in dungeons where 150-200 slaves were kept in small, dark rooms, wading through their own filth, for months at a time before finally being sorted, we looked down into the tunnel where they were marched before finally boarding the ships, and we walked through the Door of No Return, which we were lucky enough to return through. It was loaded with history and sober stories and ominous caves where torturous things happened to normal people. Definitely a humbling experience.

We spent the night in a hotel called Rainforest Lodge, which had air conditioning, wifi (albeit slow – never complain about Redeemer’s internet...seriously!) and HOT WATER! To be honest, it felt strange to turn on the tap and have hot water come out of it. It was a welcome change. Saturday morning we went up to Kakum National Park, home of an incredible rainforest, hundreds of different species of animals and plants and trees and even 240 bush elephants! (although we didn’t see any). It was raining lightly as we travelled from our hotel to the park and I prayed that it wouldn’t rain while we were on the canopy walk, which is the big thing to do in Kakum. God decided to make us laugh instead. We set out down the trail, following our guide with a group of 14 other obrunis and two Nigerians (who we had met the previous day at the castle). We hiked up through the steady rain to the start of the canopy walk. For anyone afraid of heights, this would be quite the feat to overcome. We were 40 metres above the forest floor, walking on a thin bridge suspended by ropes between 7 mighty trees. As we swayed back and forth, taking pictures, walking through the tops of trees, and smiling in amazement at the thought of what we were doing, the heavens opened and water POURED down from the sky! We had our bags strung on our backs in waterproof protection, which caused me to let go of all worries and simply laugh at the incredible thing that we were doing. We were all drenched (even the raincoats that the other obrunis had brought along had been useless,) and I didn’t even care. To be in the rainforest, in Ghana, walking incredibly high up in the trees, in the deluge of rainfall, caused me to truly laugh and enjoy every swaying step that I took on that rickety bridge. After we all survived the canopy walk, we took a nature hike through some of the damp rainforest (of course it had stopped raining now,) and it was refreshing to be completely surrounded by God’s dense creation.

Once our outdoor excursion was completed, we travelled back towards Cape Coast and stopped off for lunch at Hans Cottage, a place that we had researched before coming. One small, fun fact about Hans Cottage: they have 40 friendly crocodiles in the large pond on the premises. As we waited for our food (they take forever to bring you your food in restaurants in Ghana,) it became a game to spot as many crocs as we could. In total we saw 9 crocodiles. We finished up our food and went for a walk on the path around the pond. Not two steps down the trail and we stopped dead. There was a real live crocodile laying with its mouth open on the side of the path! The lady who feeds the crocs saw us wanting to go that way, so she came over, said the crocodile (now within a few feet of us,) was sleeping and said it was two cedis to touch it. The mass of strong scales woke up just before I touched it, but it stayed still as I bent down and placed my whole hand on the crocodile’s back. It was hard, but it was softer than I had imagined. I touched its foot and basically petted this dangerous animal. That was not something that I had expected to do when I woke up that morning!

After we left with all of our limbs still intact, we headed to Elmina (where there’s another castle that had been used during the hundreds of years of the slave trade,) and walked down a beautiful, solitary, red dirt road to our hotel, Stumble Inn. We had arrived in a dream paradise. We slept in a hut on the beach, walked among the plentiful palm trees that God had planted, watched the sunset over the Atlantic Ocean, spent the morning swinging in the hammocks, sunbathing on the softest sand in the world and being carried into the shore by the mighty waves as we swam in the ocean. I didn’t want to leave that place, it was so peaceful. It did, however, feel like home to arrive back in Asamankese.

She said no

Every girl dreams of that moment when the man they love drops to one knee, pulls out a little box, says a fancy little speech and asks if she will marry him. I envision something that has to do with a beach and moonlight or something equally as romantic, not in the middle of the market on a rainy Ghanaian Saturday.

