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.