MY FIRST WORKSHOP
Two days ago, Nikki from JHR in Canada came to Tamale. She passed by Radio Justice and let me know that she wanted to shadow me for the day. With so much planned the next day, there would be lots for her to see.
So, the next morning I came in around 8:30Am, and the lights were out for the day. That meant that the documents that I had to prepare for my meeting on Friday would have to wait, as they were saved on a computer that could not be turned on. That was cool, roll with the punches. I just did some more planning and organizing for an informal workshop I would be doing with Hassan on "Research Skills". Just after ten Nikki came to Justice, and saw that the lights were out. I then informed her that the story that I was doing with Ramadan would not happen that morning as his phone was off and he was nowhere to be found. Rolling with the punches. We headed over to the internet cafe where I would type out the notes for my workshop at 3PM (or around that time with Hassan).
Nikki then went to lunch, and I met her when I was done. By that time it was nearly 2:30PM. I called Justice and found that Hassan was there, so we headed over to do the workshop. When we got there, Hassan had to leave to go and cover an urgent story about a play that this lady in the lobby was putting on. "Ok...", rolling with the punches. I got word just then that Ramadan was in the office, so we went down to the news department. He was there...fast asleep. I went over and nudged him, and he woke up very groggy. He had taken four tablets, when he was prescibed two, for a toothache that had kept us from beginning the story on the two previous days.
So we sat there listening to Ramadan tell all kinds of stories about pieces he had worked on and the risks and conflicts that he had faced.
I had a meeting with Razak about my presentation that I would be doing at Friday's general meeting. The meeting happened without a hitch!
We then went downstairs and did a few photos for JHR's records (Chris with the reporters shots), when we saw Soldier (the station driver, pull up with Hassan). Ramadan jumped into the car and they were about to go to the internet cafe. Roll with the punches??? Not this time. I talke to Hassan and he reluctantly agreed to go to the cafe later and to do the workshop.
And the workshop itself? It was great. Literally. He had a lot of great questions. The discussion was very enriching. He left excited and booked part two "Telling Your Story" for next week.
I realized that you do have to go with the flow, but in the words of Sister Saphora later that evening (speaking about a completely different subject), "that is Africa, it is a well: the biggest man with the biggest bucket gets the most water". That tends to be the world, but I saw her point.
The action continues today with a general meeting at 3:30PM where I will make two presentations about some upcoming projects, and I do my first formal workshop on Tuesday.
Friday, September 29, 2006
36 HOURS IN KUMASI
There are more posts that I think of writing, then those that actually get written.
The day that my phone got lifted from me in Kumasi was something that I wanted to write about. The evening before, I arrived in Kumasi after my bus showed up three hours late. I used the time in the internet cafe, so that was fine, but I really want to share my suggestions with STC (that's the government bus company) for some improvements. My idea is simple, which is not to book buses to leave at the same time that they are expected to arrive. There should be a few hours for the bus to be checked over, for the engine to rest and as a cushion for delays (which constantly occur).
Anyhow, meeting me at the Kumasi STC station (which I have become fairly familiar with) was Nuri-Haque (aka Bush Doctor...not sure about why he has that name). We were both really happy to see each other. From the station we made our way across the city to his brother's house which is right beside the Ashanti Palace. Like the White House in the US, the Royal Palace in all of it's majesty is surrounded by people living in much harsher conditions. The house of Nuri-Haque's brother (senior brother) is part of a low-rise tenament building on a hill. The front door brings you directly into the living room equipped with three couches, a couple of chairs facing a television and a computer set along the wall to the right. There is a door across the room that is straight ahead of the front entrance, which leads into the second hall of the living quarters. When you enter this door, there is a fairly wide hallway shaped like an 'L'. The hallway is occupied with a large table, a fridge, some cupboards, a coal fire pot, and a bathroom style sink. With all of these items, the hallway is still spacious. The hallway is lined with doors: two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a bathroom.
When I arrived, it was 'lights out' in that area of the city. We sat around talking about the news, Ghanian politics, and the state of the globe. Not long after my arrival, the power was turned back on in the area, and our conversation continued with a background of the GTV (government station) news and the two children in the house (an 8 year old girl and a 12 year old boy) playing Mortal Kombat. The rest of the family is Nuri-Haque's brother's wife and his younger sister (about 22) who is training to be a nurse.
The original plan was to relax at the house for a short time then head over to the house where Jayme stays with a French Diplomat named Christoph. However, after some insistance from the family, I agreed to stay there for the evening and would head over to Jayme and Christoph's place the next night.
After some dinner and relaxing, it was time to sleep. Nuri-Haque and I shared a pretty large bed, but did not sleep for a couple of hours as we were talking about so many thoughts about life: why we struggle, where favour comes from, God's will, remaining thankful, astronomy and the sun...and so on.
In the previous days I had watched - in full - the speeches given at the UN in New York by American President George Bush and Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. In my thoughts was growing divide between the Western Alliance led by the US whose Commander in Cheif has declared that eradicting Islamic Extremists from the planet is the calling of our generation, and the insistance of President Ahmadinejad to resist this agenda. Without getting into an analysis of this situation (which has been on my mind), I felt a deep warmth come over me at the moment that we were sharing. I have rarely developed such a deep connection with someone so quickly, and we both understand eachother and inspire eachother to be our best. From a distance, you could see a Christian-Canadian-of European descent and a Muslim-Northern Ghanian of African descent. If you are to take the geo-political temperature of this very moment, or to do a historical diagnosis of human interaction and conflict and apply it here, we represent such extreme divisions. The reality, though, is at this time in each of our lives, there are very few people who are as close one another and relate as well as we do. That, like Malcom X's (or El Hajj Malik El Shabaz's) Mecca Moment where he saw what he had known as impenetable divisions moving in harmony, is cause for hope. For me, it is by no means a new revelation, just a pleasent reminder.
That next morning, we treked across Kumasi (through the traffic, exhaust fumes and the constant bustle of sellers and hustlers) to the hospital where Nuri-Haque's sister is doing her nursing training. The walk brough back memories of being in Kumasi with Pierette (who I know from Toronto and had just come to Ghana from Kenya on her way back to Canada) and doing our 'see Kumasi in one afternoon' attempt. The hospital was a familiar site as it is the location of the famous Ashanti sword (like the sword in the stone) that is said to have been planted by a mystic who declared it's removal would bring an end to the unity of the Ashanti nation (the Ashanti Kingdom is centred in Kumasi). We were going there to find a physiotherapist to massage my shoulder which was feeling extremely tense (people don't really do massages in Ghana). Upon our arrival we found out that it would not be possible until Tuesday (that was a Friday), at which point I would be in Tamale.
We let that idea go and headed over to the Kumasi Cultural Centre. We walked that beautiful grounds and checked out the library, but it was being renovated and was a mess. Beside the cultural centre is the Kumasi Zoo, so I agreed to Nuri-Haque's idea of going to visit. That was not a pleasent experience. Most of the animals were alone in their cages. Strangely, with three of the four species of monkeys, they reached out their hand to me as if I had something for them after I had made eye contact with them. They didn't do this with any of the other visitors around us, even those that offered them there hands. One of them eventually was disappointed that I did not give him (or her?) my water bottle and turned his (or her) back to me.
The lions were in rough shape too. Any zebra or giraffe in the wild would make these 'kings of the jungle' look like sissies. There was one male and two females in a cage that was really large enough for a couple of monkeys. The male lion showed a bit of life when he repeatedly roared and leaped towards some children that got too close for his comfort.
The rest of the zoo had some snakes in cages the size of a TV box, some birds, a few more monkeys, a couple of turtles (one ocean turtle that was in what looked like a goldfish pond), a pair of crocodiles that had one wall of their cage partially broken, and a number of empty exhibits that were given the same explanation - 'it died'.
The trees at the zoo were also full of bats (hundreds of them), which was kind of freaky. I felt really bad for those animals, and I wanted to go back and give that monkey my water bottle (which I didn't because I didn't want to get in trouble...not like anyone would really care though). As we left the zoo, I turned back and saw a swarm of hundreds of bats swirling in what looked like a black cloud.
With Nuri-Haque having to attend classes that afternoon, we headed towards his school. As we walked I began to feel similar symptoms to what I was feeling before, so I went to a hotel in the area and ate some pasta and relaxed to the Chelsea vs Liverpool match.
That evening, after Nuri-Haque's classes is when my phone got stolen. Everyone at the house was worried, but I encouraged them not to stress it. At that point, I was going to head over to see Jayme and Christpoh who were hosting a small dinner party, and had invited me to stay the night before leaving for Tamale. It was not wasy to leave as I had really gotten along well with the family. I definately plan to go back and visit (we had played some board games and I told them stories about my travels in Ghana that had them laughing).
At that point it was dark and I had to find this place that I only had a street for. The taxi driver seemed unsure, but after some strain I recognized the compound (by God's grace as it identical to the ten that surround it) and went inside.
That evening, we ate lasanga, cake, chocolate and drank red wine with our dinner. The guests were all European (some French, some Germans, and three Canadians - including a Newfie!). It was a memorable experience realizing that this was the most white people that I had been around in a long time! What drew my attention to that was the conversation at the table which kept on taking on the tone of "they do this...they don't have that...have you noticed this" in reference to Ghanians. The range of experience in Ghana at the table was from a couple of weeks to a couple of years. I mostly listened to the conversation, but I wondered what the Ghanian man who played the role of chef/server/househelp thought of the converstaion as he came to and from the balcony that we were eating on.
After dinner, we sat around and tried to figure out various riddles. I am not a fan of riddles, but I gave it a try.
One of them asked: 'A blind man went from city 'a' to city 'b' on a train. On his way back when the train entered the tunnel, he shot himself'. Why?
If you are trying to figure it out, I will warn you that I am writing the answer now...he went to be cured of his blindness, and thought that he had become blind again when he entered the tunnel on the way back, so he shot himself. Who would'a thunk it???
While they continued to talk, I went inside and fell asleep to the sounds of "The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill". I woke up with the guests all gone and Jayme showing me to my room for the night. I slept well and enjoyed a hot shower in the morning (that does not happen often in Ghana...so I stayed in there for about 20 minutes).
Before anyone woke up, I was off in a taxi to the STC station. On the way, we got stopped by the police and teh taxi driver and his car were seized as he had no liscense. Great! The police found me another taxi, and I made it on time for my late and downgraded (from luxury - which is not that luxurious - to basic -which is basic!). Would you believe that the taxi driver that was arrested came up to the new taxi that I was in and requested that I pay him. "For what?", I asked.
And that, was my 36 hours in Kumasi.
There are more posts that I think of writing, then those that actually get written.
The day that my phone got lifted from me in Kumasi was something that I wanted to write about. The evening before, I arrived in Kumasi after my bus showed up three hours late. I used the time in the internet cafe, so that was fine, but I really want to share my suggestions with STC (that's the government bus company) for some improvements. My idea is simple, which is not to book buses to leave at the same time that they are expected to arrive. There should be a few hours for the bus to be checked over, for the engine to rest and as a cushion for delays (which constantly occur).
Anyhow, meeting me at the Kumasi STC station (which I have become fairly familiar with) was Nuri-Haque (aka Bush Doctor...not sure about why he has that name). We were both really happy to see each other. From the station we made our way across the city to his brother's house which is right beside the Ashanti Palace. Like the White House in the US, the Royal Palace in all of it's majesty is surrounded by people living in much harsher conditions. The house of Nuri-Haque's brother (senior brother) is part of a low-rise tenament building on a hill. The front door brings you directly into the living room equipped with three couches, a couple of chairs facing a television and a computer set along the wall to the right. There is a door across the room that is straight ahead of the front entrance, which leads into the second hall of the living quarters. When you enter this door, there is a fairly wide hallway shaped like an 'L'. The hallway is occupied with a large table, a fridge, some cupboards, a coal fire pot, and a bathroom style sink. With all of these items, the hallway is still spacious. The hallway is lined with doors: two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a bathroom.
When I arrived, it was 'lights out' in that area of the city. We sat around talking about the news, Ghanian politics, and the state of the globe. Not long after my arrival, the power was turned back on in the area, and our conversation continued with a background of the GTV (government station) news and the two children in the house (an 8 year old girl and a 12 year old boy) playing Mortal Kombat. The rest of the family is Nuri-Haque's brother's wife and his younger sister (about 22) who is training to be a nurse.
The original plan was to relax at the house for a short time then head over to the house where Jayme stays with a French Diplomat named Christoph. However, after some insistance from the family, I agreed to stay there for the evening and would head over to Jayme and Christoph's place the next night.
After some dinner and relaxing, it was time to sleep. Nuri-Haque and I shared a pretty large bed, but did not sleep for a couple of hours as we were talking about so many thoughts about life: why we struggle, where favour comes from, God's will, remaining thankful, astronomy and the sun...and so on.
In the previous days I had watched - in full - the speeches given at the UN in New York by American President George Bush and Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. In my thoughts was growing divide between the Western Alliance led by the US whose Commander in Cheif has declared that eradicting Islamic Extremists from the planet is the calling of our generation, and the insistance of President Ahmadinejad to resist this agenda. Without getting into an analysis of this situation (which has been on my mind), I felt a deep warmth come over me at the moment that we were sharing. I have rarely developed such a deep connection with someone so quickly, and we both understand eachother and inspire eachother to be our best. From a distance, you could see a Christian-Canadian-of European descent and a Muslim-Northern Ghanian of African descent. If you are to take the geo-political temperature of this very moment, or to do a historical diagnosis of human interaction and conflict and apply it here, we represent such extreme divisions. The reality, though, is at this time in each of our lives, there are very few people who are as close one another and relate as well as we do. That, like Malcom X's (or El Hajj Malik El Shabaz's) Mecca Moment where he saw what he had known as impenetable divisions moving in harmony, is cause for hope. For me, it is by no means a new revelation, just a pleasent reminder.
That next morning, we treked across Kumasi (through the traffic, exhaust fumes and the constant bustle of sellers and hustlers) to the hospital where Nuri-Haque's sister is doing her nursing training. The walk brough back memories of being in Kumasi with Pierette (who I know from Toronto and had just come to Ghana from Kenya on her way back to Canada) and doing our 'see Kumasi in one afternoon' attempt. The hospital was a familiar site as it is the location of the famous Ashanti sword (like the sword in the stone) that is said to have been planted by a mystic who declared it's removal would bring an end to the unity of the Ashanti nation (the Ashanti Kingdom is centred in Kumasi). We were going there to find a physiotherapist to massage my shoulder which was feeling extremely tense (people don't really do massages in Ghana). Upon our arrival we found out that it would not be possible until Tuesday (that was a Friday), at which point I would be in Tamale.
We let that idea go and headed over to the Kumasi Cultural Centre. We walked that beautiful grounds and checked out the library, but it was being renovated and was a mess. Beside the cultural centre is the Kumasi Zoo, so I agreed to Nuri-Haque's idea of going to visit. That was not a pleasent experience. Most of the animals were alone in their cages. Strangely, with three of the four species of monkeys, they reached out their hand to me as if I had something for them after I had made eye contact with them. They didn't do this with any of the other visitors around us, even those that offered them there hands. One of them eventually was disappointed that I did not give him (or her?) my water bottle and turned his (or her) back to me.
The lions were in rough shape too. Any zebra or giraffe in the wild would make these 'kings of the jungle' look like sissies. There was one male and two females in a cage that was really large enough for a couple of monkeys. The male lion showed a bit of life when he repeatedly roared and leaped towards some children that got too close for his comfort.
The rest of the zoo had some snakes in cages the size of a TV box, some birds, a few more monkeys, a couple of turtles (one ocean turtle that was in what looked like a goldfish pond), a pair of crocodiles that had one wall of their cage partially broken, and a number of empty exhibits that were given the same explanation - 'it died'.
The trees at the zoo were also full of bats (hundreds of them), which was kind of freaky. I felt really bad for those animals, and I wanted to go back and give that monkey my water bottle (which I didn't because I didn't want to get in trouble...not like anyone would really care though). As we left the zoo, I turned back and saw a swarm of hundreds of bats swirling in what looked like a black cloud.
With Nuri-Haque having to attend classes that afternoon, we headed towards his school. As we walked I began to feel similar symptoms to what I was feeling before, so I went to a hotel in the area and ate some pasta and relaxed to the Chelsea vs Liverpool match.
That evening, after Nuri-Haque's classes is when my phone got stolen. Everyone at the house was worried, but I encouraged them not to stress it. At that point, I was going to head over to see Jayme and Christpoh who were hosting a small dinner party, and had invited me to stay the night before leaving for Tamale. It was not wasy to leave as I had really gotten along well with the family. I definately plan to go back and visit (we had played some board games and I told them stories about my travels in Ghana that had them laughing).
At that point it was dark and I had to find this place that I only had a street for. The taxi driver seemed unsure, but after some strain I recognized the compound (by God's grace as it identical to the ten that surround it) and went inside.
