My Final Letter from Ghana
27 August, 2008
I want to tell you the story of a man called Samuel, but my knowledge of his life is limited to a fifteen minute exchange in an alleyway in Accra. We (Thomas, myself and a team of students recently arrived from the UK) were driving home from a prayer meeting at the church when Thomas decided to show us the church’s first sanctuary. He stopped adjacent to a dimly lit, narrow street in the heart of the Okaishie Market. Here, the congregation had worshipped, studied and prayed. Preparations for the morning service had included shoveling out the piles of refuse which had accumulated during the week.
Thomas parked, hopped out of the car, and walked over to talk with some people sitting on a tabletop, who were eyeing us curiously. I followed, along with one other student. After introducing myself to a young woman and one of the men seated nearby, I wandered over to the group that had initially grabbed my attention. A man holding an old, manual Canon camera with a large flash attachment was photographing a man in a wheelchair holding a baby girl. His studio was a white cloth thrown over a support beam under the awning at the entrance of a dilapidated factory building. Lighting was a single bulb dangling low overhead. The wheelchair-bound man was clearly another of the multitude of polio sufferers in Ghana. His body was completely withered from the hip down and he sat with his legs curled beneath his thin frame. My eyes were drawn upwards, however, to a pleasant face and a ready smile. I asked him his name. “It’s Samuel,” he said.
The photographer asked if I would be in the picture with Samuel and the little girl. I agreed with pleasure, kneeling beside Samuel and taking the baby’s hand in mine. The camera flashed and Samuel smilingly relinquished the petite, wide-eyed infant named Grace. Making herself at home, she nestled into my arms and took a generous handful of my red curls with a firm purpose to explore and discover. I’m not sure what she intended to find, but her eyes were unblinking as she examined every line of my face and routinely stroked my tresses. This was probably her first exposure to a white face, and though barely a year old, her desire to make sense of this puzzling apparition was evident in every crease of her thoughtful little brow.
It was getting late, and Thomas indicated that we had to leave. As I began to say my goodbyes and restore Grace to Samuel, a man in his early twenties walked up and introduced himself as Grace’s father. He had seen her in my arms, and noted my obvious pleasure in holding her. As I attempted to loosen my curls from Grace’s clutching hand and return her to Samuel, her father asked repeatedly if I would like to take Grace with me. Of course, that wasn’t possible. It’s the unconscious response we all would make in a similar situation. But in the car, on the way home to a bed, shelter, and food, I couldn’t help but note the stark contrasts of my life and that of Grace’s. I felt that I had denied her a “better life.” But then I checked myself. God had not said I was to remove her from that alleyway in Accra. He determined exactly where she was to be born and He knows the type of life she will lead. I am to pray over her and trust that He holds her securely in His hands. I believe the key in such situations is to be prepared at all times to act according to His voice, and never question it, no matter how ludicrous His commission may sound. If He had said, “Take Grace home,” I would have somehow found a way.
Today marks three weeks since my return, and inevitably this question has been asked by many well-meaning people, “What did you learn?” Well... Where would I begin? How do I describe the young girls selling bananas on the streets? Or the elderly men kneeling on a strip of cloth praying to Allah at sunset? Or the joy in the eyes of the street children when you smile and wave to them? What about the beggars with polio, literally crawling among the cars, asking for change? There aren’t any words to describe what happens in your Spirit when you come face to face with the broken heart of Christ. Please don’t limit what I’m saying to the boundaries of Ghana, or even within Africa. His blood was spilled for all. And that includes the next door neighbour with a Mercedes, the Mexican girl working at McDonalds, and the commander of the Taliban soldier in Afghanistan; the brothel owner in India, the sheik in Dubai, and the child who bullies your children at school. They all are God’s people.
During one of our Sunday services, Reverend Keith made this statement: “Our real capacity as followers of Jesus Christ lies not in how much we retain, but in how much is poured out.” We are not saved so that we might live with the assurance of heaven and Christ’s blessings or grace. We are saved because we are loved by Him. And because all are loved by Him, we have been commissioned as His children to love as He loved. This love will never spring from emotion or by reasoning. He has given us His capacity to love through the gift of the Holy Spirit. Hanging on that cross, Jesus was not enraged at the soldiers who drove the nails through His hands; He was moved with such love and compassion for them in their blinded state, that the anger created in His human state drove Him to usurp war and simply offer Himself to the enemy before the first arrow was drawn.
