Je t'aime, Mon Afrique

Sunday's are set aside as a day of rest, but oftentimes they can be quite stressful or unnerving to me when I'm in a foreign land. This is particularly true if they are part of the 70% of the world or whatever it is that doesn't speak English or Spanish :) Africans know how to worship, I know that and yet the prospect of a four hour church service all in French wasn't the most appealing to me. At least the church at my guesthouse would be airconditioned. I always joke that Americans just need three things to be happy; coffee, internet and airconditioning. Well in Africa, you can usually get some variety of two or three of those things, but never quite to the extent that you desire. I suppose we can never have too many lessons in patience and contentment. Timothy had been trying for days to get in touch with his Togolese friends to direct us to his denomination in Cote d'Ivoire. I'm always for new things, and four hour french church certainly was not a new thing i wanted, i eagerly sacrificed guaranteed airconditioning for an adventure.

I slightly regretted that decision almost immediately when we made our way through the back alley by the soccer and basketball courts to the road to catch a taxi. When I finally stood in the early morning brutal sunshine, I immediately realized and lamented terribly not putting on my deodorant, that really could have killed my day as it could have been painful to me and unpleasant to others (although it doesn't stop like 90% of africans or so as i estimate that don't use it). I usually try to hide while Timothy negotiates a car rate b/c my whiteness is like a giant dollar, shilling, pound or franc fill in the african currency here. Additionally, Timothy handed the driver the phone to talk to someone in Togo about the location of this church in Cote d'Ivoire. We set off and I'm in the back seat, reading my Brothers Karamazov like the absorbed nerd that I am, I can just inhale that book, but I also am trying to savor my first read through it, so i will read back over impacting or mind-bottling passages.

Driving into Abidjan is beautiful as the city unfolds about several lagoons (most of which are tragically polluted) that are nonetheless inspiring and breathtaking. We had been driving quite a ways and things became much more and more rural and before you knew it the roads had disappeared along with the telephone and electrical wires. There were no street signs whatsoever and we quickly became lost and spent lots of time wandering as the driver would pull up next to someone and ask for directions and would invariably point us back in the direction we came to recalibrate and try again. After much driving and phone calls, we were eventually greeted by a bicycle messenger who had been sent from the receiving church. He pointed us in the direction and gave us instructions as we took off with hope anew. About twenty minutes later, he caught up to us, drenched in sweat and we picked him up, jamming his bike into the trunk of the taxi as we were defeated and forced to be ushered personally to the church.

As we are driving through long nothingness of palmtrees and thicket, the lagoon sweeps up alongside you without much warning and deposited us finally at the church in a secluded area right on the sure of expansive blue and solitude. The land faces a large island that is nothing but a giant mass of palmtrees and sand. The church is hardly a building but more of a tent of palm leaves thatched into a roof and lined with palm fronds to create as cool an interior as is possible for the typical 115 degree heat index. We invited the taxi driver into church and he declined, but we realized we would not be able to find another cab for miles and miles so we paid him to wait for us. Upon ducking into the tiny beach floored shelter, I was amazed at how pleasant it felt inside. We briefly sat on a bench at the back just in front of the nursury (open sand area with kids laying down and mothers sitting/playing with them) before they beckoned us to their pulpit. I always found it funny when guests sit at the places of honor and so i felt a bit silly trudging through the sand to the plastic beach chair behind the wooden bench and pulpit just off to the side and slightly to the front. As I carefully followed Timothy's every lead, I sat down and nearly fell over as my chair sunk several inches into the sand. I was slightly off guard and out of my element.

They brought us water that I'm sure was not bottled and so Timothy leaned over and whispered that i should either fake drink it or spit it out, but to look appreciative and make some kind of gesture. I withheld a giggle and opted to sip a little bit, but the essentially full glass on the bench sat there indicting me the entire service. We sang several songs which enabled me to loosen up, i love singing songs in languages i don't know very well b/c I have the spirit of praise, i am surrounded by my brothers and sisters and i can pick out the important words, heart, love, Savior, Lord, Jesus, etc. Even though there were only 20 people in this small town, they worshipped and man it ministered to my soul and I praised God and felt rest. Timothy, my pastor and my friend preached in English just for me and the pastor translated to French for the congregation. I later found out that many people in the church were Ghanaian and so several could speak some English at least and came up to me afterwards to welcome me and practice their English. He spoke from Matthew 26 about Jesus in Gethsemane and how he fully and finally laid down his will for the will of his Father, and how this is the gate to our glory and to our destiny; not my will, but yours. I have been sharing with Timothy what has been on my heart lately and beyond the fact that he was preaching in his second tongue, purely for my sake, I sensed that he crafted that message specifically for me and was speaking directly to me. I suppose this is the mark of a good pastor to make his people feel that way, but I was honored.