That evening, we ate lasanga, cake, chocolate and drank red wine with our dinner. The guests were all European (some French, some Germans, and three Canadians - including a Newfie!). It was a memorable experience realizing that this was the most white people that I had been around in a long time! What drew my attention to that was the conversation at the table which kept on taking on the tone of "they do this...they don't have that...have you noticed this" in reference to Ghanians. The range of experience in Ghana at the table was from a couple of weeks to a couple of years. I mostly listened to the conversation, but I wondered what the Ghanian man who played the role of chef/server/househelp thought of the converstaion as he came to and from the balcony that we were eating on.
After dinner, we sat around and tried to figure out various riddles. I am not a fan of riddles, but I gave it a try.
One of them asked: 'A blind man went from city 'a' to city 'b' on a train. On his way back when the train entered the tunnel, he shot himself'. Why?
If you are trying to figure it out, I will warn you that I am writing the answer now...he went to be cured of his blindness, and thought that he had become blind again when he entered the tunnel on the way back, so he shot himself. Who would'a thunk it???
While they continued to talk, I went inside and fell asleep to the sounds of "The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill". I woke up with the guests all gone and Jayme showing me to my room for the night. I slept well and enjoyed a hot shower in the morning (that does not happen often in Ghana...so I stayed in there for about 20 minutes).
Before anyone woke up, I was off in a taxi to the STC station. On the way, we got stopped by the police and teh taxi driver and his car were seized as he had no liscense. Great! The police found me another taxi, and I made it on time for my late and downgraded (from luxury - which is not that luxurious - to basic -which is basic!). Would you believe that the taxi driver that was arrested came up to the new taxi that I was in and requested that I pay him. "For what?", I asked.
And that, was my 36 hours in Kumasi.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
YOU CAN CALL ME
After searching out a few prices, and getting all kinds of documentaion, I have a new phone and the same phone number. The phone itself is a $700 dollar Exclusive Version of a Razor with a DVD downloader and sateltite television...just joking. It is a step up though, it is the Nokia 1110 (one step beyond the last version that I had). It can download ringtones and it has a speaker phone (holler). I have never had a phone that can download ringtones, so I am looking to add some Yolanda Adams and some 50 Cent...joking again, just the 50...ok, ok, really, just the Yolanda Adams, and maybe some Micheal Jackson "Heal The World".
I'm not going to post the number, but if you know my email address, send me a note and I can forward it to you. I always enjoy getting an international call from a familiar voice, so feel free to call, but keep in mind that the that the time difference has us four hours ahead of Toronto.
Due to power outages, the number will be activated tomorrow (Wednesday) - by the time you read this it might be working.
P.S.
I was sad to lose the phone as it was a given to me by a friend, but it has worked out just fine.
After searching out a few prices, and getting all kinds of documentaion, I have a new phone and the same phone number. The phone itself is a $700 dollar Exclusive Version of a Razor with a DVD downloader and sateltite television...just joking. It is a step up though, it is the Nokia 1110 (one step beyond the last version that I had). It can download ringtones and it has a speaker phone (holler). I have never had a phone that can download ringtones, so I am looking to add some Yolanda Adams and some 50 Cent...joking again, just the 50...ok, ok, really, just the Yolanda Adams, and maybe some Micheal Jackson "Heal The World".
I'm not going to post the number, but if you know my email address, send me a note and I can forward it to you. I always enjoy getting an international call from a familiar voice, so feel free to call, but keep in mind that the that the time difference has us four hours ahead of Toronto.
Due to power outages, the number will be activated tomorrow (Wednesday) - by the time you read this it might be working.
P.S.
I was sad to lose the phone as it was a given to me by a friend, but it has worked out just fine.
FEELING GOOD TO BE IN TAMALE
Last night, on the way home from work, the sky looked like four evenings in one. To the east was a soothing sunset. To the north was the threat of heavy rain. To the west was the coming cover of night. To the south was a light blue sky, lightly streaked with clouds. Layata and I went to visit a friend of hers that was not feeling well on the way home from work. We were not the only ones who came, and it turned into a little party emptying his fridge (not emptying, but enjoying).
By the time we headed home, it was dark out. I settled in, ate some dinner and had so much fun with Chelpong and Melimba. I also did some rearranging (moved the mattress to the floor, as the bed frame hurts my back) of my room and some planning for the coming weeks.
Since my last postings, I have felt completely different. I am very happy to be in Tamale. I am enjoying it here, and I am excited about our upcoming projects. The ideas are buzzing in my mind and the staff are excited. I have had a few meetings and I will be presenting the plans on Friday.
There are some interesting challenges though:
1) My computer is mashed!!! Viruses have made a mess of it.
2) My computer speakers are gone. Replaced by some broken ones.
3) We don’t have internet access anymore as our director has some personal beef with the provider.
4) Rotating power outages and no generators means that we have to really adapt and do what we can when the lights go out.
5) There has been pressure by the Regional Director representing the current government to cease reporting on the recent cheiftancy dispute (which saw the chief murdered and his burial delayed by months up until now. It is an issue that led to some serious fighting between factions).
6) Ramadan. I need to eat to recover, but it is very awkward to eat anywhere.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Radio Justice And My First Two Days in Tamale
When I arrived on Saturday afternoon, I got to my room in Mr. Fresh’s house by about 3pm. After the bus broke down twice, the five hour trip turned to eight hours. After emptying out my bag (I was really looking forward to that!) and putting everything in it’s place (including a bin full of laundry!), I decided to lay down.
That was 4pm, and at 7:30am the next day I got out of bed. Do the math and that is a fifteen and a half hour sleep, without dinner. That Sunday, I went to town to get some groceries and check my email. At the internet café it began to pour rain as if the whole sky was a fire hose.
When I got home, I cooked some pasta outside on a chin high charcoal stove. I was not up to fufu, so I had to fend for myself. The rest of the evening was some time thinking about the next move and watching a video cd of Whitney Houston’s best.
“Greatest Love Of All” is such an inspiring song! (Ok, I’m like 18 years late, but I just took in the words): “I decided long ago / to never walk in anyone’s shadow / if I fail / If I succeed / at least I lived as I believed”.
Every day, Chelpong and Melimba and such blessings to me. Sometimes Melimba runs from me, other times she runs at me full speed and hugs my knees. She usually has little twists in her hair, but Layata did a full braid job on her hair and it looks so cute. Chelpong loves to get attention from me, and always climbs on me when ever I am sitting down. She is always eating and is able to show me without words that she wants some of what ever I am eating. If you heard her going around the house singing anything from hymns, to “Happy Birthday”, to Ghanian pop musicians and Celene Dion, you would have to smile.
So after another good sleep, I woke up refreshed and rushed out the house as our sometimish driver ‘Soldier’ was 20 minutes early to pick us up, even though he has not come to the area in more than a week.
When I got to work, I greeted the staff as the came in. When I went to my office, I came across a few discoveries. The first is that the computer speakers were gone and replaced with a pair that do not work (period). Then I turned on the computer and discovered my files were gone. Fortunately they are saved on a pen drive. Unfortunately, that computer is so full of viruses that it always shuts down and the few documents left on it are corrupted. Even if it did work, we don’t have internet access anymore. The Chief Executive of Radio Justice had a disagreement with our service provider which had him cancel the service and he refuses to even speak with him. Internet service providers are not too plentiful up here. The result is that any time of day you can see a solid chunk of Radio Justice staff at the local internet café (which is where I am as I write this).
We are also having random power outages quite frequently across Ghana, which locks off the station when they come. We don’t have a generator.
With all that said, I am buzzing with plans and ideas. Along with the motivation, I also have realistic expectations about how quickly/slowly things get done.
When I arrived on Saturday afternoon, I got to my room in Mr. Fresh’s house by about 3pm. After the bus broke down twice, the five hour trip turned to eight hours. After emptying out my bag (I was really looking forward to that!) and putting everything in it’s place (including a bin full of laundry!), I decided to lay down.
That was 4pm, and at 7:30am the next day I got out of bed. Do the math and that is a fifteen and a half hour sleep, without dinner. That Sunday, I went to town to get some groceries and check my email. At the internet café it began to pour rain as if the whole sky was a fire hose.
When I got home, I cooked some pasta outside on a chin high charcoal stove. I was not up to fufu, so I had to fend for myself. The rest of the evening was some time thinking about the next move and watching a video cd of Whitney Houston’s best.
“Greatest Love Of All” is such an inspiring song! (Ok, I’m like 18 years late, but I just took in the words): “I decided long ago / to never walk in anyone’s shadow / if I fail / If I succeed / at least I lived as I believed”.
Every day, Chelpong and Melimba and such blessings to me. Sometimes Melimba runs from me, other times she runs at me full speed and hugs my knees. She usually has little twists in her hair, but Layata did a full braid job on her hair and it looks so cute. Chelpong loves to get attention from me, and always climbs on me when ever I am sitting down. She is always eating and is able to show me without words that she wants some of what ever I am eating. If you heard her going around the house singing anything from hymns, to “Happy Birthday”, to Ghanian pop musicians and Celene Dion, you would have to smile.
So after another good sleep, I woke up refreshed and rushed out the house as our sometimish driver ‘Soldier’ was 20 minutes early to pick us up, even though he has not come to the area in more than a week.
When I got to work, I greeted the staff as the came in. When I went to my office, I came across a few discoveries. The first is that the computer speakers were gone and replaced with a pair that do not work (period). Then I turned on the computer and discovered my files were gone. Fortunately they are saved on a pen drive. Unfortunately, that computer is so full of viruses that it always shuts down and the few documents left on it are corrupted. Even if it did work, we don’t have internet access anymore. The Chief Executive of Radio Justice had a disagreement with our service provider which had him cancel the service and he refuses to even speak with him. Internet service providers are not too plentiful up here. The result is that any time of day you can see a solid chunk of Radio Justice staff at the local internet café (which is where I am as I write this).
We are also having random power outages quite frequently across Ghana, which locks off the station when they come. We don’t have a generator.
With all that said, I am buzzing with plans and ideas. Along with the motivation, I also have realistic expectations about how quickly/slowly things get done.
RAMADAN BEGINS
Every morning, I wake up twice. The first time is when the prayers commence to leak out of the mosque speakers into the quiet of the morning. The second time is a couple of hours later when the sun breaks over the tower-free horizon. The evenings, like the early mornings, buzz with overlapping audio range of the surrounding mosques; they often sound like mosquitos near my ears, when I sit in comfort of my room. In Tamale, Islam is a part of my life.
In accordance with the Islamic calender (composed of 13 months of 28 days, adding to a total of 364 days - similar to the Mayan calender, and other lunar calenders), and in-line with the precepts of The Holy Qur'an and the Hadith (sayings of the prophet), Muslims around the world will be fasting for the next 30 days. The use of a calender that differs from the Roman one that the West uses, causes Ramadan to fall within different months of our calender (a few years ago it was in December, but it is now in September).
The actual fasting began yesterday, with the new moon, and restricts food and beverages (including water) from dawn to dusk (that is 4:30 am to 6:15pm in Tamale); the exceptions to this are those that are ill, travelling, or pregnant. This fast also includes all sexual activity, and any action, media or form of speech that is not in line with the teachings of Islam.
This is a very relevant fact for me, as most of the people that I work with, and the family I live with are fasting. Actually, Teressa, the 18 year old daughter of Muslim parents is Catholic, so she is not fasting; but most people around me are. One amusing point is how many people have one reason or another for not fasting (including myself, "I am still recovering from getting sick...and I am travelling").
I did fast on the first day though, and I will be fasting one day a week until the Ramadan is complete. Interestingly, when I woke up on Saturday, I had an intution that I should fast. I had no idea that we were approaching the beginning of Ramadan though. I had thought that it would be in November or late October (as I recall it being around December and November in previous years).
Before I left Sakumono, Mama Ackerson also suggested that I fast once a week and really focus in prayer. She suggested that I fast on Sundays as my Ghanian name, Kwesi, means born on Sunday.
It is interesting to note that business approaches have changed slightly for the month as so many people are fasting. So why are there so many Muslims in Northern Ghana?
One interesting thing that I found out was that Ghana is actually the namesake of a Kingdom (the Empire of Ghana) that stretched through present-day Mali, Burkina Faso, and Niger (primarily). During the time that Europe was suffering such catastrophes as the 'black plague' (check the irony), this African empire was thriving and was the world capital of scholarship (ever heard of Timbuktu, one of histories greatest centres for learning...ever!...so maybe it should have been called the white plague...hahaha...not so funny???...sorry, it was a really serious time).
Anyway, the 22 kings held their own for awhile, but then the spread of Islam swept through West Africa, and stretched as far south as the area now known as Northern Ghana.
Interestingly, Dagbani, the local language in Tamale actually has a noticable arabic influence.
This photo is of Larabanga, Ghana's oldest mosque, and can be found 72 miles west of Tamale. It is estimated to have been built in 1421.
For another great photo that I can't copy (or I would have), go to http://www.crawfurd.dk/photos/weekly/2005w33.htm
Every morning, I wake up twice. The first time is when the prayers commence to leak out of the mosque speakers into the quiet of the morning. The second time is a couple of hours later when the sun breaks over the tower-free horizon. The evenings, like the early mornings, buzz with overlapping audio range of the surrounding mosques; they often sound like mosquitos near my ears, when I sit in comfort of my room. In Tamale, Islam is a part of my life.
In accordance with the Islamic calender (composed of 13 months of 28 days, adding to a total of 364 days - similar to the Mayan calender, and other lunar calenders), and in-line with the precepts of The Holy Qur'an and the Hadith (sayings of the prophet), Muslims around the world will be fasting for the next 30 days. The use of a calender that differs from the Roman one that the West uses, causes Ramadan to fall within different months of our calender (a few years ago it was in December, but it is now in September).
The actual fasting began yesterday, with the new moon, and restricts food and beverages (including water) from dawn to dusk (that is 4:30 am to 6:15pm in Tamale); the exceptions to this are those that are ill, travelling, or pregnant. This fast also includes all sexual activity, and any action, media or form of speech that is not in line with the teachings of Islam.
This is a very relevant fact for me, as most of the people that I work with, and the family I live with are fasting. Actually, Teressa, the 18 year old daughter of Muslim parents is Catholic, so she is not fasting; but most people around me are. One amusing point is how many people have one reason or another for not fasting (including myself, "I am still recovering from getting sick...and I am travelling").
I did fast on the first day though, and I will be fasting one day a week until the Ramadan is complete. Interestingly, when I woke up on Saturday, I had an intution that I should fast. I had no idea that we were approaching the beginning of Ramadan though. I had thought that it would be in November or late October (as I recall it being around December and November in previous years).
Before I left Sakumono, Mama Ackerson also suggested that I fast once a week and really focus in prayer. She suggested that I fast on Sundays as my Ghanian name, Kwesi, means born on Sunday.
It is interesting to note that business approaches have changed slightly for the month as so many people are fasting. So why are there so many Muslims in Northern Ghana?
One interesting thing that I found out was that Ghana is actually the namesake of a Kingdom (the Empire of Ghana) that stretched through present-day Mali, Burkina Faso, and Niger (primarily). During the time that Europe was suffering such catastrophes as the 'black plague' (check the irony), this African empire was thriving and was the world capital of scholarship (ever heard of Timbuktu, one of histories greatest centres for learning...ever!...so maybe it should have been called the white plague...hahaha...not so funny???...sorry, it was a really serious time).
Anyway, the 22 kings held their own for awhile, but then the spread of Islam swept through West Africa, and stretched as far south as the area now known as Northern Ghana.
Interestingly, Dagbani, the local language in Tamale actually has a noticable arabic influence.
This photo is of Larabanga, Ghana's oldest mosque, and can be found 72 miles west of Tamale. It is estimated to have been built in 1421.
For another great photo that I can't copy (or I would have), go to http://www.crawfurd.dk/photos/weekly/2005w33.htm
Sunday, September 24, 2006
A Poem I Wrote
It has been said numerous ways throughout time that 'one of the things that stays the same in life is change'. One challenging aspect of life in respect to change can be when people in your life change. On K-OS's new album, he sings the words, "You said you loved me, then you turned and walked away". He sounds saddened by the situation that he is talking about. While I believe that there are some people that won't walk away from you, some people can say they love you and walk away. Things change over time. Iyanla Vanalt, of Oprah fame and "One Day My Soul Just Opened Up" wrote something addressing this subject. She began to say that 'one major pain in relationships is attempting to remove someone from your heart', but then added that, "when you love people according to the season that you are in, you will spend a life time of loving". To me, that means realzing the seasons of life that people are in and moving into, and loving with awareness.
While change can challenge us and even hurt, meeting it with love and trust in the hand of God turns such situations into wisdom and prosperity allowing us to enter into new doors that we did not know exist. These situations also allow us to see deeper into ourselves, our lives, and the effects that our decisions can have on others.
This poem comes from reflecting on relationships that changed, and speaks to how I have come to view such situations.
It has been said numerous ways throughout time that 'one of the things that stays the same in life is change'. One challenging aspect of life in respect to change can be when people in your life change. On K-OS's new album, he sings the words, "You said you loved me, then you turned and walked away". He sounds saddened by the situation that he is talking about. While I believe that there are some people that won't walk away from you, some people can say they love you and walk away. Things change over time. Iyanla Vanalt, of Oprah fame and "One Day My Soul Just Opened Up" wrote something addressing this subject. She began to say that 'one major pain in relationships is attempting to remove someone from your heart', but then added that, "when you love people according to the season that you are in, you will spend a life time of loving". To me, that means realzing the seasons of life that people are in and moving into, and loving with awareness.