We've been here for about a month now and its hard to believe that almost a third of this trip is already over. I don't feel like I've been very influential yet. I don't think I've worked over and above what I'm naturally capable of. It typically takes me a few weeks to get comfortable in a new place, fall into the rhythm of life and find my own groove in the local life. I'm slowly getting over the initial shock of a brand new, totally different culture and I can finally start to see where I could be helpful and where I should spend my time and energy. For those of you who know me, you know that I am not a very socially outgoing person. Small talk, not my forte. Deep conversations or opportunities to listen are met a little more enthusiastically. Here, however, it's very difficult to get to know the people that I'm around at any sort of deep/personal level, I'm finding, especially due to the language barrier. (My Twi vocabulary is incredibly limited.) I typically don't get to listen to people here as everyone wants to know what is different between Canada and Ghana, if everyone in Canada is literate, what we brush our teeth with, etc, etc. Despite the fact that being social in the community and going outside with the sole intention of talking to any random person I meet who motions for me to come over, I decided that it's about time I let God's power flow through my weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9 - favourite verse) and go visiting.

I set out Saturday morning and after sitting with some random people who kept laughing at their inability to speak English and my feeble attempts at greeting in Twi and visiting someone's house so they could show off their new obruni friend to their family, I wound up in Vida's shop. She is one of the ladies in my Level 2 literacy class and she has the most amazing laugh which makes me laugh every time I hear it. She invited me in, gave me a little bag full of goodies as a thank you for visiting and handed me some photo albums to leaf through. It gave me some insight into her life without any word having had to be passed between us. I'm very thankful that I have gone through the long, tedious process of learning a second language because I understand what these ladies are trying to overcome while they take the classes and try to speak with me when I visit and I know to enunciate carefully and speak slowly. I ended up talking with her 18 year old daughter for quite some time as she made banku (made of corn flour and cassava) in a pot over some coals. A young man came by and sat down by us and asked me to marry him. First time that's happened here in Ghana, though apparently it can occur quite frequently. I laughed and turned him down and then tried to explain to Vida's daughter why I wouldn't marry him.

I hope that I can allow the Holy Spirit's power to course through me and my work that I'm doing for Him this week (and really, for the remainder of this internship....slash, my life), because I am incapable of teaching my 20 KG2 students properly without Him, and I cannot interact with my literacy ladies or random people on the street, or the workers at the school without Him, and I cannot have energy to run around with the neighbourhood kids who constantly come by the house to play without Him. I feel like Moses at the burning bush when he told God how unequipped he was for the task that God was asking him to do. God responded by proclaiming His character, promising that He would be with Moses, go ahead of him and give him a favour and a sign that would follow his step of faith and obedience. So as I go out into the streets of Asamankese every day, I know that God will be with me, He goes ahead of me and He speaks through me and through my weaknesses.

Necessary to rewash the feet

The roads in Africa are dirty. (Figure that!) It's been raining quite a bit in the past few days, since we apparently have a month or so of rainy season right now, so the paths behind the house that we use daily, and the roads that we walk to get to school each morning, are squishy with mud. We spent many an hour this past weekend sitting on the green, plastic chairs in the front hallway of our house, peering through the mosquito netting at the pouring rain as our front yard transformed into a river-fed lake. The first day that it began to rain, we ran outside into the falling water and danced around in it, followed by sticking our heads under the water that was pouring from the eaves trough in an attempt to wash our hair (for the record - didn't make it look any better). Being clean here in Ghana is becoming a relative term for me, and I'm realizing that clean drinking water is a precious commodity.

My co-teacher, Margaret, is teaching our KG2 class the four basic needs in life, one of which is clean water. They had to draw the three main sources of water, which were rain water, water from a pipe and water from a well. She showed how they make sure that the drinking water is clean at the school: they drain it through a sponge (which looks stained and appears completely unable of cleaning anything, much less water). The Canadian obrunis, however, are not allowed to swallow even one mouthful of this water. The only water that we can drink is from factory sealed water bottles. Some people drink water out of a little bag, but apparently even that isn't guaranteed to be clean and when I mentioned to Belinda and May (two of our friends here) that I want to try drinking from a bag sometime (seems like an experience to not pass up while in Ghana), my statement was met by an emphatic, "No!" So we get to buy these boxes of 24 bottles of water for 14 cedis (7 dollars) and, in the interest of health, we get to be the rich obrunis who have no immune system. Though, to be honest, the water that came from the pipe in the bathroom the other day (when it detached from the sink and spewed Niagara Falls all over the floor and splashed down into the hallway, causing almost an ankle deep puddle on the entire bathroom floor, as well as the members of the household to thrust bucket after bucket under the open pipe and take turns pouring it outside/in the shower/in the toilet until we could get the pipe reattached) had a yellow hue to it, which didn't make it look overly refreshing.