I would have the opportunity to return the favor as following his message, they asked me for an encore message. I smiled knowing that it was likely to come and so I preached out of the Psalms of Ascension and Ephesians regarding the relationship between communion with God and fellowship with one another and the joy that comes from worshipping God together in community. I even gave my first paragraph about God, love and community in French (or at least I believe that I did lol) By this time, I know that if I look around and I'm the only white person in the room, especially if it's somewhere remote, i better be prepared to give a message! How joyful it is to talk about community, to worship with my brethren and to rejoice in the kindred spirits we share through our pursuit of God and death to our will's that His might be born completely in us. My spirit was so encouraged by church and meeting with people afterwards, but the day only got better as we headed back to civilization to meet with the denomination leaders over Coca-Cola and cookies (Coke was meant to be drank in a glass bottle).

Unfortunately the road to the bishop's house is also the road to beach where anyone and everyone was headed and so two lanes of traffic were a standstill for miles while the other side of the road sat practically dormant. I thought to myself that they should have variable direction lanes and before I knew it, drivers began to cross the muddy sandy divide and take matters into their own hands driving on both sides of the divided "highway"I sat there as Timothy shared his vision for the church, his heart for West Africa and how this project could be a great resource to the church. He got many head nods and affirmative gestures from the mostly older elders. I had a chance to share a bit and they were encouraging to me, but my job is to equip and empower people not be the Moses or Aaron. Interestingly the head bishop of the denomination really opened up once we began to mention the football match we were going to attend in the afternoon. He studied English in the UK and was a big Liverpool fan and he started asking me all sorts of questions about Rafa, our current midfield configuration and testing my knowledge about the great sides of the 70's and 80's. I loved it, I love how football connects people. We headed across the biggest lagoon back towards the major district of Abidjan for the National Stadium to watch the local National team play Les Elephants square off against the Sparrow Hawks from Timothy's homeland of Togo.

African's are so passionate about their teams, that they must separate the fans very carefully so that violence doesn't break out. Sadly this mirrors the political situation which is also fighting amongst the same people. Timothy remarked at how many people were speaking his mother tongue language from Togo all throughout the city. Both countries boast vibrant colorful flags and proudly wore, waved and touted their particular variety. The visiting Togolese even toted a working orchestra of drummers and buglers to support their troops, though paling in comparison to the orange and green symphony of musicians and official supporters given the most prestigious place of cheer outside of dignitaries. The Ivorians even sported an adorable army of children who danced whenever their heroes broke through notching goals that sent the crowd into a frenzied state. They had much reason for dancing for although the game was a fairly conservative 0-0 draw after the first half, the mighty orange broke through and exploded for four goals in the second half. In doing so, they just missed out on Timothy's grim, but realistic 5-0 defeat which he predicted of his compatriots before the match began.

Each goal was noted on what appeared to simply be a large piece of poster board labeled "CI (Cote d'Ivoire) and TOGO and volunteers or staff scribbled numbers on placards to place on the makeshift "jumbotron" (I tried to explain the new Cowboy stadium sign to them and they couldn't imagine it, I still can't for that matter)The Ivorians cheered and cheered, but cheered more for the artistic and beautiful plays that usually failed to materialize into any substantial tactical move. They just loved to see the beautiful game played and celebrated the artistic. Poor Togo, as soon as they went down a goal, they gave up and the flood gates opened.