While change can challenge us and even hurt, meeting it with love and trust in the hand of God turns such situations into wisdom and prosperity allowing us to enter into new doors that we did not know exist. These situations also allow us to see deeper into ourselves, our lives, and the effects that our decisions can have on others.
This poem comes from reflecting on relationships that changed, and speaks to how I have come to view such situations.
My Prayer For You
May you be blessed in the steps you take,
With praise in every breath you take.
May you be strengthened in God’s peace,
Even if the earth may quake.
And as storms pass by,
Under the feathers of His wing, may you reside.
May you always find shelter in the Most High.
May what you touch come to prosper,
Actualizing all you have to offer,
With peace like a river,
In calm or rough water.
As time passes,
And you look at your face
May you see the image of a woman of faith.
I pray you are protected,
With nothing to hurt you.
May your cup overflow
With blessings and virtue.
Whether a mother, a daughter
A wife, or a sister,
A friend, an intercessor,
May you become the picture
That God painted of you before the earth was formed.
Life can be cold,
But with a life full of love, may your heart be warmed.
These are some words I chose to share with you.
It’s because of who you are, not what you do, that I care for you.
God willing, through life, I’ll always be there for you.
And when you read these words again, know that this is my prayer for you.
BACK IN TAMALE
Just under one month ago, I left Tamale to see a doctor in Accra.
One month later (and after three hospitals, a whole lot of medication, a visit to Cape Coast, Takraodi, Kumasi, some home care in Sakumono, and a lot of time for reflection), I am back.
I left Kumasi on Saturday morning at 7:30AM. Our air conidtioned bus had been downgraded, and part of our money refunded, delaying our departure. Two break-downs on the way, further delayed it. While the bus was without reclining seats and had the holes in them, it was also without loud Nigerian movies; however, sleeping on the bus was difficult. I prefer the noisy movies to the stiff neck trying to sleep. By 3PM, I was in Tamale, and I made my way through the awaiting hustlers and eager taxi drivers (ready to jack up the price) and found my way to the roadside and headed to my room in Mr. Fresh's house.
Along the roadside were so many familiar sights. While I felt happy about the prospect of visiting all of the people that I have not seen since I left, I do not feel very happy about being back in Tamale.
I also feel concerned, because when I was touring Kumasi with Nuri-Haque, I began to feel the same sypmtoms that I thought I had gotten past. I had to go and rest by the afternoon and actually slept for 15 hours (uninterupted...missing dinner) upon my arrival in Tamale.
At this point, I am weighing the options. My thoughts are many and I am taking the time to weigh and sort them.
I like the room that I have and the space I am given to read, write, study, plan, pray, and think. I also want to leave a mark of excellence in the position that I am filling here. So far, I have been hindered in achieving that goal, but I want to work to change that. JHR has been very understanding, but I do not want to ask for more understanding.
The option for a placement in Accra has been brought up and is being searched out. The benefits of that option are that: it will be easier to stay healthy, I have more people around that are looking out for me, and health care is stronger there.
I don't want to give up though. Going back to Canada at this point, feels like it would be giving up. Going back to Accra??? Not sure. JHR still has an obligation to Justice FM, and I don't want to disappoint the staff at the station. My health is a priority, so I am staying positive and being very careful; I am also closely monitoring how I feel attentively.
In life, when things turn out in ways that we do not expect, desire, or plan for (getting ill - repeatedly, stolen phone) it usually signals one of a few things: my attention needs to be drawn to something/away from something, I am doing something that I need to change, or I am going in a direction that I need to change. Disappointments or frustrations always hold a lesson if we look closely...so I am looking closely, looking for the lesson or the guidance in the situation.
One thing I want to add is that I have been thinking a lot about how so many people survive things way more drastic then working in a radio station in Tamale.
This Wednesday, Nikki from JHR in Toronto will be here and we will meet about the options before us. I will post an update. Until then, one step at a time, enjoying the gift of every moment.
Just under one month ago, I left Tamale to see a doctor in Accra.
One month later (and after three hospitals, a whole lot of medication, a visit to Cape Coast, Takraodi, Kumasi, some home care in Sakumono, and a lot of time for reflection), I am back.
I left Kumasi on Saturday morning at 7:30AM. Our air conidtioned bus had been downgraded, and part of our money refunded, delaying our departure. Two break-downs on the way, further delayed it. While the bus was without reclining seats and had the holes in them, it was also without loud Nigerian movies; however, sleeping on the bus was difficult. I prefer the noisy movies to the stiff neck trying to sleep. By 3PM, I was in Tamale, and I made my way through the awaiting hustlers and eager taxi drivers (ready to jack up the price) and found my way to the roadside and headed to my room in Mr. Fresh's house.
Along the roadside were so many familiar sights. While I felt happy about the prospect of visiting all of the people that I have not seen since I left, I do not feel very happy about being back in Tamale.
I also feel concerned, because when I was touring Kumasi with Nuri-Haque, I began to feel the same sypmtoms that I thought I had gotten past. I had to go and rest by the afternoon and actually slept for 15 hours (uninterupted...missing dinner) upon my arrival in Tamale.
At this point, I am weighing the options. My thoughts are many and I am taking the time to weigh and sort them.
I like the room that I have and the space I am given to read, write, study, plan, pray, and think. I also want to leave a mark of excellence in the position that I am filling here. So far, I have been hindered in achieving that goal, but I want to work to change that. JHR has been very understanding, but I do not want to ask for more understanding.
The option for a placement in Accra has been brought up and is being searched out. The benefits of that option are that: it will be easier to stay healthy, I have more people around that are looking out for me, and health care is stronger there.
I don't want to give up though. Going back to Canada at this point, feels like it would be giving up. Going back to Accra??? Not sure. JHR still has an obligation to Justice FM, and I don't want to disappoint the staff at the station. My health is a priority, so I am staying positive and being very careful; I am also closely monitoring how I feel attentively.
In life, when things turn out in ways that we do not expect, desire, or plan for (getting ill - repeatedly, stolen phone) it usually signals one of a few things: my attention needs to be drawn to something/away from something, I am doing something that I need to change, or I am going in a direction that I need to change. Disappointments or frustrations always hold a lesson if we look closely...so I am looking closely, looking for the lesson or the guidance in the situation.
One thing I want to add is that I have been thinking a lot about how so many people survive things way more drastic then working in a radio station in Tamale.
This Wednesday, Nikki from JHR in Toronto will be here and we will meet about the options before us. I will post an update. Until then, one step at a time, enjoying the gift of every moment.
HAVE YOU SEEN MY CELLY?
On my last evening in Kumasi, Nuri-Haque and I were passing through the insanely busy market for the third time that day. We were heading from a taxi, through the busy marketplace, to the steep hillside that leads to his brother's house. On the way, I realized that I did not have my phone on me.
I had used it in the taxi, but after walking for about ten minutes, then searching my pockets numerous times, I realized that it was not there. Knowing that I had placed it in my pocket, I kept thinking back to one crowd that we had stood in waiting to cross the street. Standing there I had a bad feeling, and my intuition brought me to notice a young man that had been standing to my right. With people all around me and very close, that is the only time that it could have happened.
What's strange is that I had thought about writing out my numbers 'just in case' and that a theif would be disappointed that the phone was not more flashy earlier that day.
Since then, I, along with some friends of mine, have tried calling the phone. At first, it was turned off. A couple of people have called a had it ring and ring, with no answer. Even this morning, I called it on Layata's phone, and someone called back then hung up from my phone.
So, if you need to get in contact with me over the next few days, you will have to send an email. If you call and someone answers, find the words that will convict him/her to give it back (it is not like it is a razor or something, it is a baic Nokia!).
I am not worried about it, though I did lose a lot of phone numbers. It made me feel a bit sad because it was given to me by a friend of mine, so it has that sentimental value.
Through the whole situaiton, my main question, was "What is God drawing my attention to / away from?". Still don't have that answer, but I feel it coming!
In terms of a new phone, when I get one I will (God willing...give thanks that I have a friend who works at Areeba's head office), I will have the same number. And if you get a crank call from a 15 digit number, it wasn't me!
If anything, I hope they read some of the encouraging and inspirational text messages sent from various friends in my inbox.
Staying positive.
On my last evening in Kumasi, Nuri-Haque and I were passing through the insanely busy market for the third time that day. We were heading from a taxi, through the busy marketplace, to the steep hillside that leads to his brother's house. On the way, I realized that I did not have my phone on me.
I had used it in the taxi, but after walking for about ten minutes, then searching my pockets numerous times, I realized that it was not there. Knowing that I had placed it in my pocket, I kept thinking back to one crowd that we had stood in waiting to cross the street. Standing there I had a bad feeling, and my intuition brought me to notice a young man that had been standing to my right. With people all around me and very close, that is the only time that it could have happened.
What's strange is that I had thought about writing out my numbers 'just in case' and that a theif would be disappointed that the phone was not more flashy earlier that day.
Since then, I, along with some friends of mine, have tried calling the phone. At first, it was turned off. A couple of people have called a had it ring and ring, with no answer. Even this morning, I called it on Layata's phone, and someone called back then hung up from my phone.
So, if you need to get in contact with me over the next few days, you will have to send an email. If you call and someone answers, find the words that will convict him/her to give it back (it is not like it is a razor or something, it is a baic Nokia!).
I am not worried about it, though I did lose a lot of phone numbers. It made me feel a bit sad because it was given to me by a friend of mine, so it has that sentimental value.
Through the whole situaiton, my main question, was "What is God drawing my attention to / away from?". Still don't have that answer, but I feel it coming!
In terms of a new phone, when I get one I will (God willing...give thanks that I have a friend who works at Areeba's head office), I will have the same number. And if you get a crank call from a 15 digit number, it wasn't me!
If anything, I hope they read some of the encouraging and inspirational text messages sent from various friends in my inbox.
Staying positive.
A FELLOW JHR REP PUBLISHED IN THE TORONTO STAR
http://www.thestar.com/NASApp/cs/ContentServer?pagename=thestar/Layout/Article_Type1&call_pageid=971358637177&c=Article&cid=1158661867461
A marriage proposal from the `keeper of witches'
http://www.thestar.com/NASApp/cs/ContentServer?pagename=thestar/Layout/Article_Type1&call_pageid=971358637177&c=Article&cid=1158661867461
A marriage proposal from the `keeper of witches'
`I think I'll have to turn him down'
Bone-shaking ride to mud-hut village
Bone-shaking ride to mud-hut village
Sep. 21, 2006. 01:00 AM
Tamale, Ghana—The chief of Gambaga wants to marry me.
Not only is he a chief, he's a "keeper of the witches." I wouldn't be considered a witch if I stayed in his house as he's offered. But I'd have to share him with seven other women, whom he also considers his wives.
I think I'll have to turn him down.I took a tro-tro — a communal taxi — to visit him at Gambaga Witch Camp in northern Ghana. The dirt road beyond the village of Wale Wale is especially bumpy because the rainy season's gift fills the potholes, deepening them into craters. Every inch of my body is reverberating, causing my left knee to ache.
As we crawl toward the camp, the butterflies turn from white to black. A girl leans mysteriously against a tree in the middle of a barren field. Boys tending to cows, sticks in their hands, run through the soft, long, bright green savannah grass. Another boy of about 10 wearing a stiff straw hat encourages two remaining cows from his herd to get off the road to avoid the tro-tro.
We finally lurch into Gambaga, and I am suddenly surrounded by children. "Sillaminga!" the children shout when they see my white skin. A few follow me toward the information centre.
"Sillaminga! "Fine! How are you?" I ask. Hello! How are you?" they all chant."Fine, thank you!" they squeal, beaming.
I find Seidu, an elder in Gambaga who is well-respected and close to Chief Gambarana. Seidu was my interpreter the last time I was here. "What did you bring me from Canada?" he asks. "Sorry, nothing. But I do have some money for you." I'd been warned they'd want money. So I give him 60,000 cedis, or about $9.
I climb on the back of his motorbike and he drives me to the witch camp, which looks like the rest of Gambaga, a collection of mud huts with grass roofs and concrete floors. The chief is sitting and Seidu bows. I do the same, and am offered a plastic chair but say no thanks and settle down on the floor. "You are an African!" the chief says to Seidu in Dagbani, the local language. I give the chief a present of 40,000 cedis and Seidu explains that I'm here to make a film on the camp.
"What's your agenda?" the chief wants to know.
"To show Ghana and the rest of the world that regardless of the fact that a woman is accused of being a witch, she is still a human being and shouldn't be discriminated against," I say. "That this camp is here to protect the women from being stoned or beaten to death or lynched in the streets. I want to follow a woman back home after spending time in the camp and I'd like to film the initiation ceremony."
Seidu interprets and the chief nods and then speaks. Seidu laughs."He wants to know if you're married. He likes your speeches." "No, I'm not married."Seidu tells me the chief wants to put a ring on my finger. I laugh and then wait for the chief's response to the film. Gambarana nods again, telling Seidu I have permission to shoot at the camp. I'm happy. A weight has been lifted.
He starts talking about how a pastor in Gambaga has seized the truck that belongs to the camp. It is used for the Go Home project — to take the women back to their communities after they are accepted by their families and considered Satan-free.
"He's taken it for himself and we can't ask for it back."
"Why?" I ask.
"Because he's the pastor. He's driving it around, so we have to transfer the women's belongings on a donkey cart. He's had our truck for nine months.
"I tell them I'll do a story on this for my radio station and Seidu and I leave in search of the pastor."Where's the pastor?" Seidu asks a neighbour.
"He's out with the truck."
"Doing what?" Seidu asks, telling the man the camp needs it because it was donated by an American for the Go Home Project.
"Well, he's doing an evaluation of the project," he replies.
"Evaluating what?" Seidu and I say in unison. The man laughs. "Well, tell the pastor that if the chief doesn't get his truck by Sunday, none of the witches will go to church anymore," I say.
"What?"
"Yes. That's what the chief said." (And it was true.)
"What is your agenda?" the man asks. "I don't have an agenda," I say. "I just came to visit the camp. I'm from Diamond FM and I'm doing a story about the Go Home Project. "
The neighbour, obviously disturbed, says he will pass along the message.
Back at the tro-tro station Seidu and I order groundnut soup and rice balls. Then I hug Seidu goodbye and tell him I'll wait for his call. "Safe journey," he says.
Damn. It's the same old tro-tro. Three more hours of aches and pains.
Janey Llewellin is a Canadian who hosts a human rights show on Diamond FM Radio in Tamale, and is working on a TV documentary on the plight of women in Ghana
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
THE PRESIDENTIAL UN ADDRESS
When you listen to the speeches of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., something stirs inside. I have been in attendance at speeches by Nelson Mandela, Fidel Castro, Maya Angelou, and Spike Lee. When they spoke, and shared the understanding that life has placed in their beings, you feel the warmth, the cleansing, and the inspiration of truth. They are not perfect, as they are people. Yet, even with their flaws, it is as if there are moments - glory to God - that their willingness to be vessels of love, light and God's glory, and their seeking of a better life for people, opens up something bigger than any one person; a potent globe changing potential that resides in us all.
I listened to the speech that the President of the United States of America, George Bush gave to the United Nations General Assembly. I listened to what he had to say and I watched his face, his eyes, and his expressions. I could not only hear, but I could also feel his tones.
As I did this, I began to wonder some things and the words came to my heart.
Who is inspired by your words?
Who believes the lies that you tell?
Who can not see the shadow of deception in your eyes?
I did not feel inspired by what he was saying.
I really care about what is going on in the world. It was beyond my understanding that a few years ago, when the conflict in the Sudan began to consume lives like vacum of death, that I could not find any news reports or details on the net. They talk and talk, but innocent people are dying everyday there; no legality takes precedence over that.
I think about the amount of people that are exposed to malaria everyday.
It rocked my sensibility when young woman named Tanya told me of the way that AIDS has effected the prospects and hope in life for young girls in Swaziland.
The fact that apartheid in South Africa was designed from the Canadian reserve system, which is still effective in the horrendous objective that it is was established for disturbs me.
I really do care about the state of the globe. The prospect of having a successful career in the beautiful country of Canada (which I can easily go to, while millions who would love to go there, find the passage to be near impossible), does not comfort me enough to ignore what is going on. If it is happening to people, it is happening to me.
With that said, if one of the most powerful empires in human history was committed, from the head on down, to the challenge facing our generation, I would be celebrating and prepared to give everything that I am and all that I can be to that cause. The task of our generation is ensuring that everyone is feed, that disease is reduced to near nothing. That debt is wiped out. That technology makes life easier and better for all people. That sweat shop labour (modern day enslavement) is wiped out. That we halt and reverse the damage being done to the earth, and curb the momentum of extinction of various lifeforms. These are the challenges facing our generation.
As I watched his speech, I began to grow sleepy from the tasks of the day. I don't recall if I heard his closing words, but as I began to drift I started to imagine that what he was saying was really true. My mind was pretending that he really wanted to face that challenge, and rally the nations of the globe towards that goal. It was an exciting feeling.