At this point in my journey, I surprisingly don't miss a whole lot from Canada, besides people. (Though an Oreo cookie might be nice.) However, one thing that I am definitely looking forward to having again upon our return to Canada is a nice, hot shower. Makes me smile just to think about it. Our shower is capable of only two temperatures: cold or frost bite. Some days are so hot that the shower is a welcome relief, and I'm amazed at the body's ability to adapt to temperatures if they are exposed to it long enough;  sometimes I forget that it's frigid water dripping onto my skin. Because the roads are so dusty and we walk everywhere, our feet acquire an outer layer of dirt. Every time that I scrub a bar of soap over my blackened feet, I think of the verse in the Bible where Jesus tells Peter that after bathing it is only necessary to rewash the feet (John 13:10). I had never really understood what Jesus was trying to say in that verse, so I asked a friend to consult a commentary for me. Jesus has already washed away all of our sins through His death on the cross, but our daily walk with Him must constantly be rewashed and cleansed. We do not need to continue to come before Him for the kind of cleansing that comes at salvation, for that is a one time type of bath, but our day to day activities, thoughts, words and motives are always in dire need being touched by the blood of Christ yet once again. My feet take me on many adventures, but at the end of the day, they need to stop moving and be scrubbed under cleansing water. The same is true of our lives.

Smiles and Clean Hands

This was our first full week of doing both the literacy classes and being at the school every day and it’s by God’s grace that I’m not exhausted. I love the children at the school! I love them more each day. On Thursday we accompanied them on the little, yellow school bus for the full route home to see where each of them lived. As I saw their smiles and eager pats on our legs to show us where they lived, as they tried to pronounce my name (I end up as Madam Sharon most of the time) and as a couple of the girls twisted my loose hair in African style, both my heart and face couldn’t erase their smiles. I love when they come running to greet us in the mornings, say their cute, “Good morning, Madam,” and fight to stand next to us to hold our hands during circle time in the morning. I love when I find them looking at me during class and I can give them a smile, or when they come up to show me their work after every other letter so I can praise them and encourage them. These kids are only 5 years old and although getting them to learn the sounds of the alphabet, or simple words or colours is a plus, encouraging them in their work and creativity and helping them to establish who they are, in a Christ-like manner (not lashing out at everyone in a 70 kilometre radius when they don’t get what they want when they want it) is really my primary concern. I love when some of the kids who take a longer time to finish their work want me to stay beside them and watch them as they draw the number three, or have me hold their hand and draw a ball with their hand for them to copy on their own.

Things with teaching the kids is going decently well for all of us. It’s hard to get them all to pay attention and to not hit each other and not talk all the time, but I think some of what I’ve tried to teach them is getting through to them and sticking in their little brains. Their favourite part of the Language and Literacy classes (as well as mine) is when I read them a Bible story (or two) from “The Beginner’s Bible”. I’m impressed by how much they can remember from those stories (though I know that Sunday school also helps with that).

This morning we washed our clothes for the first time. Karen and I sat with Belinda outside with the big wash basins and scrubbed away all the dirt and sweat from the past couple weeks and Steph hung them on the line. Although Belinda says that most people don’t enjoy doing laundry, the novelty of the experience made the early morning chore not seem so bad. We have a long weekend this weekend (since Monday is the day that they celebrate the first president’s birthday – he was kind of a big deal here) and it’s nice to not have anything that we have to do today. We didn’t have to rush through doing the laundry and we could just enjoy chatting without thinking of lesson plans or what papers we have to write or how much we have to get done in the next little bit. We could just enjoy scrubbing away (and getting our hands cleaner than I think they’ve ever been). They say that Ghanaians don’t really have a sense of time and are more free to do whatever, whenever. We’ve been pretty busy here lately and I haven’t had a chance to really feel that yet, but this morning was a bit of a breather. Who knew laundry could be so therapeutic?