Yes, there is pain on earth. Yes, there is death. Yes, there is injustice. But we were not created for this world. We are to love as if there is no hatred, live as if there is no death, and be just in the face of injustice. To love so intensely requires an attitude of selfless intent to reach the nations (and our neighbours) with the message of Jesus Christ. Every word He spoke was truth, no matter how hard, or radical, or politically incorrect. Paul gave us a good idea of what the life of a follower of Jesus Christ will look like:
“But in all things, we commend ourselves as ministers of God: in much patience, in tribulations, in needs, in distresses, in stripes, in imprisonments, in tumults, in labours, in sleeplessness, in fastings; by purity, by knowledge, by longsuffering, by kindness, by the Holy Spirit, by sincere love, by the Word of Truth, by the Power of God, by the armour of righteousness on the right hand and on the left, by honour and dishonour, by evil report and good; as deceivers, and yet true, as unknown, and yet well-known; as dying, and behold we live; as chastened, and yet not killed; as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, and yet possessing all things.” 2 Corinthians 6 : 4 -10
If we choose to live this way, we will come into contact with some of the “least of these.” It may be messy and a little scary at first, but this is exactly where Christ said He would be. Look past the sorrow and despair - as followers of Jesus, we have the Truth that will bring joy to every soul! Don’t live in such anticipation for Heaven that you are blinded from seeing the Kingdom of God among us today. There is so much to be done while we’re here! Embrace the opportunity to live each day in imitation of our Saviour.
This my last letter to you concerning Ghana. I want to reiterate my thanks, both for the financial support from many of you and the multitude of prayers that were lifted up during my time there. Please send me an email (rmsplawn@gmail.com) if you have any thoughts or comments that you’d like to make on this letter or any of the others preceding it. I love hearing your responses!
With much love from me and all the Splawn family,
Rebekah
Friday, 24 April 2009
Newsletter 3 - Ghana
Update #3 from Ghana:
Picture clouds, large and full, resembling freshly whipped cream and weightless as cotton. The sky is that true blue, almost translucent, making the observer feel the magnificence of its breadth. Red clay roads abruptly cut through fields blanketed with tall green grass, bounded by a far-reaching horizon interrupted by sporadic clumps of trees. Nestled among all is a mud-built, nearly circular compound, roughly 20 paces in diameter; the silhouette of a woman with a bundle on her back can be seen on the roof, stooped over and apparently in the action of stirring something with her hands.
This is Zuprii (zoo-pree), a little village an hour's drive outside of Wa, a large city in the north-west corner of Ghana. The village is barely two miles from the border of Burkina Faso. The circular compound is the chief's house, where he lives with his three wives and children. His village is made of the farms of his people; fields with large mounds of earth in neat rows for planting yams, with the family's mud home and cattle corral nearby. Goats, chickens, and dogs wander in and out of the house, but the donkeys and cows are kept in pens built of sticks and branches.
A team from Virginia came to Ghana in May and built a community centre for the people of Zuprii. In essence, the building is a concrete structure with half walls and a peaked, corrugated iron roof boasting three entry points. This second trip was made to complete the building project by painting the walls, making a ramp up to one entrance for the disabled villagers, and constructing gates for the doorways to keep out the animals.
About eight years ago, the Jaggers planted a church in this village. The chief was saved on the first day, thereby freeing to rest of the villagers to accept Christ as well. When Keith and Debbie returned to teach and encourage the people, God had beat them to it. The villagers were in the middle of their church service, grouped underneath a tree, praying and prophesying to each other. A local pastor who had taken over this little church told the Jaggers that he had never taught on prophesy and that they hadn't yet seen a Bible (primarily because most are illiterate). They were prophesying scripture they had never read, and practicing biblical truths they'd never been taught! This is their revelation of the Messiah.
I had the great priviledge of visiting Zuprii during my second week in Ghana. I travelled by road, with Keith and Debbie and two guys who were sent by a church in North Carolina. The drive was a little over ten hours, a vast improvement on previous journeys, which the Jaggers said used to take seventeen hours. Roads have improved thanks to the current government, and travel is much smoother throughout the country. Roadside robberies are still a concern, however, so we left early in the morning and drove all day to avoid travel at night.
