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?

Debating becoming a reverse Michael Jackson

We came back from a weekend in Accra this afternoon and met with some friends tonight and we mentioned how we got tanned while at Labadi beach on Friday. One of the guys, Charles, who always asks a gazillion questions about Canada, couldn’t believe that white people want to be darker and will even pay money to make our skin a little more like theirs. They all want to be white. I, personally, am getting a little tired of being white.

We met some wonderful Canadians, with normal accents...and one Québécois accent...at the Canadian Embassy on Thursday and that was really nice to be around people that we could understand without any problem and who we could cross our legs in front of without it being a sign of disrespect. We got letters and advice and just nice conversations while there, so we’re all good to go. It’s nice to have friends in high places. We were even invited to their international night, every first Thursday of the month, when Canadians in Ghana get together to just hang out. Sounds like a party! BYOMS – Bring your own maple syrup.

In addition to spending some time at the Accra Mall (watching the ever hilarious Despicable Me 2, as well as window shopping), climbing to the top of a lighthouse in James Town and looking out over the fishing community and all the fishing boats out in the Atlantic, walking through the shocking community itself and navigating through about half the world’s population on the Accra Central streets, we went to get some R&R on the shores of the Atlantic Ocean at Labadi beach. It was overcast, but still warm, and we changed in profanity-ridden bathroom stalls and quickly made our escape onto the softest sandy beach I’ve ever sunk my toes into. We were given sand-speckled lounge chairs, and we flopped down to just breathe for a moment and watch the powerful, beautiful, big waves on the mighty ocean. Not 30 seconds later, people came up to us asking if we wanted a drink. No thanks. Someone with bracelets. No thanks. Someone with paintings. No thanks. People on horses asking if we wanted a ride. No thanks. Someone with more beads on their arms than the whole bead market. No thanks. Another person with drinks. NO THANK YOU!! Not all white people are made of money. Not all white people come to the beach to buy things. What was supposed to be a nice time to just enjoy being in the water and laying in the gentle ocean breeze, turned into a couple hours of frustration that caused me to want to hide away from all people for about a month. So I walked out into the crashing waves of the ocean and let the salty water splash onto my face and over my sticky body. For a moment, I could forget about everything – all the shock of new cultural experiences, all the pressures and all the staring eyes, and just gaze over the endless expanse of deep water, where there is freedom and only the wild laws of God’s nature. For a moment, the coolness of the liquid wet tumbling over my dirty skin refreshed and exhilarated me. I’m pretty sure the Holy Spirit was in that water and seeped in and out of my skin so I became one with the ancient ocean water. I walked farther and farther from shore and out towards the biggest of the waves as they built upon each other and crashed into my face. And then the whistle of the lifeguard sounded and broke the bliss, calling me back since I’d wandered too far, I suppose.

Today it was back to school and the children and though they never fully listen (at least, not all of them at once), they now know who Adam and Eve are and how to match letters. We had a surprise waiting for us at school last Wednesday. Instead of having assembly and circle time outside at the start of the day, all the kids were ushered into our KG2 classroom to have a measles shot. Comforting 40-some young children as they watched their classmates be stuck with needles (and they aren’t as quick in giving them as they are in Canada), was not an easy task. Thank God I had brought my sheet of stickers with me that day so I could give one to each child as soon as they were done and I wiped their tears. I did, however, enjoy seeing some of the boys’ smiles as I told them how brave they were upon hearing them tell me that they wouldn’t cry.

When you're threatened to be detained...

Steph, Karen and I took a taxi to Immigration Services in Asamankese with Kujo (the literacy class facilitator, supervisor at His Majesty’s and a super handy man to have around) this morning. A couple officers had come to the school last week to inform us that we needed to come to their office to speak about our time here. We sat down before a cameo-clad officer who sat with searching, stern eyes behind a big desk. I would have felt intimidated, but the fact that the soccer (football) game was playing on a fuzzy, little screen to our right on his desk reminded me that all the officers in the room are also only humans. We explained what we’re doing here in Asamankese, but I don’t think they believed us when we said that we are not being paid for what we are doing. They told us that the Canadian government has to send a letter to the Ghanaian immigration office to say what we’re doing, yada yada, and if we don’t provide them with that letter, they will chase us down and we could be detained. Yea...wonderful. I didn’t really plan on coming to Ghana to be put in jail. So we’re going to Accra on Thursday, leaving at 5 am, to visit the Canadian Embassy and hopefully get this all sorted out.