Midway through the second frame, they brought in a tall dreadlocked midfielder matching the frame, appearance and number of Togo's hero and 2009's African footballer of the year. Every time he touched the ball, the Ivorians cheered and yelled out Adebayor's name. It became clear why he was merely a look alike and not on the real national squad as he had little pace for the game and trouble finding his spacing. His culminating act was taking a pass in stride late in the match and proceeding to step on the ball tumbling to the ground as the whole stadium erupted into joyous laughter. When the final whistle sounded, the fans congratulated each others and the players, even the defeated sparrow hawks, approached the stands of their adoring fans to salute and honor their supporters. It was really neat to be a part of this. (I still hate those vuvuzela horns that Africans blow incessantly and obnoxiously during FIFA tournaments)

We celebrated with the fans and enjoyed a chocolate covered banana popsicle outside the stadium before heading back to our part of the city for an incredible meal of beef grilled over an open flame served with onions, spicy pepper sauce, and seasoning accompanied by the local treat, casava couscous accompanied by nothing other than a refreshing Coke, straight from the bottle of course. Perfect ending to a marvelous day...je t'aime, mon Afrique.

Brothers Karamazov

some of my favorite quotes from BK so far, my words aren't necessary...

The awful thing is that beauty is mysterious as well as terrible. God and the devil are fighting there and the battleground is the heart of man. But a man always talks of his own ache. Listen now, let’s come to facts…

Alyosha “pierced his heart” by “living with him, seeing everything and blaming nothing.” Moreover, Alyosha brought with him something his father had never known before: a complete absence of contempt for him and a consistent kindness, a perfectly natural, unaffected devotion to the old man who deserved it so little. All this was a complete surprise to the old wretch who had dropped all family ties.

In his [Alyosha] fervent prayer he did not beseech God to lighten his darkness. He only thirsted for the joyous emotion, which always visited his soul after the praise and adoration, of which his evening prayer usually consisted.

“Why, why, had he (Alyosha) gone forth? Why had Father Zossima sent him into the world? Here in the hermitage was peace. Here was holiness. But out in the world there was confusion, there was darkness in which one lost one’s way…”

And in the very depths of that degradation I [Dmitri] begin a hymn of praise. Let me be accursed. Let me be vile and base, only let me kiss the hem of the veil in which my God is shrouded. Though I may be following the devil, I am thy son, O Lord, and I love thee. And I feel joy without which the world cannot stand.

What chance was there of peace? Were there not, on the contrary new grounds for hatred and hostility? And with whom was Alyosha to sympathize? And what was he to wish for each of them? He loved them both, but their desires were conflicting. He might go astray in this maze, and his heart could not endure uncertainty because his love was always of an active kind. He was incapable of passive love. If he loved anyone, he wanted at once to help him. And to do so he must know what he was aiming at. It was natural for him to help both Ivan and Dmitri. But instead of a definite aim, he found nothing but uncertainty on all sides. “It was lacerating,” as was just said. But what could he understand even in this laceration? He did not understand the first word in this perplexing maze.

Last week I [Katarina] learned that he [Dmitri] still needed money. My only object in all this was that he should know to whom to turn, and who was his true friend. No, he wouldn’t recognize that I am his truest friend; he regards me merely as a woman. I’ve been tormented all week, trying to think how to prevent him from being ashamed to face me because he spent that three thousand [Roubles]. Let him feel ashamed of himself, let him be ashamed of other people’s knowing, but not of my knowing. He can tell God everything without shame. Why is it he still does not understand how much I am ready to bear for his sake? Why, why doesn’t he know me? How can he not know me after all that has happened? I want to save him. Let him forget me as his fiancée…

Your life, Katerina, will be spent in painful brooding over your own suffering. But in the end that suffering will be softened and will pass into contemplation of the fulfillment of a bold and proud design. Yes proud it certainly is, and desperate in any case, but a triumph for you. And the consciousness of it will at last be a source of complete satisfaction and will make you resigned to everything else.

Your brother is in there with her now, not that dreadful brother [Dmitri] who was so shocking yesterday, but the other, Ivan. He is sitting with her talking. They are having a serious conversation. If you could only imagine what’s passing between them now- it’s awful. I [Katerina] tell you it’s lacerating; it’s like some incredible tale of horror. They are ruining their lives for no reason anyone can see. They both recognize it and revel in it. I’ve been watching for you! I’ve been thirsting for you! It’s too much for me.

But they have only analyzed the parts and overlooked the whole, and indeed their blindness is marvelous. Yet the whole still stands steadfast before their eyes, and the gates of Hell shall not prevail against it. Has it not lasted nineteen years? Is it not still a living, a moving power in the individual soul and in the masses of people? It is still strong and living in the souls of atheists, who have destroyed everything! For even those who have renounced Christianity and attack it still follow the Christian ideal. And neither their subtlety nor the ardor of their hearts has been able to create a higher ideal of man and of virtue than the ideal given by Christ of old.