Our base was in Wa, where we were joined by five Ghanaians who had previously worked with Keith and Debbie. Two have completed Bible school and are preparing to be missionaries. They were a wonderful addition to our team, especially as they spoke five or six different languages between them. The next four days were spent in Zuprii, painting the concrete building that will double as a community centre during the week and a church on Sundays. We constructed gates for each doorway, poured the concrete ramp, and painted the interior and exterior of the building. Most tasks I was not permitted to do because I'm a woman!!! (and frankly, I didn't have a clue how to mix concrete by hand or build a gate). So the bulk of my time was spent keeping the men watered, and then photographing the children and women of the village. They loved my digital camera, and everyone wanted to pose for an individual portrait, twice. =) Their favourite part of the experience was looking at themselves in the little screen after I'd snapped the shot. Yes, you will see these photos as soon as I get home and will thus be in a position to send them.
I played with children one afternoon, while all their parents and older siblings were out farming. Debbie pulled out a multi-coloured parachute and a big rubber ball, and they played and laughed for hours. These kids impressed me so much. Little seven-year old girls were carrying infants and toddlers on their back, taking full responsibility for the little ones until the mother returned from the fields. And the boys watch out for the little ones just as readily as the girls. Everyone helps with fetching water from the well, and they were eager to run errands for us whenever a need arose. In one instance, we needed more paint thinner, but it would take three hours round trip to drive to Wa. One of the boys (approx. 12 yrs old) hopped on his bike with the empty can and rode the next village where there was a gas station (single pump) where he could get petrol as our alternative thinner. It was a two-hour trip, and he returned sweaty, tired, and happy to help the team.
On the last day, we celebrated the completion of the building by having a short service underneath the tree, which formerly sheltered their "church". Their instruments for praise and worship were cowbells chimed with a ram's horn, clapping hands, and uplifted voices. They danced, sang, and beamed with joy. Keith made a brief speech, celebrating the building, and ensuring that the people knew that this great blessing is the result of their faith in God and not the result of the white men's money. We closed in prayer, with the majority of the village on their knees (children included), praying fervently for their families, neighbours and for the churches in the States who had provided the funds for the building. Their simple faith was challenging to everyone on our team. They don't try to rationalise, they simply accept as truth every word and promise that God spoke, knowing that He will be faithful, even if they don't eat that day.
Two weeks remain of my time here in Ghana; these weeks will be filled at the office with Thomas, where my computer and organisational skills have come in handy, and at the orphanage with the children. I head home on August 13th, and arrive the following morning in England. Thank you again for your prayers. I honestly wasn't sure if I'd make through these last few weeks, but God is faithful and He knows exactly what we need. Continue to pray for the church here, which is growing stronger each day in their personal revelation of Jesus Christ. Be encouraged, be blessed, and remember that we serve an Awesome God.
In Him,
Rebekah
Picture clouds, large and full, resembling freshly whipped cream and weightless as cotton. The sky is that true blue, almost translucent, making the observer feel the magnificence of its breadth. Red clay roads abruptly cut through fields blanketed with tall green grass, bounded by a far-reaching horizon interrupted by sporadic clumps of trees. Nestled among all is a mud-built, nearly circular compound, roughly 20 paces in diameter; the silhouette of a woman with a bundle on her back can be seen on the roof, stooped over and apparently in the action of stirring something with her hands.
This is Zuprii (zoo-pree), a little village an hour's drive outside of Wa, a large city in the north-west corner of Ghana. The village is barely two miles from the border of Burkina Faso. The circular compound is the chief's house, where he lives with his three wives and children. His village is made of the farms of his people; fields with large mounds of earth in neat rows for planting yams, with the family's mud home and cattle corral nearby. Goats, chickens, and dogs wander in and out of the house, but the donkeys and cows are kept in pens built of sticks and branches.
A team from Virginia came to Ghana in May and built a community centre for the people of Zuprii. In essence, the building is a concrete structure with half walls and a peaked, corrugated iron roof boasting three entry points. This second trip was made to complete the building project by painting the walls, making a ramp up to one entrance for the disabled villagers, and constructing gates for the doorways to keep out the animals.
