Hope

Kids in Ghana are so much fun to be around. Little kids particularly, are quite intrigued by white people. I was wandering around the markets in the North and in between the scary carcasses for sale, intense spices, fabric, fish and kitchen sinks, little kids would come up to me and say hello. When I would wave and say hi, they would giggle and say hello and many would want to give me five. I was walking down one street and said hey to a few kids and they came up and gave me high fives and before you know it, there was a stream of children coming up to me to give me high fives and I just had to laugh.

My last project was working with students to measure how reliable our surveys are. We visited several schools two days in a row to have students take the same survey on consecutive days. If there was much variance in their answers, that would mean we need to change the survey. One of the Catholic schools we visited asked us to lead chapel for them the next day. The person who coordinated everything for us is a youth pastor and he prepared to give the students a message. The next day we went by to drop him off and go to another school while he lead chapel. In the car that morning I was talking to God about feeling distant from Him and asking for revelation and nearness. I suppose His response was quite ironic because as we are getting ready to leave my friend Richard, the principal approaches us and says, "The students are expecting the white man to speak." I should have known better and had something ready. I could have said no, but I had a few minutes and decided that it would be cool. I watched Yes Man on a flight and I was inspired by it to be more adventuresome and that barring something against my spiritual guidelines, I should say yes to my opportunities.

I had five minutes and the Book of Hope to pull together a 30 minute talk for about 200 Ghanaian high schoolers. It was kinda exciting and freakishly terrifying all at once. I flipped through the Book of Hope and thankfully it's full of scripture and I settled on the story of the woman at the well. I went in and sat at a desk after jotting down a few notes on the back of a survey and sending up a few prayers. Two things connect me to African youth, and global youth for that matter; Barack Obama and soccer. Thankfully I can talk about the Black Stars, Michael Essien and Drogba and they were getting excited about the soccer questions I was asking and impressed with my knowledge. I spoke to them about Obama visiting Cape Coast, Ghana and running on a campaign of hope. They were so excited that I had a chance to shake his hand. I shared how people look for hope, they want hope, but it is meaningless unless it is built on something. I spoke for most of the time on the woman at the well and her encounter with Jesus. I smiled to myself as I shared with them that Jesus and this woman had no business talking apart from the kingdom of God and that apart from God I would not have the privilege to share in worship and praise with them, my brothers and sisters. I love kids, in a lot of ways, I feel the church has failed youth and I take all my opportunities to exhort them and let them know that we need them and they are important. When I finished talking I sat down and listened to them finish up their worship time. Several boys beat on their drums loudly and a cluster of girls led the dancing and singing from up front. It was loud and blew me away, but I loved it.

I facilitated several focus groups, a few of them were during the morning worship session with the drums banging away in the next room over. Nothing like trying to get seven shy middleschoolers to speak in their third language while loud percussive noises ruminate from the next room over. The final school we visited was very impressive. Most schools have bold signs painted on the cinder block walls "SPEAK ENGLISH" plastered all around the school buildings or signs scrawled in pencil in dimly lit classrooms announcing to the children that, "English is the language of expression in this classroom." The final school we visited had the most talkative and helpful students. They didn't want to stop talking and were so honored that their voices would affect millions of youth around the world. Usually when I visit a I really enjoyed their conversation and they were so pleasant. They all asked for my business card afterwards and a few of them requested to touch my hair. I had a blast with them.

In 2010 the World will be One

My life has witnessed several drastic shifts in how I view God, politics, and the world. Among my conversions is one that takes on quite the global application. I do confess there were numerous days in my ignorant youth that I castigated soccer fans for their insipid excuse for a sport. Much like fine wine and coffee, what I once saw as dreary and monotonous, I know find incredibly sublime and masterfully creative. Thankfully God has lavished his grace on me in this department as mercifully as in the other areas of my heart requiring transformation. All joking aside, I love that I now love football. It truly is the sport of the world. A group of solemn Africans eying me suspiciously joyfully come to life when I mention that Wayne Rooney is a traitor or that Didier Drogba gives Africans a poor name. The English Premier League is truly a global language. As in all sports, money seems to be ruining the game, but there is still a remnant of the genuine love of sport that brings me joy. Ghana is one such place.