There is a remarkable picture by the painter Kramskoy, called "Contemplation." There is a forest in winter, and on a roadway through the forest, in absolute solitude, stands a peasant in a torn kaftan and bark shoes. He stands, as it were, lost in thought. Yet he is not thinking; he is "contemplating." If anyone touched him he would start and look at one as though awakening and bewildered. It's true he would come to himself immediately; but if he were asked what he had been thinking about, he would remember nothing. Yet probably he has, hidden within himself, the impression which had dominated him during the period of contemplation. Those impressions are dear to him and no doubt he hoards them imperceptibly, and even unconsciously. How and why, of course, he does not know either. He may suddenly, after hoarding impressions for many years, abandon everything and go off to Jerusalem on a pilgrimage for his soul's salvation, or perhaps he will suddenly set fire to his native village, and perhaps do both. There are a good many "contemplatives" among the peasantry.

Strengthen yourself in the Lord

stolen from bill johnson...can't wait to read the rest of the book

Watch over your heart with all diligence for from it flows the springs of life. Prov. 4:23

All of the issues of our lives flow forth like rivers from one central location- the heart- and what we do in stewarding that one place determines the outcome of our lives. We live in the crossroads daily that place b/w mystery and revelation. My job is to trust my heavenly father with the problems and the situations I don’t understand and focus on stewarding my will to what I know to be true. My success in watching over my heart determines the measure of kingdom breakthrough I will experience in life. In other words, my inner reality often defines the nature of my external reality: If I prosper in my heart, my life will prosper. Strengthening ourselves in the Lord is an essential part of stewarding our heart. The tools that I have learned to use to strengthen myself in the Lord have become calculated responses to the warning lights of my heart, but the fact is I can only respond correctly if I already recognize and understand the signals my heart sends. If the oil light comes on in my car and my response is to take it to the carwash, I clearly do not understand what the light means. Worse yet the real problem has not been dealt with yet and will soon manifest in a break down. When it comes to my heart I have found that the only way I can correctly use the tools I have received to strengthen myself is to establish foundational truths in my thinking- truths about the nature of reality, who God is, and who He has made me to be, these truths help me identify my heart signals.

Did you know that your thinking and your heart are intimately connected? The western mindset compartmentalizes human beings when it comes to feelings and thinking, the heart feels and the mind thinks, but scripture says for as he thinks in his heart, so he is (Proverbs 23:7) In fact the Hebrew definition of the word heart encompasses the entirety of your inner man. Your heart is the seat of your mind, imagination, will, desires, emotions, affections, memory and conscience it is also the center of your communication with the spirit of God and possesses the faculties that perceive spiritual realities. Scripture refers to this spiritual perception as the eyes of your heart thus your heart is what enables you to have faith, which is the evidence of things not seen (Heb 11:1) Your faith grows as your heart, led by the holy spirit, perceives and understands the invisible realm of spiritual reality. The unseen realm governs the visible realm and brings your mind and will into agreement with the reality of the kingdom. In essence what I have just described is the process of renewing your mind. Our internal focus on and agreement with spiritual reality- either the reality of God’s kingdom established on the truth or the destructive reality of the enemy’s kingdom established on lies, gives permission for that reality to flow into the issues of life. This power of agreement with spiritual reality through our focus adds another dimension to the principle that life flows from the heart; you become what you behold. As I said in the previous chapter, God has made clear what we are becoming- the potential we are all called to grow into throughout our lifetime. We are becoming kings and priests of the planet following the lead of our elder brother Jesus. This is why Hebrews tells us to fix our eyes on Jesus (Heb. 12:2)

Our goal is to sustain our focus on him, b/c we become like the one we behold. The degree to which we understand our identity and purpose, who we are becoming, is always determined by the degree of our revelation of Jesus. He is the exact representation of the Father in whose image we were created.

Beholding Jesus cannot be reduced to reading about Him in scripture. He died that the same spirit that was in him and on him giving him constant access to what the father was saying and doing could be sent to live in us. The truth is that every believer has constant access to the manifest presence of God. WE ARE AN OPEN HEAVEN. But we have to take advantage of that access and we do that by turning our focus on him. Only in that place of communion with him do we come to know him and consequently gain the revelation of our identity and purpose and as we agree with the revelation of who he is, the reality of who he is, starts to flow into our lives and transform us into his likeness. All fruitfulness in our lives flows from this place of intimacy with the Lord. All fruitfulness.