About eight years ago, the Jaggers planted a church in this village. The chief was saved on the first day, thereby freeing to rest of the villagers to accept Christ as well. When Keith and Debbie returned to teach and encourage the people, God had beat them to it. The villagers were in the middle of their church service, grouped underneath a tree, praying and prophesying to each other. A local pastor who had taken over this little church told the Jaggers that he had never taught on prophesy and that they hadn't yet seen a Bible (primarily because most are illiterate). They were prophesying scripture they had never read, and practicing biblical truths they'd never been taught! This is their revelation of the Messiah.
I had the great priviledge of visiting Zuprii during my second week in Ghana. I travelled by road, with Keith and Debbie and two guys who were sent by a church in North Carolina. The drive was a little over ten hours, a vast improvement on previous journeys, which the Jaggers said used to take seventeen hours. Roads have improved thanks to the current government, and travel is much smoother throughout the country. Roadside robberies are still a concern, however, so we left early in the morning and drove all day to avoid travel at night.
Our base was in Wa, where we were joined by five Ghanaians who had previously worked with Keith and Debbie. Two have completed Bible school and are preparing to be missionaries. They were a wonderful addition to our team, especially as they spoke five or six different languages between them. The next four days were spent in Zuprii, painting the concrete building that will double as a community centre during the week and a church on Sundays. We constructed gates for each doorway, poured the concrete ramp, and painted the interior and exterior of the building. Most tasks I was not permitted to do because I'm a woman!!! (and frankly, I didn't have a clue how to mix concrete by hand or build a gate). So the bulk of my time was spent keeping the men watered, and then photographing the children and women of the village. They loved my digital camera, and everyone wanted to pose for an individual portrait, twice. =) Their favourite part of the experience was looking at themselves in the little screen after I'd snapped the shot. Yes, you will see these photos as soon as I get home and will thus be in a position to send them.
I played with children one afternoon, while all their parents and older siblings were out farming. Debbie pulled out a multi-coloured parachute and a big rubber ball, and they played and laughed for hours. These kids impressed me so much. Little seven-year old girls were carrying infants and toddlers on their back, taking full responsibility for the little ones until the mother returned from the fields. And the boys watch out for the little ones just as readily as the girls. Everyone helps with fetching water from the well, and they were eager to run errands for us whenever a need arose. In one instance, we needed more paint thinner, but it would take three hours round trip to drive to Wa. One of the boys (approx. 12 yrs old) hopped on his bike with the empty can and rode the next village where there was a gas station (single pump) where he could get petrol as our alternative thinner. It was a two-hour trip, and he returned sweaty, tired, and happy to help the team.
On the last day, we celebrated the completion of the building by having a short service underneath the tree, which formerly sheltered their "church". Their instruments for praise and worship were cowbells chimed with a ram's horn, clapping hands, and uplifted voices. They danced, sang, and beamed with joy. Keith made a brief speech, celebrating the building, and ensuring that the people knew that this great blessing is the result of their faith in God and not the result of the white men's money. We closed in prayer, with the majority of the village on their knees (children included), praying fervently for their families, neighbours and for the churches in the States who had provided the funds for the building. Their simple faith was challenging to everyone on our team. They don't try to rationalise, they simply accept as truth every word and promise that God spoke, knowing that He will be faithful, even if they don't eat that day.
Two weeks remain of my time here in Ghana; these weeks will be filled at the office with Thomas, where my computer and organisational skills have come in handy, and at the orphanage with the children. I head home on August 13th, and arrive the following morning in England. Thank you again for your prayers. I honestly wasn't sure if I'd make through these last few weeks, but God is faithful and He knows exactly what we need. Continue to pray for the church here, which is growing stronger each day in their personal revelation of Jesus Christ. Be encouraged, be blessed, and remember that we serve an Awesome God.