When I woke up, the words that were in my heart returned:
Who is inspired by your words?
Who believe the lies that you tell?
Who can not see the shadows of deception in your eyes?
When you listen to the speeches of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., something stirs inside. I have been in attendance at speeches by Nelson Mandela, Fidel Castro, Maya Angelou, and Spike Lee. When they spoke, and shared the understanding that life has placed in their beings, you feel the warmth, the cleansing, and the inspiration of truth. They are not perfect, as they are people. Yet, even with their flaws, it is as if there are moments - glory to God - that their willingness to be vessels of love, light and God's glory, and their seeking of a better life for people, opens up something bigger than any one person; a potent globe changing potential that resides in us all.
I listened to the speech that the President of the United States of America, George Bush gave to the United Nations General Assembly. I listened to what he had to say and I watched his face, his eyes, and his expressions. I could not only hear, but I could also feel his tones.
As I did this, I began to wonder some things and the words came to my heart.
Who is inspired by your words?
Who believes the lies that you tell?
Who can not see the shadow of deception in your eyes?
I did not feel inspired by what he was saying.
I really care about what is going on in the world. It was beyond my understanding that a few years ago, when the conflict in the Sudan began to consume lives like vacum of death, that I could not find any news reports or details on the net. They talk and talk, but innocent people are dying everyday there; no legality takes precedence over that.
I think about the amount of people that are exposed to malaria everyday.
It rocked my sensibility when young woman named Tanya told me of the way that AIDS has effected the prospects and hope in life for young girls in Swaziland.
The fact that apartheid in South Africa was designed from the Canadian reserve system, which is still effective in the horrendous objective that it is was established for disturbs me.
I really do care about the state of the globe. The prospect of having a successful career in the beautiful country of Canada (which I can easily go to, while millions who would love to go there, find the passage to be near impossible), does not comfort me enough to ignore what is going on. If it is happening to people, it is happening to me.
With that said, if one of the most powerful empires in human history was committed, from the head on down, to the challenge facing our generation, I would be celebrating and prepared to give everything that I am and all that I can be to that cause. The task of our generation is ensuring that everyone is feed, that disease is reduced to near nothing. That debt is wiped out. That technology makes life easier and better for all people. That sweat shop labour (modern day enslavement) is wiped out. That we halt and reverse the damage being done to the earth, and curb the momentum of extinction of various lifeforms. These are the challenges facing our generation.
As I watched his speech, I began to grow sleepy from the tasks of the day. I don't recall if I heard his closing words, but as I began to drift I started to imagine that what he was saying was really true. My mind was pretending that he really wanted to face that challenge, and rally the nations of the globe towards that goal. It was an exciting feeling.
When I woke up, the words that were in my heart returned:
Who is inspired by your words?
Who believe the lies that you tell?
Who can not see the shadows of deception in your eyes?
I CAN WATCH RHEMA TV!
I was so happy to discover that there is an internet cafe that allows me to watch Rhema TV at www.rhemaonline.ca. Those services are one of the elements that I miss in Toronto. This evening, I watched the September 9th broadcast, with the message "The Year of Jubilee". Sitting in this internet cafe, I could feel the annointing.
I had to just go outside and praise God. Regardless of anything that is said, or done, God reigns in this universe. Keep your eyes, your mind, your heart, and your spirit focused on this truth at all times.
I have been blessed in such an abundance. There is so much more that I saw in praise, but I believe you will see what you need to see.
You can watch it at http://www.rhemaonline.ca/tv.asp
I was so happy to discover that there is an internet cafe that allows me to watch Rhema TV at www.rhemaonline.ca. Those services are one of the elements that I miss in Toronto. This evening, I watched the September 9th broadcast, with the message "The Year of Jubilee". Sitting in this internet cafe, I could feel the annointing.
I had to just go outside and praise God. Regardless of anything that is said, or done, God reigns in this universe. Keep your eyes, your mind, your heart, and your spirit focused on this truth at all times.
I have been blessed in such an abundance. There is so much more that I saw in praise, but I believe you will see what you need to see.
You can watch it at http://www.rhemaonline.ca/tv.asp
BY GOD'S HUGELY ABUNDANT, MAGNIFICENTLY INCOMPREHENSIBLE, YET, EVER-PRESENT GRACE
After a few emails, phone calls and text messages, I realize that people were more worried than I thought they would be. I wrote about the experience just to share with everyone what I was exposed to.
In all honestly, I am feeling much better (though I could REALLY use a shoulder massage). The latest issue was an infection in two veins in my arm, but the swelling and brusing are nearly gone. After seeing a doctor today, he gave me the go-ahead to travel back to Tamale.
Upon leaving the hospital, we headed to the STC Station where I picked up my bus ticket for Thursday morning to Kumasi. After that purchase, we headed to Areeba (the cell phone network) and paid a visit to Emmanuel. We ate lunch in their cafeteria and I was given a tour of the floor that he works on. I really enjoyed meeting everyone. We then went to pick up Micheal from school, and I fell asleep after watching George Bush address the General Assembly at the United Nations Headquarters in New York City.
After a month in Accra, I am feeling excited about going back to the north. Life is slower up there, and I will enjoy having more time to think and to write. I have a lot that I want to write. I have also been getting check-up calls from Razak, Ramadan, Layata, Masumi, Mr. Fresh, Sister Saphora and Jenifer. It will be nice to see them all, to be back in my room, and to be in amidst a different set of scenery.
I know that I will miss Accra though. Being with the Ackerson's has been amazing. Yesterday, Mama Ackerson was having some pain in her arms and I felt so bad, I wanted to get something to make her feel better, and at the adivce of Micheal, I bought her some tropical punch. It wasn't medicine, but she could feel the love. Irene and I have really bonded too; she is like the little sister that I never had. She loves to make fun of me and has a new nick-name for me every couple of days: Chris Brown, Mr. Brown, Monster (because of her two year old cousin crying when he sees me), Old Man (because I have been taking so much medication and going to the doctor so often), Sleeping Handsome (instead of sleeping beauty for the amount of rest I have been getting). As much as she makes fun of me, I always find a way to turn her mocking back to her. Just yesterday, she was in a really bad mood and did not want to talk to everyone, but after awhile (and my lip sinking of Kirk Franklin's "Lean on Me"), I got her smiling and joining me on back-up vocals.
I have also got to see how intelligent Kwaku is. My first impression of him was that he drives insanely fast and brakes a little too late for comfort, and that I did not know what he was saying. As I got to understand what he is saying, and as he began to get what I was saying, we had a lot more conversations. He tutors Micheal, he has a nice girlfriend at the University of Ghana that he intends to marry (God bless them!!!), and he knows Accra inside out. I have also got used to his driving too (it's funny, because some people think that I drive kind of crazy...believe me, my boldest driving does not compare).
Adowa and Idressa arriving also is a reason that I would like to spend more time in Accra. Adowa brought me some peppermint tea (two boxes) so that establishes a lot from the beginning. They both seem like really interesting people and I really enjoyed spending time with them when we met up a few days ago.
It may seem late, but my friend Nana from Toronto has sent me a few contacts of friends and her Dad (who lives here), and they all want to meet up. I don't know how I am going to see everyone before I leave Accra.
Oh, I am also meeting with TJ tomorrow about doing some work with the record label that he works with. I will see what becomes of that.
All of that said, I will be leaving on Thursday morning to stop in Kumasi. I will stay there for two days on my way back to Tamale. The purpose of the stop is to see Nuri-Haque and Jayme. Nuri-Haque is my brother! I really miss him, and just talking and chilling. Even though I have known him for a short time, I really value his friendship. It will be nice to see him. I will also visit Jayme, who is placed in Kumasi for JHR. She had been going through a bit of a hard time lately, so I want to see her and just cheer her up. I think she is doing better now, but I still want to make sure.
When I go back to Tamale, I will also be meeting with Masumi (the Japanese woman that I met who is working on bringing Ghanian shea butter to Japan).
One thing that is unrelated, but I have to add is that the little two year old, Sammy, who was scared of me, has had a turn around. I saw him on the street with his Mother. When he saw me, he was a little shy at first, but then he gave me a warm smile and a wave as he said, "hi". That was a major breakthrough from his crying and hiding. That really blessed my heart.
Well, take care of yourselves, and now that - by God's hugely abundant, magnificently incomprehensible, yet ever-present grace - I am doing the same (and I have many others also doing such).
After a few emails, phone calls and text messages, I realize that people were more worried than I thought they would be. I wrote about the experience just to share with everyone what I was exposed to.
In all honestly, I am feeling much better (though I could REALLY use a shoulder massage). The latest issue was an infection in two veins in my arm, but the swelling and brusing are nearly gone. After seeing a doctor today, he gave me the go-ahead to travel back to Tamale.
Upon leaving the hospital, we headed to the STC Station where I picked up my bus ticket for Thursday morning to Kumasi. After that purchase, we headed to Areeba (the cell phone network) and paid a visit to Emmanuel. We ate lunch in their cafeteria and I was given a tour of the floor that he works on. I really enjoyed meeting everyone. We then went to pick up Micheal from school, and I fell asleep after watching George Bush address the General Assembly at the United Nations Headquarters in New York City.
After a month in Accra, I am feeling excited about going back to the north. Life is slower up there, and I will enjoy having more time to think and to write. I have a lot that I want to write. I have also been getting check-up calls from Razak, Ramadan, Layata, Masumi, Mr. Fresh, Sister Saphora and Jenifer. It will be nice to see them all, to be back in my room, and to be in amidst a different set of scenery.
I know that I will miss Accra though. Being with the Ackerson's has been amazing. Yesterday, Mama Ackerson was having some pain in her arms and I felt so bad, I wanted to get something to make her feel better, and at the adivce of Micheal, I bought her some tropical punch. It wasn't medicine, but she could feel the love. Irene and I have really bonded too; she is like the little sister that I never had. She loves to make fun of me and has a new nick-name for me every couple of days: Chris Brown, Mr. Brown, Monster (because of her two year old cousin crying when he sees me), Old Man (because I have been taking so much medication and going to the doctor so often), Sleeping Handsome (instead of sleeping beauty for the amount of rest I have been getting). As much as she makes fun of me, I always find a way to turn her mocking back to her. Just yesterday, she was in a really bad mood and did not want to talk to everyone, but after awhile (and my lip sinking of Kirk Franklin's "Lean on Me"), I got her smiling and joining me on back-up vocals.
I have also got to see how intelligent Kwaku is. My first impression of him was that he drives insanely fast and brakes a little too late for comfort, and that I did not know what he was saying. As I got to understand what he is saying, and as he began to get what I was saying, we had a lot more conversations. He tutors Micheal, he has a nice girlfriend at the University of Ghana that he intends to marry (God bless them!!!), and he knows Accra inside out. I have also got used to his driving too (it's funny, because some people think that I drive kind of crazy...believe me, my boldest driving does not compare).
Adowa and Idressa arriving also is a reason that I would like to spend more time in Accra. Adowa brought me some peppermint tea (two boxes) so that establishes a lot from the beginning. They both seem like really interesting people and I really enjoyed spending time with them when we met up a few days ago.
It may seem late, but my friend Nana from Toronto has sent me a few contacts of friends and her Dad (who lives here), and they all want to meet up. I don't know how I am going to see everyone before I leave Accra.
Oh, I am also meeting with TJ tomorrow about doing some work with the record label that he works with. I will see what becomes of that.
All of that said, I will be leaving on Thursday morning to stop in Kumasi. I will stay there for two days on my way back to Tamale. The purpose of the stop is to see Nuri-Haque and Jayme. Nuri-Haque is my brother! I really miss him, and just talking and chilling. Even though I have known him for a short time, I really value his friendship. It will be nice to see him. I will also visit Jayme, who is placed in Kumasi for JHR. She had been going through a bit of a hard time lately, so I want to see her and just cheer her up. I think she is doing better now, but I still want to make sure.
When I go back to Tamale, I will also be meeting with Masumi (the Japanese woman that I met who is working on bringing Ghanian shea butter to Japan).
One thing that is unrelated, but I have to add is that the little two year old, Sammy, who was scared of me, has had a turn around. I saw him on the street with his Mother. When he saw me, he was a little shy at first, but then he gave me a warm smile and a wave as he said, "hi". That was a major breakthrough from his crying and hiding. That really blessed my heart.
Well, take care of yourselves, and now that - by God's hugely abundant, magnificently incomprehensible, yet ever-present grace - I am doing the same (and I have many others also doing such).
Monday, September 18, 2006
A LETTER THAT I PROMISED TO WRITE A FRIEND
Kamau,
The last time we spoke, I was in a dorm at Cape Coast University and you were in Buxton, Ontario with Gordon, Chinedu and Prince. While I was glad to be in Ghana, I would have intended to be in Buxton if I was in Canada. I understand that there was a lot of rain that weekend, but how was it? For me, when ever labour day comes around I think of being there.
After we spoke, my plan at that point was to head from Cape Coast to Kumasi, see two friends, than got back to where I have been living and staying in Tamale.
While I was feeling better that day, by the next evening my condition turned and I was admitted into the local hospital. That was quite an ordeal, but after two days I did all that I could to be out of there. Still not feeling well, I decided to go back to Accra and stay with Melezia’s family. They have been amazing to me. Under their care, which has been so thorough, I recovered quite well. The only problem is an infection in my veins from the intravenous. It was a bit sore, but I’m taking some antibiotics which seem to be helping. Hopefully, I will be back in Tamale by the weekend. What was supposed to be a week to see the doctor and get some things done in Accra has now become almost a month.
Anyway, the purpose of this email is to give you an update. I said I would so here it is.
My first thought is why I came to Ghana. I don’t think I told you that. I was not actually looking to leave the city. I have a lot there that I love (family, friends, the rec centre, my church). I applied for this position with Journalists for Human Rights, but I did not expect to get it. When I received the call in May telling me that I had gotten the position, I had three days to decide. I really didn’t know if I would go. I talked with a few people that were laid on my heart to see what their advice would be. Everyone that I spoke to insisted that I go.
As for my own thoughts and feelings, a part of me did not want to do it, but when I thought about staying, the feeling in my heart was terrible. It was like I would be throwing away a blessing that I would have to wait for to come again in another form, but it would be even harder when it returned. So, I accepted the position.
Getting here was not that easy though, as I had to cover a lot of costs ($2000 of a $3000 plane ticket, vaccinations, visa, passport, medication, and some other expenses). I prayed about it, sent out some proposals, and all that I needed came through on time. When I say on time, I mean the very last moment. I actually had a going-away bbq not knowing if I would be going. I knew that it would be embarrassing to have to keep explaining to everyone that saw me asking, “I thought you were going to Ghana?”. That was a thought, but perspective rushed in and showed me that, ‘I would rather deal with that embarrassment, then be somewhere that God did ordain me to be, and if He ordained me to be there, I would be there”. I realized that it was not ‘if God can’, I knew that He could, it was ‘if He would’. Turns out, He did.
As the year 2005 came to an end, Melezia and I met up in the York library and we went through a goal setting/personal assessment exercise. The exercise was something that I thought up, which consisted of writing down a number of things: what my priorities are right now (which is reflected in day-to-day decisions), what my priorities should be (which I found was greatly different than what they should be), and how to change them from what they are to what they should be. This then led into a goal setting section which consisted of goals in various areas: daily habits/activities, career goals, personal development, etc. By doing that, I realized something: I am a man by gender, yet I had not stepped into the actualization of my manhood. Facing that was critical. In the beginning weeks of January I attempted to implement changes, but I just kept doing the same things. At that point, I just committed it to God and that was when I started to notice changes. Things in me that I thought were ‘just how I was’ began to shift. Although I was progressing, I was still stuck in a busy cycle consuming all of my thoughts, emotions, prayers, and energy. This cycle consisted of what I had to do, what I wanted to do, what others wanted / needed from me and for me, what I thought I had to do / become, and all of this was in the shadow of a mountain of uncertainty of what I really should be doing with my life.
I saw myself stepping into the next level of my life: from dependence to independence; from doing things I could do, to doing what I was designed to do. While I saw myself stepping there in a visionary sense, I could not see the steps to take. During that time of searching out my priorities and goals, I recall having the thought that answers to key questions about my future were in Africa…while I had made a visit to Senegal in 2001, I had no plans at that point to travel to the continent. It was a sense that I could not make certain major decisions with certainty until I saw something, life and people, in Africa. Consider that this thought and feeling was months before I got the offer for the position.
So coming here has been a process of exiting one realm and stepping into the next.
I have faced a lot, experienced a lot, and I have been filled with treasures, yet I feel that the capacity I have within, and what I need before I return, is much greater than what has been completed so far. If I was to share everything that I have seen and come to realize, I could pull a Fidel (eleven hour speech one day, and continue with ten hours the next day). But there is a great deal more; I have so much more room inside to be filled.
I feel that I am facing magnificently large questions and being led through pathways of understanding.
Loyalty, and the value of loyalty – it is precious. I want to be nothing but loyal, but loyal to the right things, the right people, the right places, the right ideas, and all at the right time.