1 Samuel 30:6

Me Viniste a Rescatar

Hace mucho tiempo desde he escrito y ahorita me siento como expresarme por espanol. Mi lengua espanol parece como nino pero me aconseja mucho. Seguramente es muy imperativo porque soy muy terco y duro y Jesus nos dijo que necesitamos llegar a ser como ninos para heredar el reino de Dios. Tantas veces creo que tengo todo control de mi vida. En estos momentos de mi orgullo, Dios me guia hacia su voluntad y proposito usualmente por medio de angustia y mis circunstancias lastimas. Esta cancion me acuerdo que no vale la pena si Dios no controla mi vida, tengo que poner mi vida en tus manos. A mi no me importa que pasa conmigo solamente que lo aprendo, que Dios es mi roca y refugio, que el no permitira nada pasar afuera de su perfecto plan. El me conoce, me conoce, me conoces, Senor. Mis deseos para casar, mis temores, mis suenos, mis pasiones por lo urbano y internacional, la pena de pobreza que pesa mucho en mi corazon, el gozo que me da comunidad, el conoce todo. Si creo en el, tengo que confiar en su provision y no en mi capaz. Me libra cuando reposo en esto, solo necesito clamar y me vendra para rescatarme, para sostenirme que paz cuando realmente lo comprendo. Mi mente sabe pero mi corazon no conoce en serio esto y esto me causa problemas y lastima. No se como es posible porque Dios me ha mostrado por todo el mundo su poder, amor y gracia y todavia estoy arrogante y terco pero me prometio que si buscaria con todo mi alma, el le hallare asi que te digo Senor, estoy aqui con mis manos vacios, entrego mis deseos y te confio que tus planes son lo mejor, estoy clamando, rescateme mi precioso salvador, te amo. Dejalas a las letras a esta cancion perduran en mi corazon...

Me Viniste A Rescatar

Vengo ante ti postrado,
con todo mi ser te quiero ver,
tuyo soy, Señor.

Mi vida pongo en tus manos,
Dios de gracia, vengo en humildad,
En tu presencia quiero estar.

Clamé, me oíste, me viniste a rescatar,
Contigo quiero estar.

Con mi fe te exaltaré,
Con mi amor te exaltaré,
Con mi ser te exaltaré.

Perspective

Tony, Cris and I had an amazing time of fellowship, fun and sightseeing on our trip to San Fran, Napa Valley, REDDING, and Lake Tahoe. The trip was refreshing and brought a lot of levity to work and life stress, but as we reflected on some things, the trip really brought me some perspective on who I am and who I want to be. Tony and Cris have really helped me tremendously work through issues that I need to work and have often been too lazy to pursue and that is one of many reasons that I love them, but back to perspective... Lake Tahoe is expansive, breathtaking and majestic. Pictures rarely do it justice and yet I pursue shots that might capture a glint of the majesty. As the sun was getting ready to set I was jumping all over the place, climbing and falling in the snow trying to get good pictures. It was bright and so I had borrowed Tony's chic sunglasses to minimize the glare in my eyes. As I lined up a picture in the view-finder and snapped the picture, I was inevitably utterly disappointed whenever I'd look at the LCD and see the miniature version of my picture, washed out, not terribly crisp and completely uninspiring. After several frustrating minutes of this, I decided to try some trickery and placed Tone's sunglasses in front of the camera lens b/c I was desperate to see on film what my eyes saw through those shades. These two pictures were my favorite to see the contrast between the two (yes, some of it has to do w/ my lack of understanding of white balance thank you :P ) Regardless, it is astounding to witness the power a thin piece of plastic has in completely transforming a landscape and changing your entire outlook. Millimeters of tinted glass changing the refraction gradient completely transforms the expansive lake in majestic and breathtaking fashion. One infinitesimally small lens in relationship to the hundreds of square miles of lake surroundings has the power to completely change everything. So i often I keep my lens cap on or I've got my gospel sunglasses on my head while I'm squinting and struggling to contextualize the spiritual landscape that God has perfectly and personally equipped me for. Thank goodness for moments of clarity, conviction and reflection to step back admire God's work in my life and in creation and worship Him.

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.