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.