Righteousness in every decision and moment. I realize that there is no excuse for anything else. Righteousness is not always attained by us, but less than that standard is not acceptable. Why would it be? Why make a mistake and decide that you want to keep making that mistake. Righteousness is doing what you do the best way that it can be done – the best way brings life and not death, harmony, not destruction. It is a process that takes commitment and yields great fruit.
I am also seeing a sifting of priorities: considering that people are hungry, facing warfare, and disease unnecessarily, what really matters? Considering that you are here for a time, then gone, what really matters? This is not esoteric thinking, but these are some very practical and basic realities.
These explorations, among others, are critical to the birthing of the next level of life, and entering that next realm. The answer to what I will do with the time that I have, where I will work, the business I will start, what I will write, what I will say, who I will live with, where I will live, who I will love and be committed to are all impacted by the discoveries in this search: where should my loyalties be given? What needs to change in my mind, heart and being to live righteously? I can’t do everything, so what I do needs to be in line with the true priorities in life.
I have enjoyed the ocean.
I have listened to so many people and heard what they think.
I have realized that, even if I do not speak the language and my skin makes me stand out and I am in a place that I have never been before, that with God’s peace in me, I am not a stranger, but at home.
I have noticed that communication is more than just language. It is the understood meaning of words and their relevance to who you are speaking to. Tones and body language mean a lot, but they do not mean the same thing to everyone. I was surrounded by mature, intelligent people that all spoke English, but I could not really express what I felt and was seeing. I would see something that was so amazing to me, and had such deep meaning, but would often be ‘lost in translation’. This caused me to reflect more, and to keep what I wanted to share contained with in me. While doing this, I had to reduce the ideas and words and feelings into packages that could be received; I have come to see a lot about what is universal and what is particular to certain circles and people – yet even further, what of those particular elements of life is distinct in the details, but universal in essence.
Just this week, with the infection in my veins (and all of the worries that ran through my head with that), the frustration of yet another visit to the hospital, not being able to do the work of the JHR position, and a handful of personal situations (some challenges facing my family at home that had me wanting to be with them to offer support, and a surprising and deep disappointment from someone that I really gave a lot to), I really wanted to talk with someone. I also just felt (though it sounds kind’a soft), I just wanted a hug from someone I that I really know and really knows me. There was no one here, no one around that could fulfill those desires. I was stretched though, because as much as I wanted a hug and someone that I could just speak with as I speak and it be understood, I was not alone. God’s peace was with me, and everywhere I looked there was confirmation that I could not let these things get me down and feeling disempowered.
So, my perspective is being challenged and shaped daily, I am being strengthened, and given focus.
I was listening to the new k-os album “Atlantis” (I am actually interviewing him by phone in 45 minutes), and he said, “the mind is a terrible thing to waste, even worse is the great void of infinite space / that extends beyond time, beyond all math / your watch can only measure the second that just passed”. This is relevant to our future and to what’s next. We really don’t know what is ahead for us, and what is in store for us. Coming to Ghana, I did not know all of what I would be seeing as I could not know what I have not yet come to know. I knew that it was His guidance though.
On that note, I actually had a dream recently where I was preaching and I was describing how the choices that we make and the paths that we take are often governed by the things that we want and are seeking. I was saying that we need to close our eyes to all of those things, and our full trust in God, in His guidance unconditionally (which means I am not seeking Him and trusting Him because of what I hope that He will do for me, but because of who He is). I added that you will be surprised by what you find on that path that is ‘all trust’ and free of expectation, but you don’t know in advance what it will be. I closed my eyes as I was saying this, and as I opened my eyes and looked down that path of trust, I was surprised by what I saw, which was the actualization of all that He designed me for, and designed for me. In the same breath, it’s really not all about me. So often, we go after our own imaginations, but what He has for us is beyond our imagination. I can’t describe what it is, because it is beyond my imagination. Sufficient to say, that it is all based on what really matters in life.
With all of that said, I am looking to finish the eight months in Ghana. The idea of coming home early due to health issues is one that I was open to, but I don’t feel good about it. It’s not that I don’t miss people at home (I do), it’s that I don’t feel like I would come back with everything that I need to have. There is more that I can offer, and more I need to see.
I wanted to add that I was really happy to hear your verse on “Ballad of Noah”, from k-os’s album. At first, I was just happy to hear you on the album, but listening to it again, it actually describes a lot of how I felt at the beginning of this journey and articulates some of the motives that were deeper than my consciousness.
“I am conflicted /
traveling the path of the soul, so gifted /
still unable to break the mold, I lifted /
the veil and still could not see /
insisted my existence began with me /
seems that I lost much /
lost touch with reality /
it cost much of the soul /
what a fallacy, this world is at times /
I can’t escape /
see myself with new eyes now /
I’m trying to take the first step on a path that I know is paved with much difficulty /
some think I must save myself from a world that is falling down all around me /
I hear the sounds of laughter calling after me falling too fast /
my close friends are asking me /
casting a glance at each other as they speak with outstretched hands
like I might be a victim of circumstance /
but I run”
For me, I have felt conflicted with feeling so talented and full of infinite potential, and then having trouble paying bills. I feel that I can contribute efforts that will be of historical significance, but I was working part-time at a rec centre and on temp contracts at York. That connects to the first stanza in bold.
The second line (though I really feel the whole verse) is that first step on the path that I knew would be difficult. I knew it would be, but it has been possible. And that’s life, difficult, but possible.
I have written a lot, but I have not done justice to giving you an update. I hope everything is going well with the business, the music, the designing, and growing as a man. There is so much more that I could say, but I gotta go do this interview in 2 minutes!
Stay Blessed Bro’,
Chris
Kamau,
The last time we spoke, I was in a dorm at Cape Coast University and you were in Buxton, Ontario with Gordon, Chinedu and Prince. While I was glad to be in Ghana, I would have intended to be in Buxton if I was in Canada. I understand that there was a lot of rain that weekend, but how was it? For me, when ever labour day comes around I think of being there.
After we spoke, my plan at that point was to head from Cape Coast to Kumasi, see two friends, than got back to where I have been living and staying in Tamale.
While I was feeling better that day, by the next evening my condition turned and I was admitted into the local hospital. That was quite an ordeal, but after two days I did all that I could to be out of there. Still not feeling well, I decided to go back to Accra and stay with Melezia’s family. They have been amazing to me. Under their care, which has been so thorough, I recovered quite well. The only problem is an infection in my veins from the intravenous. It was a bit sore, but I’m taking some antibiotics which seem to be helping. Hopefully, I will be back in Tamale by the weekend. What was supposed to be a week to see the doctor and get some things done in Accra has now become almost a month.
Anyway, the purpose of this email is to give you an update. I said I would so here it is.
My first thought is why I came to Ghana. I don’t think I told you that. I was not actually looking to leave the city. I have a lot there that I love (family, friends, the rec centre, my church). I applied for this position with Journalists for Human Rights, but I did not expect to get it. When I received the call in May telling me that I had gotten the position, I had three days to decide. I really didn’t know if I would go. I talked with a few people that were laid on my heart to see what their advice would be. Everyone that I spoke to insisted that I go.
As for my own thoughts and feelings, a part of me did not want to do it, but when I thought about staying, the feeling in my heart was terrible. It was like I would be throwing away a blessing that I would have to wait for to come again in another form, but it would be even harder when it returned. So, I accepted the position.
Getting here was not that easy though, as I had to cover a lot of costs ($2000 of a $3000 plane ticket, vaccinations, visa, passport, medication, and some other expenses). I prayed about it, sent out some proposals, and all that I needed came through on time. When I say on time, I mean the very last moment. I actually had a going-away bbq not knowing if I would be going. I knew that it would be embarrassing to have to keep explaining to everyone that saw me asking, “I thought you were going to Ghana?”. That was a thought, but perspective rushed in and showed me that, ‘I would rather deal with that embarrassment, then be somewhere that God did ordain me to be, and if He ordained me to be there, I would be there”. I realized that it was not ‘if God can’, I knew that He could, it was ‘if He would’. Turns out, He did.
As the year 2005 came to an end, Melezia and I met up in the York library and we went through a goal setting/personal assessment exercise. The exercise was something that I thought up, which consisted of writing down a number of things: what my priorities are right now (which is reflected in day-to-day decisions), what my priorities should be (which I found was greatly different than what they should be), and how to change them from what they are to what they should be. This then led into a goal setting section which consisted of goals in various areas: daily habits/activities, career goals, personal development, etc. By doing that, I realized something: I am a man by gender, yet I had not stepped into the actualization of my manhood. Facing that was critical. In the beginning weeks of January I attempted to implement changes, but I just kept doing the same things. At that point, I just committed it to God and that was when I started to notice changes. Things in me that I thought were ‘just how I was’ began to shift. Although I was progressing, I was still stuck in a busy cycle consuming all of my thoughts, emotions, prayers, and energy. This cycle consisted of what I had to do, what I wanted to do, what others wanted / needed from me and for me, what I thought I had to do / become, and all of this was in the shadow of a mountain of uncertainty of what I really should be doing with my life.
I saw myself stepping into the next level of my life: from dependence to independence; from doing things I could do, to doing what I was designed to do. While I saw myself stepping there in a visionary sense, I could not see the steps to take. During that time of searching out my priorities and goals, I recall having the thought that answers to key questions about my future were in Africa…while I had made a visit to Senegal in 2001, I had no plans at that point to travel to the continent. It was a sense that I could not make certain major decisions with certainty until I saw something, life and people, in Africa. Consider that this thought and feeling was months before I got the offer for the position.
So coming here has been a process of exiting one realm and stepping into the next.
I have faced a lot, experienced a lot, and I have been filled with treasures, yet I feel that the capacity I have within, and what I need before I return, is much greater than what has been completed so far. If I was to share everything that I have seen and come to realize, I could pull a Fidel (eleven hour speech one day, and continue with ten hours the next day). But there is a great deal more; I have so much more room inside to be filled.
I feel that I am facing magnificently large questions and being led through pathways of understanding.
Loyalty, and the value of loyalty – it is precious. I want to be nothing but loyal, but loyal to the right things, the right people, the right places, the right ideas, and all at the right time.
Righteousness in every decision and moment. I realize that there is no excuse for anything else. Righteousness is not always attained by us, but less than that standard is not acceptable. Why would it be? Why make a mistake and decide that you want to keep making that mistake. Righteousness is doing what you do the best way that it can be done – the best way brings life and not death, harmony, not destruction. It is a process that takes commitment and yields great fruit.
I am also seeing a sifting of priorities: considering that people are hungry, facing warfare, and disease unnecessarily, what really matters? Considering that you are here for a time, then gone, what really matters? This is not esoteric thinking, but these are some very practical and basic realities.
These explorations, among others, are critical to the birthing of the next level of life, and entering that next realm. The answer to what I will do with the time that I have, where I will work, the business I will start, what I will write, what I will say, who I will live with, where I will live, who I will love and be committed to are all impacted by the discoveries in this search: where should my loyalties be given? What needs to change in my mind, heart and being to live righteously? I can’t do everything, so what I do needs to be in line with the true priorities in life.
I have enjoyed the ocean.
I have listened to so many people and heard what they think.
I have realized that, even if I do not speak the language and my skin makes me stand out and I am in a place that I have never been before, that with God’s peace in me, I am not a stranger, but at home.
I have noticed that communication is more than just language. It is the understood meaning of words and their relevance to who you are speaking to. Tones and body language mean a lot, but they do not mean the same thing to everyone. I was surrounded by mature, intelligent people that all spoke English, but I could not really express what I felt and was seeing. I would see something that was so amazing to me, and had such deep meaning, but would often be ‘lost in translation’. This caused me to reflect more, and to keep what I wanted to share contained with in me. While doing this, I had to reduce the ideas and words and feelings into packages that could be received; I have come to see a lot about what is universal and what is particular to certain circles and people – yet even further, what of those particular elements of life is distinct in the details, but universal in essence.
Just this week, with the infection in my veins (and all of the worries that ran through my head with that), the frustration of yet another visit to the hospital, not being able to do the work of the JHR position, and a handful of personal situations (some challenges facing my family at home that had me wanting to be with them to offer support, and a surprising and deep disappointment from someone that I really gave a lot to), I really wanted to talk with someone. I also just felt (though it sounds kind’a soft), I just wanted a hug from someone I that I really know and really knows me. There was no one here, no one around that could fulfill those desires. I was stretched though, because as much as I wanted a hug and someone that I could just speak with as I speak and it be understood, I was not alone. God’s peace was with me, and everywhere I looked there was confirmation that I could not let these things get me down and feeling disempowered.
So, my perspective is being challenged and shaped daily, I am being strengthened, and given focus.
I was listening to the new k-os album “Atlantis” (I am actually interviewing him by phone in 45 minutes), and he said, “the mind is a terrible thing to waste, even worse is the great void of infinite space / that extends beyond time, beyond all math / your watch can only measure the second that just passed”. This is relevant to our future and to what’s next. We really don’t know what is ahead for us, and what is in store for us. Coming to Ghana, I did not know all of what I would be seeing as I could not know what I have not yet come to know. I knew that it was His guidance though.
On that note, I actually had a dream recently where I was preaching and I was describing how the choices that we make and the paths that we take are often governed by the things that we want and are seeking. I was saying that we need to close our eyes to all of those things, and our full trust in God, in His guidance unconditionally (which means I am not seeking Him and trusting Him because of what I hope that He will do for me, but because of who He is). I added that you will be surprised by what you find on that path that is ‘all trust’ and free of expectation, but you don’t know in advance what it will be. I closed my eyes as I was saying this, and as I opened my eyes and looked down that path of trust, I was surprised by what I saw, which was the actualization of all that He designed me for, and designed for me. In the same breath, it’s really not all about me. So often, we go after our own imaginations, but what He has for us is beyond our imagination. I can’t describe what it is, because it is beyond my imagination. Sufficient to say, that it is all based on what really matters in life.
With all of that said, I am looking to finish the eight months in Ghana. The idea of coming home early due to health issues is one that I was open to, but I don’t feel good about it. It’s not that I don’t miss people at home (I do), it’s that I don’t feel like I would come back with everything that I need to have. There is more that I can offer, and more I need to see.
I wanted to add that I was really happy to hear your verse on “Ballad of Noah”, from k-os’s album. At first, I was just happy to hear you on the album, but listening to it again, it actually describes a lot of how I felt at the beginning of this journey and articulates some of the motives that were deeper than my consciousness.
“I am conflicted /
traveling the path of the soul, so gifted /
still unable to break the mold, I lifted /
the veil and still could not see /
insisted my existence began with me /
seems that I lost much /
lost touch with reality /
it cost much of the soul /
what a fallacy, this world is at times /
I can’t escape /
see myself with new eyes now /
I’m trying to take the first step on a path that I know is paved with much difficulty /
some think I must save myself from a world that is falling down all around me /
I hear the sounds of laughter calling after me falling too fast /
my close friends are asking me /
casting a glance at each other as they speak with outstretched hands
like I might be a victim of circumstance /
but I run”
For me, I have felt conflicted with feeling so talented and full of infinite potential, and then having trouble paying bills. I feel that I can contribute efforts that will be of historical significance, but I was working part-time at a rec centre and on temp contracts at York. That connects to the first stanza in bold.
The second line (though I really feel the whole verse) is that first step on the path that I knew would be difficult. I knew it would be, but it has been possible. And that’s life, difficult, but possible.
I have written a lot, but I have not done justice to giving you an update. I hope everything is going well with the business, the music, the designing, and growing as a man. There is so much more that I could say, but I gotta go do this interview in 2 minutes!
Stay Blessed Bro’,
Chris
Saturday, September 16, 2006
JUST SOME THOUGHTS
My update on the hospital ordeal took quite awhile to do. It was interesting for me, because I was reliving it all through my writing, but I was at a different place. During my time of writing about what had happened while I got sick and was recovering, there was a lot that happened. As much as I have written in these postings, there are so many stories that I have missed. I don't expect to write about every single thing that happens, but I am attempting to document as much of the major things as possible. More than the detailing everything, I want to convey 'where I am at' in everything sense phrase.
Quite often will be going through something, and I will think about how I would word the situation. It is really helping me to develop as a writer. I am seeing the value of the advice that I received from Gordon Parks (after searching out his phone number in the database of a former employer), where he said, "if you want to be a writer, than write". I am also grateful for all of the comments that people have posted or sent in emails. One thing that I did not expect was a few situations where people read something that spoke to their situation and even inspired a different direction or perspective on what they were dealing with.
There have been moments that I just smile and think of sharing them with everyone. One such instance was stopping for lunch with Kwaku after going to the hospital. I wanted a pizza, and asked Kwaku what toppings he likes. He was not particular about what was on it, so I ordered a veggie pizza (which had canned corn on it...it's not bad, but I wouldn't go out of my way for it). I was eagerly awaiting the server who was bringing the pizza, and after blessing the food we began to eat. It was not until I was on my third slice that I noticed Kwaku struggling with his first slice. He had even taken some of the cheese off of it. Regardless, he was determined to eat it. He told me that this time he would eat one slice, next time he would eat two, and he would keep trying until he could eat a whole pizza.