We left with Kujo and came back to our house, where Emma was waiting. What a blessed woman! Things just seem to be so much better when she’s around! It usually takes me awhile to feel comfortable around people, until I really get to know them, but Emma just has an aura around her that is welcoming and strong. We know we’re being taken care of. And prayed for. She’s told us on many an occasion that she’s praying for us, or she’ll just start praying in the middle of a conversation. Can I just say thank you to any one of you who has prayed for us here. I know the power of prayer and I know that these extreme emotions (both of joy at finally being in Africa, holding the hands of little children and helping out a community, as well as the confusion of why I’m here when people at home need/want me there and how to be engaged in what’s happening there as well as here) would be far too overwhelming for me to deal with right now as we’re still settling in and I haven’t really been able to process what’s going on yet.

We had our first meeting for the literacy class for the business women today (the real reason why we’re here). Five women showed up and we mostly just talked and got to know each other a bit. Ideally we’d like to have 20-25 women come, so we’re hoping that more remember/know to come tomorrow. I had a good conversation with Elizabeth (the new teacher for Level 1) and Comfort, one of the ladies who has been trying very hard at the literacy program and who has a heart to tell people about Jesus. She showed me her Twi Bible and mentioned that she’d like an English Bible since the translation is a little off in the Twi Bible and the message is stronger, she said, in English. I’m looking forward to getting to know these ladies better. Elizabeth said she would teach me Twi so that I can actually understand what people are saying in town.

I want to teach math!

What a week! Week one of being at His Majesty’s Christian School is complete and we are now left with the weekend to process what’s just happened, what we’ve learned and what we need to do to start teaching next week. There are definitely some major differences between how Canadians and Ghanaians teach/learn.

Here’s what a typical day looks like at HMCS: First is assembly, where the kids line up in a boys’ line and a girls’ line to pray, sing both the Ghanaian and Canadian national anthems and recite the Ghanaian pledge. Then it’s circle time and we sing songs and figure out our left from right in “You put your right hand in” and learn how to plant in “I’m digging on a farm”, etc, etc. Once inside the school we have our first class. Starting Monday the other Canadian girls and I will be starting to teach our classes. We only have 4 different classes throughout the week in Kindergarten here, and I’ll be teaching language and literacy and creative arts in KG2 (equivalent of Senior Kindergarten). To be honest, I wish I was teaching math (I know, shocker!), but the children didn’t understand a WORD of what was trying to be taught yesterday in math and I kept thinking of gazillions of different ways that I could teach them the same thing that the teacher was trying to get across. Who ever thought I’d want to teach math?!

After first class comes snack and an hour break. Wish our first recess at Knox had been an hour! I’ll often push kids on the two wooden, rickety swings on the tiny jungle gym in the back, man the line of pushing and shoving boys who are waiting for a turn on the Little Tikes bike, or play “Round and round the garden” on the girls’ hands. They love being tickled :)

Then we have another class after break before Belinda comes with lunch. Since we are still getting used to Ghanaian food, Belinda usually cooks something slightly different for the three of us and we sit at our own table in the corner of the room. The kids will often come and exclaim over our meal and ask for something that they didn’t get. We had one very humbling and uncomfortable experience earlier this week: We were given chicken legs one day as part of lunch. For those of you who know me, you know that I’m really not a big fan of meat. I ate most of the chicken on the bone, washed it down with my bottled water and left the small, gross pieces on the ends. As we finished, and while we were still sitting at the table, Belinda came and starting clearing our plates. (That in and of itself is still difficult for me to accept.) By that time a group of about 4 or 5 kids were following her closely and pleading in their small but strong Twi voices. Belinda took our leftover yams and put them in their bowls. I was fine with that since we weren’t going to eat them anyway. But then she took our mostly cleaned chicken bones and also put them in their bowls. The pit still sits in my stomach when I think about that and when I remember them licking them clean. How much do we complain about what food we eat in North America, or about being full and not able to eat another bite, and how much do we just throw away without batting an eye? Seems like a pretty “duh” observation of mine, but it touched me deeply.