I knew nothing about Ghanaian football the first time I came here. It was not until several months afterwards that John reminded me that Ghana beat the U.S. in the World Cup in 2006, in a game that he lamentably attended. I then remembered watching the match with Tyree at the Dark House in Philly during Mission Year. Not exactly the type of relationship building they encourage, sneaking an underaged kid into an English pub, but Tyree could pass for Greg Oden’s brother. Since my first visit to Ghana last year I have educated myself on global football, Ghanaian football and the English Premiere League. Along with being able to eat spicy/dodgy food, knowledge of football ought to be a requirement for my job. It has opened so many doors and built so many friends for me. A group of solemn Africans eying me suspiciously joyfully come to life when I mention that Wayne Rooney is a traitor or that Didier Drogba gives Africans a poor name. Ghana’s son is Michael Essien and he plays alongside Drogba at Chelsea. There are several other West African’s on the team and so they are the obvious choice for any Ghanaian to root for. Manchester United, the New York Yankees of the world, unfortunately have a relatively large following too.

In every part of Africa I have traveled to, you will invariably see black A-frame chalk board signs along the roadside and in the middle of the streets, advertising the week’s football matches. Hotel, TV repair shop, restaurant, pub, hole in the wall, gas station, you name it, they probably will show the games. You’ll often see them watching the games at the roadside customs checkpoints in the middle of nowhere. I wanted to experience a Chelsea match with Ghanaians and so my friend Adams took us to watch at a popular downtown Tamale local. I’ve watched Liverpool games before in little restaurants, but nothing like this. We paid one cedi (65 cents) to enter and the game had already started and there were probably 150 people packed under a makeshift carport in the hotel atrium. There were two mediumsized flatscreen TVs perched atop Coke cartons. One screen was showing the Chelsea match and the other was showing United. There was a side room with a projector and biggerscreen also showing the Chelsea match. The room was overcrowded and quite stuffy, so I stayed outside to watch both matches. Watching two games at the same time was a bit distracting, but it seemed completely normal. I had been hoping one of the channels would be showing Liverpool, but I had to wait every 20 minutes for score updates. The first Liverpool score was 1-1 and with their schedule toughening, they needed to win. As the tiny score scrolled across the bottom of the screen reading 2-1 Liverpool, I clapped my hands and pumped my fist. My enthusiastic reaction was nearly identically mirrored by a man sitting a few rows in front of me. He turned around and I could see his Liverpool scarf and I had my jersey on and we stood up and high fived each other. Football creates a beautiful family and I am proud to be a Kopite, truly you will never walk alone. Later when Liverpool had finished slaughtering my boy Jozy Altidore’s relegation bound Hull City we celebrated with a Coke watching the conclusion of the two matches. Chelsea had no business losing to Wigan, but after Drogba’s poke equalized, Chelsea’s keeper was whistled for a dodgy red card and Wigan pulled ahead for good. The red devil fans were mocking Chelsea fans, singing songs and having a good time at their expense. When they gave up a third goal as full time was approaching, the door to the VIP lounge opened and a mass exodus ensued, Chelsea fans surrendering and fleeing the jaunts of the United fans. Everyone left the courtyard and headed to the driveway which contained an amalgamation of bikes, motos, taxis, trutru busses to make their ways home.

New Testament Projects

I went to visit the four projects in the Volta Region who dedicated their New Testaments this spring and getting to the villages tended to be quite treacherous. One village in particular felt as though we were pioneering a new road as we cut through overgrown bush clipping branch and bush as we made our way down roads that were two tire tracks with over grown grass in between and the bush closing in on the sides. Each of the NT’s costs probably 30-40 dollars to print, but they sell them for about 2 dollars. The national office has many financial problems and has not received some funding they anticipated. You could tell that they were frustrated that work hasn’t been progressing on the Old Testament and Sylvester encouraged them to take more ownership of the project and that they need to work with the churches and community to raise support. Some projects have developed guest houses, sell honey, grow yams, and other things to be somewhat self-sufficient. It is important for the communities to be empowered and I think they can do much more for themselves than they realize. The numbers however, particularly to run and sustain a translation project, literacy programs and printing operations is heavily stacked against the community. Start-up capital and national infrastructure are the main private and public problems hindering Africa from growth.

Sylvester accompanied me, and he has worked a lot in the U.S. to share with donors about translation projects in Ghana and to give them first hand interaction. He and his wife helped to translate the entire Bible in a community in Northwest Ghana. As a Ghanaian who has worked as a community member, volunteer, in the field, in the national office as management and overseas in development, his words carry a lot of weight with the translation teams and community volunteers that tirelessly review the translations to make sure they are appropriate for use.