It was funny to me, because he was having what I call a 'banku moment'. What that it is you ask? Well, I will give you the backround. After a week and a half in Ghana, and a few days deep into my stay in Tamale, I had eaten a lot of Ghanian food. I had enjoyed fufu, teazet (that's not the right spelling), red red, rice balls, and more. However, I had not had banku yet, and did not know what it was. I would soon discover though. I was eating at a restaurant with Razak and Ramadan, and the food in the bowl looked kind of like fufu. I took a few bites dipping it in the stew before my body began to say, 'whoa0h, what do you think you are doing!' I began to feel kind of quezy, so I inquired what I was eating. Razak informed me that it was banku, with is a starchy lump that is made of fermented corn. I could not take any more, and have resigned that banku, and it's close cousin kenke, are not for me.
As I watched Kwaku struggle with the pizza (after having seen him destroy a plate of banku a few days earlier), it became a full circle moment right in front of my eyes.
Another thing that I have been thinking about is the disparity and distance between those who have and those who do not. When ever you come to an intersection your car will be approached by people selling items (chocolate, rags, cds, oranges, peanuts, posters, books, rubber masks, screw drivers, dog chiains, and a lot of other things that you don't usually expect to purchase through a car window). Amidst these roaming sales people you often find people begging for money. Some are older people with handicaps being led from car to car by small children (their own or neices/nephews/grandchildren). Some are sick, with visible illness. Some just look like the are having a very hard time. There are actually a few people who I have come to recognize, as I see them so often.
There are times when I give someone some money, and other times where I don't. When I do give, my thought is about where that person will be tomorrow; will they still be on the street doing the same thing? I also wonder if I am really helping them; food to hunger is important, but having to beg for food everyday is hard on a person.
When I don't give to those who ask, it feels bad in my heart. I think about the word that points out how 'saying peace be with you and praying for someone who is hungry or naked and giving them neither food or clothing makes your faith void'.
The thought then goes to a grander scale of global economics, and my own career/personal aspirations. Without going into great detail, I will say that if you had the information and economic background to decipher all of the figures and contracts associated to debt, aid, currency values, and developmental standings of countries around the world, it would boil down to this: poor people are poor because people with the power to change it don't really want to change it. Please don't think that I am being cynical. Ask Stephen Lewis, Nelson Mandela, or even Bill Gates or Bill Clinton. We have the ability and capacity, but it is not a priority. In some circles, keeping the disparity in existence is a priority. Again, any scholar of economics could tell you that global equity in terms of prosperity would bring havoc to our current economic system.
That is all theoretical and I could go on and on about that, which I might do in a book or two, but the tangible reality and consequence is seen on the streets in Ghana. Even those who are not begging, but selling spend the whole say walking through traffic, breathing in the fumes to make 5-20 cents profit on a sale. And I think of some of the aspirations that I have: I would like to own a house in BC, and another in Ontario, and another abroad, and drive a BMW, and continue to travel around the world. A lot of people will never leave Accra (or Toronto for that matter). And Ghana is doing pretty well in terms of development, I can just imagine some of the other places where the situation is much more desparate right now.
I'm not saying that I should not have those things, if it's a part of fulfilling my purpose than it will be. Nor am I saying that because a majority of people go without that we should all go without; but if most of us don't have, how do we really enjoy? I think of Jay-Z's words: "I can't help the poor if I'm one of them / so the solution / I got rich / to me, that's a win-win".
With all of that said, it comes back to being in the car with Kwaku and Micheal and a woman that I have given money to before coming to the window to ask for help. I told her, "not today". She continued saying, "I beg you, I beg you. She then lifted her shirt to show me her stomach, and said I am sick. That struck me. I have been pretty sick here, but I had the money to get what ever treatment I needed. I have wondered what I would do, or what would have happened if I got the same illness and had to just solider through it on my own. All of that came back to me as we drove away. I thought about the money in my pocket and giving some to her would not hurt me at all!!!!!!!!!! Would it help her tomorrow, or the day after the next? It would have helped her today. I should have given her something, doing it unto God.
Still, I think of the bigger picture. I could go around with all of the money that I have and give it to everyone that needs it to eat today, and what would that do? We would all be hungry tomorrow, hoping that someone would decide to give up some or all of what they have to feed us. It is about broader change, and still doing the little things where we can be a blessing to people, and allow our faith to be void by acting on what we believe.
I could say much more, but it is 9:22PM, and I have not eaten dinner yet. Mama Ackerson is going to cuss me (lovingly, but firmly).
Oh, updates...my health. I have good news and...improving news. I feel much better and I don't sleep in the middle of the day anymore. I am done my malaria/typhoid medication and I am being VERY careful. On the 'improving' note, I have an infection in a vein on each arm from the intravenous. It hurts a bit and so I am taking anti-biotics. This has extended my stay in Accra until at least Tuesday. JHR is understanding the situation, so that is good.
Also, I have two people from Canada here (Adowa from Toronto) and her colleague Idessa (from B.C. - like me - who is very cool, also a writer). I also have two more families to meet (my friend Nana and the Bunnah family).
I have much more to write, but I gotta go eat before I get in too much trouble!
Stay Blessed
My update on the hospital ordeal took quite awhile to do. It was interesting for me, because I was reliving it all through my writing, but I was at a different place. During my time of writing about what had happened while I got sick and was recovering, there was a lot that happened. As much as I have written in these postings, there are so many stories that I have missed. I don't expect to write about every single thing that happens, but I am attempting to document as much of the major things as possible. More than the detailing everything, I want to convey 'where I am at' in everything sense phrase.
Quite often will be going through something, and I will think about how I would word the situation. It is really helping me to develop as a writer. I am seeing the value of the advice that I received from Gordon Parks (after searching out his phone number in the database of a former employer), where he said, "if you want to be a writer, than write". I am also grateful for all of the comments that people have posted or sent in emails. One thing that I did not expect was a few situations where people read something that spoke to their situation and even inspired a different direction or perspective on what they were dealing with.
There have been moments that I just smile and think of sharing them with everyone. One such instance was stopping for lunch with Kwaku after going to the hospital. I wanted a pizza, and asked Kwaku what toppings he likes. He was not particular about what was on it, so I ordered a veggie pizza (which had canned corn on it...it's not bad, but I wouldn't go out of my way for it). I was eagerly awaiting the server who was bringing the pizza, and after blessing the food we began to eat. It was not until I was on my third slice that I noticed Kwaku struggling with his first slice. He had even taken some of the cheese off of it. Regardless, he was determined to eat it. He told me that this time he would eat one slice, next time he would eat two, and he would keep trying until he could eat a whole pizza.
It was funny to me, because he was having what I call a 'banku moment'. What that it is you ask? Well, I will give you the backround. After a week and a half in Ghana, and a few days deep into my stay in Tamale, I had eaten a lot of Ghanian food. I had enjoyed fufu, teazet (that's not the right spelling), red red, rice balls, and more. However, I had not had banku yet, and did not know what it was. I would soon discover though. I was eating at a restaurant with Razak and Ramadan, and the food in the bowl looked kind of like fufu. I took a few bites dipping it in the stew before my body began to say, 'whoa0h, what do you think you are doing!' I began to feel kind of quezy, so I inquired what I was eating. Razak informed me that it was banku, with is a starchy lump that is made of fermented corn. I could not take any more, and have resigned that banku, and it's close cousin kenke, are not for me.
As I watched Kwaku struggle with the pizza (after having seen him destroy a plate of banku a few days earlier), it became a full circle moment right in front of my eyes.
Another thing that I have been thinking about is the disparity and distance between those who have and those who do not. When ever you come to an intersection your car will be approached by people selling items (chocolate, rags, cds, oranges, peanuts, posters, books, rubber masks, screw drivers, dog chiains, and a lot of other things that you don't usually expect to purchase through a car window). Amidst these roaming sales people you often find people begging for money. Some are older people with handicaps being led from car to car by small children (their own or neices/nephews/grandchildren). Some are sick, with visible illness. Some just look like the are having a very hard time. There are actually a few people who I have come to recognize, as I see them so often.
There are times when I give someone some money, and other times where I don't. When I do give, my thought is about where that person will be tomorrow; will they still be on the street doing the same thing? I also wonder if I am really helping them; food to hunger is important, but having to beg for food everyday is hard on a person.
When I don't give to those who ask, it feels bad in my heart. I think about the word that points out how 'saying peace be with you and praying for someone who is hungry or naked and giving them neither food or clothing makes your faith void'.
The thought then goes to a grander scale of global economics, and my own career/personal aspirations. Without going into great detail, I will say that if you had the information and economic background to decipher all of the figures and contracts associated to debt, aid, currency values, and developmental standings of countries around the world, it would boil down to this: poor people are poor because people with the power to change it don't really want to change it. Please don't think that I am being cynical. Ask Stephen Lewis, Nelson Mandela, or even Bill Gates or Bill Clinton. We have the ability and capacity, but it is not a priority. In some circles, keeping the disparity in existence is a priority. Again, any scholar of economics could tell you that global equity in terms of prosperity would bring havoc to our current economic system.
That is all theoretical and I could go on and on about that, which I might do in a book or two, but the tangible reality and consequence is seen on the streets in Ghana. Even those who are not begging, but selling spend the whole say walking through traffic, breathing in the fumes to make 5-20 cents profit on a sale. And I think of some of the aspirations that I have: I would like to own a house in BC, and another in Ontario, and another abroad, and drive a BMW, and continue to travel around the world. A lot of people will never leave Accra (or Toronto for that matter). And Ghana is doing pretty well in terms of development, I can just imagine some of the other places where the situation is much more desparate right now.
I'm not saying that I should not have those things, if it's a part of fulfilling my purpose than it will be. Nor am I saying that because a majority of people go without that we should all go without; but if most of us don't have, how do we really enjoy? I think of Jay-Z's words: "I can't help the poor if I'm one of them / so the solution / I got rich / to me, that's a win-win".
With all of that said, it comes back to being in the car with Kwaku and Micheal and a woman that I have given money to before coming to the window to ask for help. I told her, "not today". She continued saying, "I beg you, I beg you. She then lifted her shirt to show me her stomach, and said I am sick. That struck me. I have been pretty sick here, but I had the money to get what ever treatment I needed. I have wondered what I would do, or what would have happened if I got the same illness and had to just solider through it on my own. All of that came back to me as we drove away. I thought about the money in my pocket and giving some to her would not hurt me at all!!!!!!!!!! Would it help her tomorrow, or the day after the next? It would have helped her today. I should have given her something, doing it unto God.
Still, I think of the bigger picture. I could go around with all of the money that I have and give it to everyone that needs it to eat today, and what would that do? We would all be hungry tomorrow, hoping that someone would decide to give up some or all of what they have to feed us. It is about broader change, and still doing the little things where we can be a blessing to people, and allow our faith to be void by acting on what we believe.
I could say much more, but it is 9:22PM, and I have not eaten dinner yet. Mama Ackerson is going to cuss me (lovingly, but firmly).
Oh, updates...my health. I have good news and...improving news. I feel much better and I don't sleep in the middle of the day anymore. I am done my malaria/typhoid medication and I am being VERY careful. On the 'improving' note, I have an infection in a vein on each arm from the intravenous. It hurts a bit and so I am taking anti-biotics. This has extended my stay in Accra until at least Tuesday. JHR is understanding the situation, so that is good.
Also, I have two people from Canada here (Adowa from Toronto) and her colleague Idessa (from B.C. - like me - who is very cool, also a writer). I also have two more families to meet (my friend Nana and the Bunnah family).
I have much more to write, but I gotta go eat before I get in too much trouble!
Stay Blessed
Friday, September 15, 2006
LIFE IN SAKUMONO
I feel abundantly blessed to be staying with the Ackersons.
Their place is on the fourth, and top, floor of a building called 'block T'. It is clean and spacious, and has a great view.
Mrs. Ackerson has made sure that I have been eating and taking my medication. Emmanuel and Micheal insist on ironing my clothes, while Mrs. Ackerson insists on doing my laundry. If she is not around, Irene makes meals for me. If I have to go anywhere, Kwaku drives me there (morning, noon and night).
In the evenings, I often sit with Mr. Ackerson and watch CNN or whatever else we find on television.
They all treat me like family and are doing their best to teach me Fante. I have a few nicknames including Chris Brown / Mr. Brown (after the teen heart throb of the same name), Kwesi / Kwesi Abroni (‘Kwesi’ meaning I was born on a Sunday, and ‘Abroni’ meaning White man), and Monster (as one little two year old boy, a nephew or something, cries when he sees me – he is scared of White people...I feel you kid, but were not all so bad...lol).
For over a week now, I have been resting well, eating great, and feeling much better. I have even had some blessed fufu (Mrs. Ackerson was praying as she made it and told me that it was blessed).
I constantly pray that their household is blessed, and I give thanks as I can imagine how I would feel if I was out here and did not have their love and support.
I feel abundantly blessed to be staying with the Ackersons.
Their place is on the fourth, and top, floor of a building called 'block T'. It is clean and spacious, and has a great view.
Mrs. Ackerson has made sure that I have been eating and taking my medication. Emmanuel and Micheal insist on ironing my clothes, while Mrs. Ackerson insists on doing my laundry. If she is not around, Irene makes meals for me. If I have to go anywhere, Kwaku drives me there (morning, noon and night).
In the evenings, I often sit with Mr. Ackerson and watch CNN or whatever else we find on television.
They all treat me like family and are doing their best to teach me Fante. I have a few nicknames including Chris Brown / Mr. Brown (after the teen heart throb of the same name), Kwesi / Kwesi Abroni (‘Kwesi’ meaning I was born on a Sunday, and ‘Abroni’ meaning White man), and Monster (as one little two year old boy, a nephew or something, cries when he sees me – he is scared of White people...I feel you kid, but were not all so bad...lol).
For over a week now, I have been resting well, eating great, and feeling much better. I have even had some blessed fufu (Mrs. Ackerson was praying as she made it and told me that it was blessed).
I constantly pray that their household is blessed, and I give thanks as I can imagine how I would feel if I was out here and did not have their love and support.
THE REST OF THE STAY AT C.C.C.R HOSPITAL
I was admitted into Cape Coast hospital on a Sunday night, and I would be there until Tuesday afternoon. While I was admitted to the emergency ward, I was moved to the Men’s Ward by Monday morning, where most of the beds were full. I was in an area with three connected rooms and about ten patients.
In terms of my health, it was not until Tuesday morning that I could really eat anything, but gradually, my health was getting better. Over the course of those two days though, it was an ordeal.
Where do I begin?
There was the washroom. It was absolutely disgusting. The smell was dreadful, making you lose the urge to do whatever you came to do, and encouraging new – not so natural – bodily reactions. If you are faint of stomach, scroll down. The washroom had not been cleaned with more than a wet mop in the hallway (not even around the toilets) for a long time. Stains and pieces of all kinds of stuff were on the floor, toilets, and walls. There is no reason a washroom anywhere that people live should be like this. It’s not like this was Lebanon or a war zone, where dodging missiles is the priority and cleaning supplies are limited. There is a paid cleaner there everyday, and this is a hospital! I really felt it for the guy who was sitting over the toilet for much of the night.
The next morning I asked the cleaning lady to have a look at it and if she could clean it. She said “yes, no problem”. I saw her go in and out and she was in our ward for quite a while. When I went to the washroom later that day, I found that she had not done anything. That was Monday morning.
Tuesday morning, I saw her again and asked if she would clean it. She said “Yes”, but then started speaking in Fante to some other people and waving her hands. She was upset. After a couple of hours, she left the ward and had done nothing again.
That was too much for me, so when the doctor came to do his rounds, he spoke to me last. His first question was, “how is your condition?”
I replied, “I don’t want to talk about my condition, I want to talk about the condition of the washroom”.
I explained it, and then I asked him to accompany me in there. He did, but barely went in before he stepped out from the smell and the sight of it. He was quite concerned as he explained that if anyone had something like cholera, than the whole ward could be infected. While he was disgusted, I don’t know if he did anything, because he was all buddy-buddy with the cleaning lady when she came back around.
Because I was thinking of the guys that I started to bond with while staying there, I decided to take the issue to hospital management. I am not sure how it has been dealt with, but Sharon (a very nice nurse that I met at the hospital) contacted me and told me that she was personally following up with the situation.
Another crazy thing happened when a guy in the room on the other side of the wall from my bed passed away. I could not see his bed, but the guys across the room from me could. One of them, a guy named Emmanuel got really scared. He had never seen someone die before, and he started freaking out (note that he is in his 20’s). He was crying and begging to be moved, but there was only one open bed and that was the one from the man that had passed, and he was not going there. After pleading with the nurse, she just continued to tell him, “this is a hospital, it happens, people die”. Not very comforting.
Amidst all of this, he decided he wanted to sit near me. He picked up two chairs and set them up beside my bed. I got up to walk around, and when I came back he was stretched out on the chairs and had his head on my bed. To me, that was not cool, because he did not look well at all. I don’t know what he had, but I know that he was not bathing, and the nurses had no plan to bathe him (or even provide a towel, a rag and soap). I tried speaking with him and showing him some scriptures to explain that there was no reason to be afraid. Eventually, he went back to his bed. However, when I was checking out, the next day, he was visibly happy at the chance to take my bed. One funny thing about this all, is that the next day, he came near my bed and asked me “Tu parle francais?”…I then realized that all of the words I had spoken were not understood by him as he spoke French.