After another hour break for lunch, the kids come inside and lay on the mats for nap time – our favourite time! Steph, Karen and I usually use the quiet, down time to journal and just breathe. After nap is a Twi lesson, where I sit and don’t understand a word of what’s going on. Closing prayer in their lines outside and a final marching song as they head to the little, yellow school bus ends the day. Most often the teachers (and occasionally even us) ride on the bus along with the kids. We got to see where some of them live yesterday before we got dropped off at the bottom of our hilly driveway, and they were excited to pat our arms and tell us where they live.

There’s something about being with children all day that is humbling and reshuffles our thinking. Imagination should never die. We should be allowed to colour outside of the lines. Running around and learning how to get along with each other as we go about daily lives is the best education. Excitement about going to school is a privilege.

Akwaaba obruni (Welcome white person) !

I am currently sitting in a simple room in a simple house lined with mosquito netting, after my first day of teaching beautiful obebini (black man) children in Asamankese, Ghana!

What a welcome we have had to this country...to this continent! We were escorted through immigration and customs by soldiers, so we didn’t have to talk to anyone and we had VIP access through a locked door to get out onto the street (which was awesome, but also caused me to miss a friend who was waiting for me at the airport to greet me). Our weekend in Accra, the capital city, was Africa overload. Think of everything typically African...We saw all that (though not the lions and elephants). Palm and banana trees are everywhere, people are super skilled to carry humungous loads on their heads, there are red dirt roads that cause extremely dirty feet, and the marketplaces are super crowded. Something positive has resulted from living in Paris(!) – I’m used to busy, crowded, fast-paced places and crossing roads quickly so as not to get run down by crazy drivers. We attended church with Emma (Mary’s mom and a wonderful lady who is taking care of like everything for us) and Doc (her husband). The service was in Twi, but we each sat with a personal translator, so we understood the majority of what was going on. Hopefully some week I’ll feel at home enough to go up and dance with them as we worship.

The people are incredibly welcoming and hospitable here! Everyone wants to know how we are doing and what our names are. In Ghana, people have day names. Whatever day of the week you were born on there is male and female name for it. Since I was born on a Tuesday, my day name is Abena. That’s easier to tell people when they can’t pronounce Cheryl. However, most people just shout out “obruni!” when we pass by, so I might not respond to anything but obruni when I get back to Canada.

Other common sites in Ghana: goats and chickens are free to roam anywhere and it doesn’t take more than 5 seconds of looking to be able to spot some. Lizards are insanely fast, but are super awesome to see..though they don’t tend to sit still for pictures. Trotros (a big van –like public transportation) are constantly honking down the road, swerving this way and that to avoid pedestrians and potholes. We had been told how bad the road is between Accra and Asamankese; those were no lies. I’m glad we drove up here in a truck because a car would have been eaten whole by the massive potholes!

School started today and though it was absolutely incredible to finally meet these wonderful (albeit crazy) children, naptime was one of the best parts of the day. I love working with children because they remind you of how simple life can really be and I love seeing how excited they get about the littlest things. I taught them “I’m a little teapot” and played “Ring around the garden” with four of the kids during one of our breaks outside. Their laughter, coming up to sit on our laps and taking terrible pictures with my camera warm my heart.  I find it interesting how we can come from Canada without an education degree and start teaching.

There is far too much to tell and so much that we’ve seen and experienced already in these few days that I should probably just write a book and become a best-selling author. I thank you for your prayers! I know that prayer really does keep us afloat because without God’s strength in us, we’d have no strength or endurance to accomplish anything here. I read Colossians 3:23 in my devotion yesterday, which says that we should do all our work as to the Lord and not to men. If I bless even one of these children’s lives during my three months here, it will have been worth it.