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.