The third and last story that I will share was about the intravenous. Once I came-to, and the needle in the backside to make me sleep had worn off, I realized that my arm was red and swollen. When I told the orderly that it was hurting and swollen, he actually said to me, “your arm doesn’t hurt”. I was stunned at first, but then told him, “you can’t be serious. It’s my arm, and I am telling you that it is swelling and it hurts”. His reply was, “oh, you have a response for everything I say”. It was crazy. I showed him my arm, but he still did not take it seriously. Eventually, I asked the nurse on duty to look at it and she had a nurse in training came to change it. After she messed with the drip and had the bag spilling on the floor, I asked the other nurse to move the intravenous. After an hour or two, that one started to swell too.
So, they would try the next arm. That was a nightmare, as she kept pushing the needle in and out and even moved it in a circular motion. When that vein didn’t work she was about to try another, but I was not having that. I told her I needed a break for an hour before anyone tried to put another needle in me.
Being that I could still not hold down food, I could not take the necessary medication orally; so they had to use the intravenous. For the next hour, I didn’t sleep well as every footstep made me think that she was coming back early.
When she finally did come back, I began to pray as she made what was, in my mind, a final attempt. Thankfully it worked, though over a week and a half later I still have bruises and swelling of the veins that they used.
So those were the highlights of my stay in Cape Coast Central Region Hospital. One thing I can say is that I felt much better upon leaving then I had when I arrived. It got to the point though, that I felt I would get worse if I stayed.
As I left, it did not take long before I began to feel similar symptoms which concerned me. The plan was to take the prescriptions, and head to the Ackerson house in Accra where I could rest and recover under some good, loving care.
The mistakes that I made (eating too liberally and going back to normal before I fully recovered) will not be made again.
I was admitted into Cape Coast hospital on a Sunday night, and I would be there until Tuesday afternoon. While I was admitted to the emergency ward, I was moved to the Men’s Ward by Monday morning, where most of the beds were full. I was in an area with three connected rooms and about ten patients.
In terms of my health, it was not until Tuesday morning that I could really eat anything, but gradually, my health was getting better. Over the course of those two days though, it was an ordeal.
Where do I begin?
There was the washroom. It was absolutely disgusting. The smell was dreadful, making you lose the urge to do whatever you came to do, and encouraging new – not so natural – bodily reactions. If you are faint of stomach, scroll down. The washroom had not been cleaned with more than a wet mop in the hallway (not even around the toilets) for a long time. Stains and pieces of all kinds of stuff were on the floor, toilets, and walls. There is no reason a washroom anywhere that people live should be like this. It’s not like this was Lebanon or a war zone, where dodging missiles is the priority and cleaning supplies are limited. There is a paid cleaner there everyday, and this is a hospital! I really felt it for the guy who was sitting over the toilet for much of the night.
The next morning I asked the cleaning lady to have a look at it and if she could clean it. She said “yes, no problem”. I saw her go in and out and she was in our ward for quite a while. When I went to the washroom later that day, I found that she had not done anything. That was Monday morning.
Tuesday morning, I saw her again and asked if she would clean it. She said “Yes”, but then started speaking in Fante to some other people and waving her hands. She was upset. After a couple of hours, she left the ward and had done nothing again.
That was too much for me, so when the doctor came to do his rounds, he spoke to me last. His first question was, “how is your condition?”
I replied, “I don’t want to talk about my condition, I want to talk about the condition of the washroom”.
I explained it, and then I asked him to accompany me in there. He did, but barely went in before he stepped out from the smell and the sight of it. He was quite concerned as he explained that if anyone had something like cholera, than the whole ward could be infected. While he was disgusted, I don’t know if he did anything, because he was all buddy-buddy with the cleaning lady when she came back around.
Because I was thinking of the guys that I started to bond with while staying there, I decided to take the issue to hospital management. I am not sure how it has been dealt with, but Sharon (a very nice nurse that I met at the hospital) contacted me and told me that she was personally following up with the situation.
Another crazy thing happened when a guy in the room on the other side of the wall from my bed passed away. I could not see his bed, but the guys across the room from me could. One of them, a guy named Emmanuel got really scared. He had never seen someone die before, and he started freaking out (note that he is in his 20’s). He was crying and begging to be moved, but there was only one open bed and that was the one from the man that had passed, and he was not going there. After pleading with the nurse, she just continued to tell him, “this is a hospital, it happens, people die”. Not very comforting.
Amidst all of this, he decided he wanted to sit near me. He picked up two chairs and set them up beside my bed. I got up to walk around, and when I came back he was stretched out on the chairs and had his head on my bed. To me, that was not cool, because he did not look well at all. I don’t know what he had, but I know that he was not bathing, and the nurses had no plan to bathe him (or even provide a towel, a rag and soap). I tried speaking with him and showing him some scriptures to explain that there was no reason to be afraid. Eventually, he went back to his bed. However, when I was checking out, the next day, he was visibly happy at the chance to take my bed. One funny thing about this all, is that the next day, he came near my bed and asked me “Tu parle francais?”…I then realized that all of the words I had spoken were not understood by him as he spoke French.
The third and last story that I will share was about the intravenous. Once I came-to, and the needle in the backside to make me sleep had worn off, I realized that my arm was red and swollen. When I told the orderly that it was hurting and swollen, he actually said to me, “your arm doesn’t hurt”. I was stunned at first, but then told him, “you can’t be serious. It’s my arm, and I am telling you that it is swelling and it hurts”. His reply was, “oh, you have a response for everything I say”. It was crazy. I showed him my arm, but he still did not take it seriously. Eventually, I asked the nurse on duty to look at it and she had a nurse in training came to change it. After she messed with the drip and had the bag spilling on the floor, I asked the other nurse to move the intravenous. After an hour or two, that one started to swell too.
So, they would try the next arm. That was a nightmare, as she kept pushing the needle in and out and even moved it in a circular motion. When that vein didn’t work she was about to try another, but I was not having that. I told her I needed a break for an hour before anyone tried to put another needle in me.
Being that I could still not hold down food, I could not take the necessary medication orally; so they had to use the intravenous. For the next hour, I didn’t sleep well as every footstep made me think that she was coming back early.
When she finally did come back, I began to pray as she made what was, in my mind, a final attempt. Thankfully it worked, though over a week and a half later I still have bruises and swelling of the veins that they used.
So those were the highlights of my stay in Cape Coast Central Region Hospital. One thing I can say is that I felt much better upon leaving then I had when I arrived. It got to the point though, that I felt I would get worse if I stayed.
As I left, it did not take long before I began to feel similar symptoms which concerned me. The plan was to take the prescriptions, and head to the Ackerson house in Accra where I could rest and recover under some good, loving care.
The mistakes that I made (eating too liberally and going back to normal before I fully recovered) will not be made again.
THAT NIGHT IN THE HOSPITAL
That night in the hospital began with being brought into a room and having an intravenous medicine drip put into my arm. This last time I had something like that in me, I had just gotten my tonsils taken out. With my condition feeling worse, I did not really feel it though.
Anita and Vera were there with me in the room and I asked Vera to read from my Bible which I had carried with me. I just wanted to hear the word. I would name scriptures and she would read them. After a bit of time, they came near to the bed to pray for me. During that time, I could feel something spiritual along with the physical symptoms. I asked Anita to find someone that does intercessory prayer to come to the hospital.
After a short while, a few students from the Cape Coast University came and they prayed with me.
That was a powerful experience. The main person who was praying was a young lady named Afua. I could feel the Holy Spirit with her, and she was the only one whose touch did not make me feel more sick. As she prayed she continually referred to God’s word. During the prayer, I began to sing a song that was in tongues at first, and then was in English. It was a song of repentance, just telling God ‘I am sorry’: sorry for taking He who is always faithful for granted, for living less than what He has shown me as best, and for using my time for things that do not testify of His love.
I realized that using all of your life to search and understand God would not be enough time to finish the task, so how could there be time for anything else. Every moment is precious, and to be used properly.
After a while, I just began to speak my testimony, about all the things that God had brought me through. The time that someone that I didn’t even know tried to stab me on a subway platform, the people that I had been hanging around that ended up on drugs, in jail, killing and killed. How friends from my teenage years who were now being held on some serious cocaine possession charges were surprised that I was not dead or in jail. How, when I was fourteen, I was prepared to give me heart over to coldness and not caring to live the life that I admired, but the hand of Christ was over my heart and did not let me turn my heart over. I also spoke of times where my life had been turned around and my family and friends (the few that I had left) were in awe over the changes. I went from failing classes to honours, from a weed head to a university student and budding music journalist. I spoke of the realizations that have come with the passing of some young, beautiful, gifted people (Dudley, Letisha, Blu). Especially with Dudley, that woke me up to the fact that: 1. God is real, and 2. Tomorrow is not promised. Yet, I was still not committed to really live for God. I shared with them when that changed, one church service at Rhema between Christmas and New Years eve; I literally could feel in the spirit my feet being planted in His hands. There really is not time for anything else than the work that God has for you.
Eventually, the group of about seven people had to go as they were way past visiting hours. So, I was there and the doctors were gone home, the nurse on duty was sleeping, there were no patients in my room (or anywhere near where I was), and my friends and family were across the ocean (though I had some people who were there for me in Ghana, they too could not be in the hospital room). I was not alone though. I felt God’s peace. I did not know what was going on with my body. I felt a lot of pain, but the peace was stronger. I continued to pray and to sing hymns and songs of praise, until I drifted to sleep. I could feel God speaking into my heart that I have Him, and could never be alone.
While I did get some rest that night, I woke up numerous times.
One of the times that I woke up I really had to use the washroom. The problem was no one was answering my call of “hello”. It’s not like I needed someone to show me to the washroom, I was hooked up to an intravenous attached to a pole. So, I got upand tried to wheel it, but the wheels did not work. I then had to this thing where I was lifting it and dragging it. When I got to the washroom near my room, there was so much equipment being stored in there that I could fit the stand of the pole through the door. I was not about to unhook myself, so I headed down to the other end of the hallway.
After successfully using the washroom, I began to head back to my room. As I passed the front entrance, a man with a deep stab wound in his shoulder and blood all over his arm, chest and abdomen approached me saying, “doctor, doctor, please help me”. I showed him the pole and explained that I wasn’t a doctor. His mother and his brother followed him in approaching me and said the same thing: “doctor, doctor, please help him”. When I explained that I was not a doctor, they asked where the doctor was. I told them that there was none there. I explained that a nurse was somewhere sleeping, and by God’s grace, I guessed the right door for them to go through to look for her. She came through the door, wiped the sleep out of her eyes, and got this man who was dripping blood all over the floor to sit down.
After finding out that he had been in a fight, and ensuring that he was being taken care of, I dragged the pole back to my bed and tried to get some rest. I wasn’t alone anymore either, as I had some mosquitoes and two lizards on the wall to keep me company.
That night in the hospital began with being brought into a room and having an intravenous medicine drip put into my arm. This last time I had something like that in me, I had just gotten my tonsils taken out. With my condition feeling worse, I did not really feel it though.
Anita and Vera were there with me in the room and I asked Vera to read from my Bible which I had carried with me. I just wanted to hear the word. I would name scriptures and she would read them. After a bit of time, they came near to the bed to pray for me. During that time, I could feel something spiritual along with the physical symptoms. I asked Anita to find someone that does intercessory prayer to come to the hospital.
After a short while, a few students from the Cape Coast University came and they prayed with me.
That was a powerful experience. The main person who was praying was a young lady named Afua. I could feel the Holy Spirit with her, and she was the only one whose touch did not make me feel more sick. As she prayed she continually referred to God’s word. During the prayer, I began to sing a song that was in tongues at first, and then was in English. It was a song of repentance, just telling God ‘I am sorry’: sorry for taking He who is always faithful for granted, for living less than what He has shown me as best, and for using my time for things that do not testify of His love.
I realized that using all of your life to search and understand God would not be enough time to finish the task, so how could there be time for anything else. Every moment is precious, and to be used properly.
After a while, I just began to speak my testimony, about all the things that God had brought me through. The time that someone that I didn’t even know tried to stab me on a subway platform, the people that I had been hanging around that ended up on drugs, in jail, killing and killed. How friends from my teenage years who were now being held on some serious cocaine possession charges were surprised that I was not dead or in jail. How, when I was fourteen, I was prepared to give me heart over to coldness and not caring to live the life that I admired, but the hand of Christ was over my heart and did not let me turn my heart over. I also spoke of times where my life had been turned around and my family and friends (the few that I had left) were in awe over the changes. I went from failing classes to honours, from a weed head to a university student and budding music journalist. I spoke of the realizations that have come with the passing of some young, beautiful, gifted people (Dudley, Letisha, Blu). Especially with Dudley, that woke me up to the fact that: 1. God is real, and 2. Tomorrow is not promised. Yet, I was still not committed to really live for God. I shared with them when that changed, one church service at Rhema between Christmas and New Years eve; I literally could feel in the spirit my feet being planted in His hands. There really is not time for anything else than the work that God has for you.
Eventually, the group of about seven people had to go as they were way past visiting hours. So, I was there and the doctors were gone home, the nurse on duty was sleeping, there were no patients in my room (or anywhere near where I was), and my friends and family were across the ocean (though I had some people who were there for me in Ghana, they too could not be in the hospital room). I was not alone though. I felt God’s peace. I did not know what was going on with my body. I felt a lot of pain, but the peace was stronger. I continued to pray and to sing hymns and songs of praise, until I drifted to sleep. I could feel God speaking into my heart that I have Him, and could never be alone.
While I did get some rest that night, I woke up numerous times.
One of the times that I woke up I really had to use the washroom. The problem was no one was answering my call of “hello”. It’s not like I needed someone to show me to the washroom, I was hooked up to an intravenous attached to a pole. So, I got upand tried to wheel it, but the wheels did not work. I then had to this thing where I was lifting it and dragging it. When I got to the washroom near my room, there was so much equipment being stored in there that I could fit the stand of the pole through the door. I was not about to unhook myself, so I headed down to the other end of the hallway.
After successfully using the washroom, I began to head back to my room. As I passed the front entrance, a man with a deep stab wound in his shoulder and blood all over his arm, chest and abdomen approached me saying, “doctor, doctor, please help me”. I showed him the pole and explained that I wasn’t a doctor. His mother and his brother followed him in approaching me and said the same thing: “doctor, doctor, please help him”. When I explained that I was not a doctor, they asked where the doctor was. I told them that there was none there. I explained that a nurse was somewhere sleeping, and by God’s grace, I guessed the right door for them to go through to look for her. She came through the door, wiped the sleep out of her eyes, and got this man who was dripping blood all over the floor to sit down.
After finding out that he had been in a fight, and ensuring that he was being taken care of, I dragged the pole back to my bed and tried to get some rest. I wasn’t alone anymore either, as I had some mosquitoes and two lizards on the wall to keep me company.
A SHOUT OUT
Let me introduce you to a friend of mine, Teneshia (most call her Teish). She wanted a shout out...so here it is.
We actually met in Toronto when I was returning a sweater at Old Navy, but God works in ways you don't expect.
I'm grateful to have her as a friend, and as one of the many people that were praying for me when I was in the hospital.
This may seem random, but her sister can also make some ridiculously delicious fried chicken, and she's only 10 or 11 years old.
To my sister, blood runs thicker than water, but spirit is deeper than blood.
Keep growing and you need to be joining a church choir so that people can be blessed, encouraged and inspired by the gift that has been placed in you.
P.S.
If anyone wants a shout-out too, just let me know!
P.S.S.
Teish is not in Ghana, she just told me on msn that she wanted the shout out (in case you were confused).
Let me introduce you to a friend of mine, Teneshia (most call her Teish). She wanted a shout out...so here it is.
We actually met in Toronto when I was returning a sweater at Old Navy, but God works in ways you don't expect.
I'm grateful to have her as a friend, and as one of the many people that were praying for me when I was in the hospital.
This may seem random, but her sister can also make some ridiculously delicious fried chicken, and she's only 10 or 11 years old.
To my sister, blood runs thicker than water, but spirit is deeper than blood.
Keep growing and you need to be joining a church choir so that people can be blessed, encouraged and inspired by the gift that has been placed in you.
P.S.
If anyone wants a shout-out too, just let me know!
P.S.S.
Teish is not in Ghana, she just told me on msn that she wanted the shout out (in case you were confused).
Thursday, September 14, 2006
STAYING ANOTHER NIGHT IN CAPE COAST
Waking up Sunday morning, there was nothing unusual about the day until was nothing unusual except for my not going to church. That was until breakfast. Usually, I am happy to eat a fried omelet with some bread and milo. I was having so much trouble eating though, that I barely ate half of it. As the morning turned to afternoon, my stomach began to turn.