In Him,
Rebekah
Newsletter 2 - Ghana
Dear friends and family,
Where do you usually spend your Sunday morning? Thomas' church is called Okaishie (formerly The Church with No Walls), and has recently been able to boast, not only of walls, but also a ceiling and some fans. They meet in an area of Accra called the Arts Centre, a giant market selling local crafts, food, and clothing. Most of the sellers have decided to make it home as well. After their goods are packed away in the evening, a curtain is stretched across the front of the wooden structure, and the transformation from fruit stand to family home is complete. The church building is a concrete structure with three steps across the threshold and a raised section at the farthest end of the building acting as a stage. Wooden benches are brought out to accommodate the sixty or so people that show up for the 10am service. They have a band and several instruments, and a podium for the pastor to rest his Bible on. If you arrive at 9am, you can join in the Bible study where the nearest English speaker will happily translate the Twi (local dialect) for you. The service begins with prayer, which usually lasts for over half an hour. Everyone prays out loud at the same time, and some with microphones. So you can imagine the level of noise, especially since the women like to accompany their prayers with tambourines. But the amazing thing is their discernment at falling completely silent with one accord at the end of it all. These people know how to make a joyful noise and how to stand in silent awe of their Creator. Prayers close and the band begins, reverent in worship and dancing in praise. The children are eager participants: 7 yr old little girls with infant brothers held on their backs by a swath of cloth and young boys watching their elder counterparts closely, mimicking every jump of joy and every tear of brokenness. And the majority of these devoted followers and expectant children probably slept on the curb the night before. Okaishie is made up of street people who heard the message of Christ and grabbed hold with all their heart. Don't flippantly believe they took hold of the Gospel because of its promises of blessings, prosperity and grace. They acted on their revelation of Jesus Christ. They don't serve God despite their poverty; they serve Him in their poverty.
It was day seven, my first time in the city centre at Thomas' office. He wanted me to be involved in some of their street ministry, so the plan was for me to join three leaders from Okaishie and head into Tudu, an area of Accra known for its drugs and prostitution. We left late (time doesn't mean very much in Ghana), and after a walk and a taxi ride, found ourselves in a packed open-air market. Passing the local mosque, distinguishable by Arabic inscriptions over the doorway, we took a left down an alleyway and entered the heart of Tudu. The walls were lined with people of indistinguishable age, but a familial likeness of wasted body and empty eyes. I primarily filled the role of onlooker, taking part when English was discovered as the common language. With 50+ varying dialects in Ghana, most locals speak at least two or three languages, and the people of Tudu were no exception. Everyone was eager to practise their English and shake hands with the white madam. Their words were brief and sad, but their countenances spoke volumes.
One of the women, whose name I discovered to be Ami, caught my eye. She stood apart from the group and watched us interacting with her neighbours. Her beauty would have attracted much attention under other circumstances, but the weariness of her being enshrouded her features. I waved, and she walked over slowly, extended her hand, and introduced herself. She said I was very beautiful. All I wanted to do was cry. I told her that was exactly what I had intended to say to her when I had invited her to come over. She smiled shyly, and apologised for not being better dressed, that she wasn't expecting to be seen by us. I told her to always come just as she is and that beauty isn't determined by what she wears. She said thank you and excused herself to go check on her sleeping baby girl. Although we have been back to Tudu, I have not seen Ami again. Please pray that she will get involved in the small group that now meets in the centre of Tudu to encourage and pray for each other. Pray also that any generational curse on her life will be broken, preserving her precious little girl.
I realise this is a lot to absorb - and these two updates have been written from the experience of my first week alone! Much has been left unwritten, chiefly because I haven't had time to process everything personally. For now, however, we'll move onto lighter subjects. I'm sure you'd like to know what it's like to live here day-to-day, so here is a snapshot of my life in Accra:
I'm living above the orphanage, in a room in Thomas and Felicity's home. My room has a double bed, a set of shelves, and a ceiling fan (the most important part of the room). No, my fellow Americans, there isn't any AC. They also don't have hot water and I wash my clothes by hand in a bucket. I'm glad I only brought five outfits! On cleaning day (usually Saturday), I sweep my room with a broom made from tall, dried grass, and I mop with a floor cleaner that, strangely enough, smells like bubble gum. Their staple food is rice, and the most common meats are chicken and fish. Felicity is an excellent cook, and I've eaten strictly Ghanaian since day one: Half a fish in peanut soup with rice, fried plantain (jumbo bananas), and waakye (black-eyed peas with rice, seasonings, and hand-crushed, hot pepper sauce) are just a few examples.