Volta Region of Ghana

Most of my preconceptions of Africa came from the Lion King, the Air up There and National Geographic features surrounding famine stricken savanah animals desperately searching for water in a crusty pergatory. Last year in preparation for my first voyage to the motherland, I listened to Paul Simon’s Graceland, Nikose Sikele Africa, Israel Houghton’s Alive in South Africa and Toto’s Africa ad nauseum. I confess that while writing or reading on my porch listening to the rain pound on the corrugated aluminum overhead I wished that I had Toto’s Africa on my ipod or computer so that I could sing along and sing out, “God bless the rains down in Africa.” When I awoke from my early morning flight and walked down the stairs from the planed and passed the doors into Kotoko airport and saw the Akwaaba welcome signs and reminders that Ghana is the gateway to Africa, I had practically forgotten I was in Africa. As I write this I am on a six hour busride from Tamale to Kumasi and passing endless green, trees of all sorts, giant ten foot ant mounds, and clustered villages of circular earthen huts as we made the journey crossing the many flooded tributaries of the Volta River, which is the lifeblood of Ghana. One of my continued prayers is that I might always look with wonder at the works of my Creator. Africa is absolutely beautiful. Last week Michael accompanied me to Wli falls in the middle of the mountains of the Volta Region, bordering Togo. Driving on rough red dirt roads navigating potholes, the waterfalls catch you by surprise. High in the hills, one would not be expecting to see such powerful falls. I paid my six cedis (4 bucks) and Michael led me across a variety of decrepit bridges, about a 35 minute expedition crossing back and forth over the same meandering stream until we reached the falls, the largest in West Africa. Due to the recent rainfall, the falls were overflowing and the rope bridge that allows you to walk behind them was directly in the path of the raging water. Several hundred bats adorned the damp rock faces adjacent to the falls. The pool at the base eschewed a misty cloud that dominated the area, as if it needed an additional reminder that the falls ought to demand everyone’s attention. I sat with Michael and we spoke about how anyone could experience such splendor and deny a creator’s presence and necesity. I thought of the images of water from Psalms and the idea of deep crying to deep in the roar of waterfalls and as I meditated on this passage that brings me so much comfort, I thought about the Sekpele and Selee communities whom I visited the previous day having dedicated the New Testament in their language five months ago. They don’t have the privilege of picturing the writings of the Psalmists because they don’t have the funding to translate the Old Testament into their mother tongue. They desperately want to begin, again convincing themselves that I would be able to assist in convincing the Seed Company to approve the funding. I was joined at the falls by staggered clusters of white people coming to enjoy the beauty. I suspected that few Ghanaians ever visited the falls and he said that there are many waterfalls around and they don’t see it as terribly out of normal and that they don’t have the time or the resources to make the journey. This isn’t terribly surprising, but it’s rather sad. The scattered rain provided a nice contrast to the dusty smothering heat of Tema and Accra. I stayed in the simple guesthouse across the way from Michael’s house with his wife and infant son. She cooked for us, and she sure can cook. Ghanaian food is so much better than Kenyan or other types of African food. Unfortunately I don’t really enjoy fish, and so when I ate by myself I would stomach a few bites, shovel some around and possibly throw some out to the goats.

The electricy was out almost half the time and around 4 or 5 things begin to simmer down. Young adults and kids play football on the dirt fields until night falls. If they have power, they might watch or listen to the news on the one channel that comes in if you are lucky to have a satellite. (The picture doesn’t come through half the time). Every few days, they take a moto into town to check email and do errands. The three mile taxi ride costs 30 cents. Walking down the lane to get to the GILBBT office you pass many dwelling places. There are kids and moms selling different food items. Little kids walk around in tiny Chelsea Michael Essien jerseys, even up here away from much of civilization. Most kids are excited to see me and smile and wave. Hohoe sits in the shade of large mountains and has some beautiful views at sunset and early morning. Without all the distractions of television, internet and phones, I go to bed around 9 and wake up around 5 to read and prepare for the day. I finished my Liverpool book and started to read the Kite Runner. I couldn’t put it down and finished it on the trutru ride back to Accra. I sat in the front seat winding with my backpack on my lap, book in hand and headphones connected to my ipod as we made our way down the mountains through the gorgeous views and across the flood plains and the beautiful suspension bridge across the Volta River. I was laughing to myself as I fought tears at the end of the Kite Runner to keep it together so the Ghanaians didn’t think the crazy American was crying for nothing. The lack of deodorant helped bring me back to Ghana whenever the book was pulling me away to Afghanistan.