Unexpectedly, I reached that point where “I’m not feeling well” turns to “I’m gonna be sick”. Not long after breakfast was headed down the pipe to the gutter. After that I felt much better (any one who has drank too much knows that feeling). Not feeling like attempting solid food again, I had some fish soup which was really good. I think Mrs. Ackerson had made it and given it to Anita to keep in the freezer. Not more than an hour after that, the feeling came back, and the fish soup came back up. That was actually very painful.
At that point, I started to get concerned. I just tried to drink water and rest. That was not working either. The water was coming back up and my legs were shaking. In addition to the nausea, I had a serious fever. My plan when I started feeling sick was to go to Accra the next say and return to the doctor, but it was getting too serious. Instead, Anita, her friend Vera and I got a taxi and went to the hospital. We drove through numerous alleys and revelers on the street before we got there. While Vera and I searched for the entrance, Anita paid the taxi. When we found the reception, we also found that there was no doctor in until Monday. Being that it was a private hospital, they were not too heavily staffed.
As I was continuing to feel worse, we went back to catch our taxi and go to the Central Region Cape Coast Hospital, but the taxi was gone…and we were in an alley way at 10pm. At that point, we did what we had to do, which was to walk and find a taxi. Dragging myself along, I told Anita and Vera that my friends and family would be very upset to see me that sick walking through a strange alley looking for a taxi to bring me to the hospital. After about five minutes, which seemed like twenty, we got a taxi a headed to the hospital.
Upon our arrival, I knew that they were going to ask me to fill out some forms and get an ID card. I did not want to do that again, and handed them my cards from Nyaho Hospital and from SSNIT. I knew they wouldn’t accept them, but I just wanted to see a doctor. Plan B was to give Vera my health card and let her fill out the form. About ten minutes after waiting, a doctor came to see me.
I do not ever remember being like that, as I was spaced out, legs shaking, and feeling like I was spinning. The nurse took my blood pressure and some blood and then I spoke to the doctor. Seeing my condition, he allowed me to lay down and decided they would admit me.
I was going to be spending the night. While I have stayed with a lot of people during my stay in Ghana, I did not expect to be staying in a hospital.
Waking up Sunday morning, there was nothing unusual about the day until was nothing unusual except for my not going to church. That was until breakfast. Usually, I am happy to eat a fried omelet with some bread and milo. I was having so much trouble eating though, that I barely ate half of it. As the morning turned to afternoon, my stomach began to turn.
Unexpectedly, I reached that point where “I’m not feeling well” turns to “I’m gonna be sick”. Not long after breakfast was headed down the pipe to the gutter. After that I felt much better (any one who has drank too much knows that feeling). Not feeling like attempting solid food again, I had some fish soup which was really good. I think Mrs. Ackerson had made it and given it to Anita to keep in the freezer. Not more than an hour after that, the feeling came back, and the fish soup came back up. That was actually very painful.
At that point, I started to get concerned. I just tried to drink water and rest. That was not working either. The water was coming back up and my legs were shaking. In addition to the nausea, I had a serious fever. My plan when I started feeling sick was to go to Accra the next say and return to the doctor, but it was getting too serious. Instead, Anita, her friend Vera and I got a taxi and went to the hospital. We drove through numerous alleys and revelers on the street before we got there. While Vera and I searched for the entrance, Anita paid the taxi. When we found the reception, we also found that there was no doctor in until Monday. Being that it was a private hospital, they were not too heavily staffed.
As I was continuing to feel worse, we went back to catch our taxi and go to the Central Region Cape Coast Hospital, but the taxi was gone…and we were in an alley way at 10pm. At that point, we did what we had to do, which was to walk and find a taxi. Dragging myself along, I told Anita and Vera that my friends and family would be very upset to see me that sick walking through a strange alley looking for a taxi to bring me to the hospital. After about five minutes, which seemed like twenty, we got a taxi a headed to the hospital.
Upon our arrival, I knew that they were going to ask me to fill out some forms and get an ID card. I did not want to do that again, and handed them my cards from Nyaho Hospital and from SSNIT. I knew they wouldn’t accept them, but I just wanted to see a doctor. Plan B was to give Vera my health card and let her fill out the form. About ten minutes after waiting, a doctor came to see me.
I do not ever remember being like that, as I was spaced out, legs shaking, and feeling like I was spinning. The nurse took my blood pressure and some blood and then I spoke to the doctor. Seeing my condition, he allowed me to lay down and decided they would admit me.
I was going to be spending the night. While I have stayed with a lot of people during my stay in Ghana, I did not expect to be staying in a hospital.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
SOME TIME IN TAKRAODI
Saturday morning, I had two things on my mind: seeing the festival in Cape Coast and finding a particular book that I saw in Cape Coast on my first visit. Both the festival and Black Star Books were in downtown Cape Coast, so that is where I wanted to head.
Before really getting to sleep in, Anita came by the room and told me that her Mom wanted her to accompany her to Takraodi to see her uncle. Rather than go to Cape Coast by myself and make an attempt to find the other JHR people in town, I decided to also go to Takraodi.
So we got ready and headed to the bus station where we would meet Mrs. Ackerson and Irene and continue on together. The bus was late about one hour, but when it arrived Mrs. Ackerson was surprised and happy to see me. I was surprised that she was surprised, because I told Emmanuel to tell her that I would be in Cape Coast, but the message did not reach her. So when she saw me at the Cape Coast bus station, she lovingly scolded me, inquiring what I was doing there. It didn't take long for me to turn her scold into a smile and we headed for the bus.
Togther, we traveled along the coast, and – surprise, surprise – I fell asleep. Before reaching Takraodi, Mrs. Ackerson told teh bus driver that we wanted to get off early, so he pulled over to the side of the road. Not sure where we were, I followed their lead we walked up to a house that had been dropped in front of. Behind the tall stone wall and the metal gate, there were a couple of houses, all part of one family compound. As we continued around to the back of the property, there was some people cooking, some doing laundry, and some goats walking around. The scenery actually reminded me of the Okanogan valley in British Columbia, which surprised me and gave me a nostalgic feeling.
After the initial chatter in Fante, I was introduced to a bunch of people including Granny who decided that I was bringing her back with me to Canada. All this was also spoken in Fante, as she does not have more than “Hello” down in her vocab. Can’t say I’m much better in my Fante, though Mama Ackerson is determined to teach me. One thing Iwant to add is that they are surprised that I often know what they are saying -- seems I am getting an ear for the language.
From there, we headed deeper into Takraodi, to another suburb. Being that Mama Ackerson's brother was not home, we would have to come back later. That was good because it afforded us the opportunity to go see some other family. When we arrived, the house was also a compound, but this one was on a hill. In was kind of like San Francisco in the movies, and if you were in a police chase there you might get the same high-flying results…though police chases in the area are minimal…near non-existent...I don't know if there has ever been one.
At the house, I went through another round of introductions. Of them all, one four year old girl, Manuela was very shy, and kind of afraid of me. I was the first ‘Abruni’ to ever be at their house, so she didn’t know what to make of me. Irene, being mischievous noticed her shyness and pushed her towards me. She was still very shy, but reached out to give me five.
Before getting roped into staying at the house and watching a Hindi movie (that’s a Saturday staple), we decided to head into Takraodi. The squad was Irene, Anita, and myself, but Manuela whispered that she wanted to come too, so we brought her along.
As we crossed the street, she took my hand. and used her free hand to cover her face from shyness. Holding my hand, we walked down the road to the coastal highway for a taxi. On the way, I came across a hilarirous moment. A whole bunch of boys started calling out “Peter Crouch, Peter Crouch”. He is a tall, slim footballer (soccer player) who played for the English team and for Liverpool. I actually like how he plays (aside from pulling on that Trini defenders dreads to secure his header goal in their World Cup match). I was cracking up that they were calling me him; that was a first, but I see how they could say that. Part of why it made me smile is that I like the fact that this tall, slim guy is doing so well at the highest level of the sport -- so, I took it as a compliment.
Once reaching the highway, we jumped in a taxi, and my little homie Manuela, sat with me, still too shy to talk. I called Kari from JHR who works in Takraodi and we decided to meet at a local hotel for lunch.
The lunch was very nice and it was great to see Kari and her friend from work. It was extra nice as she and I had connected the most out of all of the JHR people. It was funny because I actually heard about her before I met her. I had just told a friend of mine that I was going to Ghana, and she responded saying that someone at her church had the congregation pray for her as she was going to Ghana. My friend added, "maybe it's for the same program"…turns out, it was Kari! She laughed when I asked her if her churhc had prayed for her before leaving.
During lunch, Manuela began to have tears roll down her cheeks. I had not thought about it before, but she had never been in a restaurant or in a hotel eating Chinese food with some people that she had never met before. It was very strange and overwhelming for her. Anita, Irene, and Kari’s friend tried to comfort her. She stopped crying, but was still very quiet.
By the time we finished, Manuela was a bit sleepy, and was happy to be carried by me to find a taxi back home. It did not take long for her to fall asleep in my arms and it really melted my heart. She was just so sweet and skinny like me.
When we got back, I carried her inside. For about half an hour, we just relaxed, watching the end of the Hindi movie that was on theTV. Before we left, I was surprised to see that Manuela was awake and hanging out with the nieghbourhood kids. Everyone came out to see us off as we headed back to see Mama Ackerson’s brother. I can still see little Manuela saying ‘bye’ without the shyness, and then going back to play with her friends.
At the uncle’s house, dinner was ready, so we had to eat again. He is both a military man and a professor in the United States. He sat there advising his nieces about their educational decisions and discussing life in North America as it compares to life in Ghana. He calls Ghana ‘Mama’ and loves the country, but he is hurt by how it is being managed. His hospitality was nice, and after a couple of hours, Anita and I headed back to Cape Coast.
Upon reaching Cape Coast, the first priority was the book store. We met Dydy in town and I guided them (to their amusement) to the location of the store. At first I thought that the book was gone, but I was happy to find that it was still there. It is a book called “Madness Visible” and it is written by a war journalist named Janine Di Giovanni. We picked it up and made our way through the crowded and crazy festival streets.
Some people were clearly drunk, some in costumes, some dancing, some eating, and others walking in entourages in a celebratory fashion. We were hungry and looking to go back to the residence and shower. On the way home, we stopped in a restaurant for some food, and then headed back. Once we got back, I was feeling exhausted again. As most people bathed to go out, I was bathing for bed. I spent the evening between chilling with Dydy and his boys, and Anita and her girls in their respective dorms, before going to sleep.
One detail that I will add is that things with Anita were getting a little too close for my comfort. She is very cool and fun, but I am not interested on any other level, and being around her so much was getting awkward. She had some other ideas, but I had to break it down to her. At this point, things seem to be straight.
After that long day, I was exhausted. I did not plan on going to church the next moring, but was intending to get up, get my things together and head to Kumasi on my way back to Tamale.
P.S.
I hope to go back to Takraodi to see Kari and Maneula (my little homie!).
Saturday morning, I had two things on my mind: seeing the festival in Cape Coast and finding a particular book that I saw in Cape Coast on my first visit. Both the festival and Black Star Books were in downtown Cape Coast, so that is where I wanted to head.
Before really getting to sleep in, Anita came by the room and told me that her Mom wanted her to accompany her to Takraodi to see her uncle. Rather than go to Cape Coast by myself and make an attempt to find the other JHR people in town, I decided to also go to Takraodi.
So we got ready and headed to the bus station where we would meet Mrs. Ackerson and Irene and continue on together. The bus was late about one hour, but when it arrived Mrs. Ackerson was surprised and happy to see me. I was surprised that she was surprised, because I told Emmanuel to tell her that I would be in Cape Coast, but the message did not reach her. So when she saw me at the Cape Coast bus station, she lovingly scolded me, inquiring what I was doing there. It didn't take long for me to turn her scold into a smile and we headed for the bus.
Togther, we traveled along the coast, and – surprise, surprise – I fell asleep. Before reaching Takraodi, Mrs. Ackerson told teh bus driver that we wanted to get off early, so he pulled over to the side of the road. Not sure where we were, I followed their lead we walked up to a house that had been dropped in front of. Behind the tall stone wall and the metal gate, there were a couple of houses, all part of one family compound. As we continued around to the back of the property, there was some people cooking, some doing laundry, and some goats walking around. The scenery actually reminded me of the Okanogan valley in British Columbia, which surprised me and gave me a nostalgic feeling.
After the initial chatter in Fante, I was introduced to a bunch of people including Granny who decided that I was bringing her back with me to Canada. All this was also spoken in Fante, as she does not have more than “Hello” down in her vocab. Can’t say I’m much better in my Fante, though Mama Ackerson is determined to teach me. One thing Iwant to add is that they are surprised that I often know what they are saying -- seems I am getting an ear for the language.
From there, we headed deeper into Takraodi, to another suburb. Being that Mama Ackerson's brother was not home, we would have to come back later. That was good because it afforded us the opportunity to go see some other family. When we arrived, the house was also a compound, but this one was on a hill. In was kind of like San Francisco in the movies, and if you were in a police chase there you might get the same high-flying results…though police chases in the area are minimal…near non-existent...I don't know if there has ever been one.
At the house, I went through another round of introductions. Of them all, one four year old girl, Manuela was very shy, and kind of afraid of me. I was the first ‘Abruni’ to ever be at their house, so she didn’t know what to make of me. Irene, being mischievous noticed her shyness and pushed her towards me. She was still very shy, but reached out to give me five.
Before getting roped into staying at the house and watching a Hindi movie (that’s a Saturday staple), we decided to head into Takraodi. The squad was Irene, Anita, and myself, but Manuela whispered that she wanted to come too, so we brought her along.
As we crossed the street, she took my hand. and used her free hand to cover her face from shyness. Holding my hand, we walked down the road to the coastal highway for a taxi. On the way, I came across a hilarirous moment. A whole bunch of boys started calling out “Peter Crouch, Peter Crouch”. He is a tall, slim footballer (soccer player) who played for the English team and for Liverpool. I actually like how he plays (aside from pulling on that Trini defenders dreads to secure his header goal in their World Cup match). I was cracking up that they were calling me him; that was a first, but I see how they could say that. Part of why it made me smile is that I like the fact that this tall, slim guy is doing so well at the highest level of the sport -- so, I took it as a compliment.
Once reaching the highway, we jumped in a taxi, and my little homie Manuela, sat with me, still too shy to talk. I called Kari from JHR who works in Takraodi and we decided to meet at a local hotel for lunch.
The lunch was very nice and it was great to see Kari and her friend from work. It was extra nice as she and I had connected the most out of all of the JHR people. It was funny because I actually heard about her before I met her. I had just told a friend of mine that I was going to Ghana, and she responded saying that someone at her church had the congregation pray for her as she was going to Ghana. My friend added, "maybe it's for the same program"…turns out, it was Kari! She laughed when I asked her if her churhc had prayed for her before leaving.
During lunch, Manuela began to have tears roll down her cheeks. I had not thought about it before, but she had never been in a restaurant or in a hotel eating Chinese food with some people that she had never met before. It was very strange and overwhelming for her. Anita, Irene, and Kari’s friend tried to comfort her. She stopped crying, but was still very quiet.
By the time we finished, Manuela was a bit sleepy, and was happy to be carried by me to find a taxi back home. It did not take long for her to fall asleep in my arms and it really melted my heart. She was just so sweet and skinny like me.
When we got back, I carried her inside. For about half an hour, we just relaxed, watching the end of the Hindi movie that was on theTV. Before we left, I was surprised to see that Manuela was awake and hanging out with the nieghbourhood kids. Everyone came out to see us off as we headed back to see Mama Ackerson’s brother. I can still see little Manuela saying ‘bye’ without the shyness, and then going back to play with her friends.
At the uncle’s house, dinner was ready, so we had to eat again. He is both a military man and a professor in the United States. He sat there advising his nieces about their educational decisions and discussing life in North America as it compares to life in Ghana. He calls Ghana ‘Mama’ and loves the country, but he is hurt by how it is being managed. His hospitality was nice, and after a couple of hours, Anita and I headed back to Cape Coast.
Upon reaching Cape Coast, the first priority was the book store. We met Dydy in town and I guided them (to their amusement) to the location of the store. At first I thought that the book was gone, but I was happy to find that it was still there. It is a book called “Madness Visible” and it is written by a war journalist named Janine Di Giovanni. We picked it up and made our way through the crowded and crazy festival streets.
Some people were clearly drunk, some in costumes, some dancing, some eating, and others walking in entourages in a celebratory fashion. We were hungry and looking to go back to the residence and shower. On the way home, we stopped in a restaurant for some food, and then headed back. Once we got back, I was feeling exhausted again. As most people bathed to go out, I was bathing for bed. I spent the evening between chilling with Dydy and his boys, and Anita and her girls in their respective dorms, before going to sleep.
One detail that I will add is that things with Anita were getting a little too close for my comfort. She is very cool and fun, but I am not interested on any other level, and being around her so much was getting awkward. She had some other ideas, but I had to break it down to her. At this point, things seem to be straight.
After that long day, I was exhausted. I did not plan on going to church the next moring, but was intending to get up, get my things together and head to Kumasi on my way back to Tamale.
P.S.
I hope to go back to Takraodi to see Kari and Maneula (my little homie!).
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