Driving in Accra is a lot like sitting in the car your 7 yr old boy is controlling on his Game Box. Although they certainly have a highway code and driving tests, most Ghanaians operate their vehicles according to these two rules: If you're moving forward, don't hit the guy in front; if you're moving backward, don't hit the guy behind you (this assessment of driving skills is courtesy of Keith Jaggers). Among other hazards to watch for on the roads are the street sellers. They have taken advantage of the congested roads, and hawk everything from plantain chips to chirping plastic birds, as they move in and around the idling cars. I find the disparity in classes to be most obvious in this setting. A street man crippled from polio will propel himself with his hands while sitting on a makeshift skateboard, begging at the window of a Lexus, where an ample-waisted, wealthy Ghanaian fingers his gold cufflinks. I don't mean to imply the prosperous Ghanaians ignore their suffering neighbours - just that this scenario is a painfully common part of life in Ghana.
Difficult doesn't begin to describe this place. It may seem overwhelming and hopeless, but these people would rather see you help their neighbour than watch you walk by both of them and give nothing.
I was going to write about my trip up to the village in the north of Ghana, but I think this enough for one week. Thank you to those of you who have taken the time to respond to my last update. Your feedback is greatly appreciated, and helps me to process again the things I've experienced. This is my confessional, and I am grateful for your ready ears. These past weeks have been the most painful and trying time I've experienced in my life thus far. I'm not yet able to express what I've been going through; it's something akin to the teaching of life's truths to an eager, rather naive child. God is the teacher, I, the child. Yes, probably over eager, but the teacher smiles at such precipitate readiness, calms the excitement, and asks first for a ready ear. Molding and shaping is painful; ideas, notions are corrected and reformed; beliefs are more fully developed as trust is built. If I can maintain a teachable spirit for the rest of my life, I can then come a little bit closer to following in Jesus' footsteps. He did exactly the bidding of His Father, and every action was performed with Him in mind.
Thank you again for your prayers - I ask for strength to make it through these next three and half weeks, and wisdom in knowing how to live each day according to this verse: "I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me." Galations 2:20 Please lift up these precious Ghanaians as well, thanking God for their unquestioning faith and declaring His promises over their lives.
Until next week and with much love,
Rebekah
Where do you usually spend your Sunday morning? Thomas' church is called Okaishie (formerly The Church with No Walls), and has recently been able to boast, not only of walls, but also a ceiling and some fans. They meet in an area of Accra called the Arts Centre, a giant market selling local crafts, food, and clothing. Most of the sellers have decided to make it home as well. After their goods are packed away in the evening, a curtain is stretched across the front of the wooden structure, and the transformation from fruit stand to family home is complete. The church building is a concrete structure with three steps across the threshold and a raised section at the farthest end of the building acting as a stage. Wooden benches are brought out to accommodate the sixty or so people that show up for the 10am service. They have a band and several instruments, and a podium for the pastor to rest his Bible on. If you arrive at 9am, you can join in the Bible study where the nearest English speaker will happily translate the Twi (local dialect) for you. The service begins with prayer, which usually lasts for over half an hour. Everyone prays out loud at the same time, and some with microphones. So you can imagine the level of noise, especially since the women like to accompany their prayers with tambourines. But the amazing thing is their discernment at falling completely silent with one accord at the end of it all. These people know how to make a joyful noise and how to stand in silent awe of their Creator. Prayers close and the band begins, reverent in worship and dancing in praise. The children are eager participants: 7 yr old little girls with infant brothers held on their backs by a swath of cloth and young boys watching their elder counterparts closely, mimicking every jump of joy and every tear of brokenness. And the majority of these devoted followers and expectant children probably slept on the curb the night before. Okaishie is made up of street people who heard the message of Christ and grabbed hold with all their heart. Don't flippantly believe they took hold of the Gospel because of its promises of blessings, prosperity and grace. They acted on their revelation of Jesus Christ. They don't serve God despite their poverty; they serve Him in their poverty.
It was day seven, my first time in the city centre at Thomas' office. He wanted me to be involved in some of their street ministry, so the plan was for me to join three leaders from Okaishie and head into Tudu, an area of Accra known for its drugs and prostitution. We left late (time doesn't mean very much in Ghana), and after a walk and a taxi ride, found ourselves in a packed open-air market. Passing the local mosque, distinguishable by Arabic inscriptions over the doorway, we took a left down an alleyway and entered the heart of Tudu. The walls were lined with people of indistinguishable age, but a familial likeness of wasted body and empty eyes. I primarily filled the role of onlooker, taking part when English was discovered as the common language. With 50+ varying dialects in Ghana, most locals speak at least two or three languages, and the people of Tudu were no exception. Everyone was eager to practise their English and shake hands with the white madam. Their words were brief and sad, but their countenances spoke volumes.
One of the women, whose name I discovered to be Ami, caught my eye. She stood apart from the group and watched us interacting with her neighbours. Her beauty would have attracted much attention under other circumstances, but the weariness of her being enshrouded her features. I waved, and she walked over slowly, extended her hand, and introduced herself. She said I was very beautiful. All I wanted to do was cry. I told her that was exactly what I had intended to say to her when I had invited her to come over. She smiled shyly, and apologised for not being better dressed, that she wasn't expecting to be seen by us. I told her to always come just as she is and that beauty isn't determined by what she wears. She said thank you and excused herself to go check on her sleeping baby girl. Although we have been back to Tudu, I have not seen Ami again. Please pray that she will get involved in the small group that now meets in the centre of Tudu to encourage and pray for each other. Pray also that any generational curse on her life will be broken, preserving her precious little girl.
I realise this is a lot to absorb - and these two updates have been written from the experience of my first week alone! Much has been left unwritten, chiefly because I haven't had time to process everything personally. For now, however, we'll move onto lighter subjects. I'm sure you'd like to know what it's like to live here day-to-day, so here is a snapshot of my life in Accra:
I'm living above the orphanage, in a room in Thomas and Felicity's home. My room has a double bed, a set of shelves, and a ceiling fan (the most important part of the room). No, my fellow Americans, there isn't any AC. They also don't have hot water and I wash my clothes by hand in a bucket. I'm glad I only brought five outfits! On cleaning day (usually Saturday), I sweep my room with a broom made from tall, dried grass, and I mop with a floor cleaner that, strangely enough, smells like bubble gum. Their staple food is rice, and the most common meats are chicken and fish. Felicity is an excellent cook, and I've eaten strictly Ghanaian since day one: Half a fish in peanut soup with rice, fried plantain (jumbo bananas), and waakye (black-eyed peas with rice, seasonings, and hand-crushed, hot pepper sauce) are just a few examples.
Driving in Accra is a lot like sitting in the car your 7 yr old boy is controlling on his Game Box. Although they certainly have a highway code and driving tests, most Ghanaians operate their vehicles according to these two rules: If you're moving forward, don't hit the guy in front; if you're moving backward, don't hit the guy behind you (this assessment of driving skills is courtesy of Keith Jaggers). Among other hazards to watch for on the roads are the street sellers. They have taken advantage of the congested roads, and hawk everything from plantain chips to chirping plastic birds, as they move in and around the idling cars. I find the disparity in classes to be most obvious in this setting. A street man crippled from polio will propel himself with his hands while sitting on a makeshift skateboard, begging at the window of a Lexus, where an ample-waisted, wealthy Ghanaian fingers his gold cufflinks. I don't mean to imply the prosperous Ghanaians ignore their suffering neighbours - just that this scenario is a painfully common part of life in Ghana.
Difficult doesn't begin to describe this place. It may seem overwhelming and hopeless, but these people would rather see you help their neighbour than watch you walk by both of them and give nothing.
I was going to write about my trip up to the village in the north of Ghana, but I think this enough for one week. Thank you to those of you who have taken the time to respond to my last update. Your feedback is greatly appreciated, and helps me to process again the things I've experienced. This is my confessional, and I am grateful for your ready ears. These past weeks have been the most painful and trying time I've experienced in my life thus far. I'm not yet able to express what I've been going through; it's something akin to the teaching of life's truths to an eager, rather naive child. God is the teacher, I, the child. Yes, probably over eager, but the teacher smiles at such precipitate readiness, calms the excitement, and asks first for a ready ear. Molding and shaping is painful; ideas, notions are corrected and reformed; beliefs are more fully developed as trust is built. If I can maintain a teachable spirit for the rest of my life, I can then come a little bit closer to following in Jesus' footsteps. He did exactly the bidding of His Father, and every action was performed with Him in mind.
Thank you again for your prayers - I ask for strength to make it through these next three and half weeks, and wisdom in knowing how to live each day according to this verse: "I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me." Galations 2:20 Please lift up these precious Ghanaians as well, thanking God for their unquestioning faith and declaring His promises over their lives.
Until next week and with much love,
Rebekah
Newsletter 1 - Ghana
July 11, 2008
Dear friends and family,
I hadn't really formed any expectations before boarding the plane at
Heathrow, because I simply didn't know what to expect. I'm not sure anyone
could have prepared me for Africa. The only sensation I could recognize for
that first week was numbness. It wasn't necessarily the poverty, it was the
spiritual oppression. Life is heavy here, I'm not sure how else to describe
it.
One of the things God has been showing me this year, and especially since my
arrival in Africa, is that sometimes we must allow our spirit to understand
without trying to rationalize with our minds. We are spiritual beings,
living in a spiritual world created and governed by a spiritual God. I've
discovered this dependence on the Holy Spirit is a lot easier said than
done. Our minds want to analyse and understand, and God is saying, "Where is
your faith?" I'm learning that we have to silence our fleshly desire to be
"in the know", believing that it gives us some semblance of control, and
rest in the knowledge that God holds the whole world in His hands and that
not one sparrow falls out of His sight.
Shepherd's Home is the name of the orphanage run by Thomas and Felicity
Okyere in the capital city of Accra, Ghana. The Okyere family (Thomas,
Felicity, and their two daughters) live on the second floor, (where I have a
room), and the seven children who are part of Shepherd's Home live below. In
the past, the children have had a "mother" that lived with them. However,
it's been a struggle recently to find someone willing to make such a big
commitment. These children are not necessarily orphans, but usually come
from one parent families where there is insufficient care due to lack of
finance and education.
Manyama, or Ama, is the youngest child at Shepherd's Home. She came as an
infant and is now three. Persistent and engaging, she has a smile from ear
to ear and loves to comb my hair at every opportunity. Kwesi is a handsome
six year old with a voracious hunger for knowledge and a determination to
teach me Twi, his native language. Anita is the eldest at ten years old. She
is absolutely beautiful and shoulders her responsibilities as the big sister
with readiness and grace.
Hawwaa, at eight, also takes a position of authority alongside Anita. She is
striking and has a tremendous ear for beat coupled with a natural affinity
for dance. Kwabena can jump higher than anyone I've ever seen. He's seven,
and his athletic abilities extend to climbing as well. He has a habit of
coming up behind me and climbing up my back and onto my shoulders in under
three seconds. The other athlete is Daniel. An avid soccer player, he's nine
years old and loves to joke around. Small Anita is eight, with the sweetest
nature and a charming, open face. She's a little quieter than the others and
likes to sit next me, holding my hand.
I wish all of you could meet them. They're fascinated by my red hair and the
fact that you can see my veins through my skin. Amongst their numerous
questions were: What's your belly button look like? What kind of money do
you have in England? Have you seen snow before? Can people live on the moon?
Do you know how to swim? What languages do you speak?
There are many stories to relate, but this last one made a great impression
on me. I went downstairs to play with the kids one evening as they were
finishing up dinner. It was yams with a sort of vegetable sauce. We were all
talking and Anita wanted me to taste her food. So, she gave me a bite from
her hand, and then everyone had to do the same. Little fingers holding food
crowded around my mouth because each wanted Auntie Rebekah to taste their
dinner. These kids get three meals a day, no snacks, and treats are a
rarity. They drink water, and occasionally tea. I have never heard them
complain that they're hungry, and whatever they have, they share.
I'm sure you're overloaded with information now, and I apologise for not
getting something out sooner. Depending on my internet availability, you'll
get weekly updates until my departure in August.
Thank you so much for your prayers and financial support. In all honesty,
these three and half weeks have been tough. (More on daily life in Ghana and
the other street outreaches in my next update). Please pray that I would
hear His voice and have His wisdom in the words that I speak, especially to
the children. Know that you are all in my prayers, and be encouraged. The
faith that I have met in these Ghanaians is strong and continually growing.
It's a first-century type of faith, and their love for their Saviour is
infectious.
With much love,
Rebekah
Dear friends and family,
I hadn't really formed any expectations before boarding the plane at
Heathrow, because I simply didn't know what to expect. I'm not sure anyone
could have prepared me for Africa. The only sensation I could recognize for
that first week was numbness. It wasn't necessarily the poverty, it was the
spiritual oppression. Life is heavy here, I'm not sure how else to describe
it.
One of the things God has been showing me this year, and especially since my
arrival in Africa, is that sometimes we must allow our spirit to understand
without trying to rationalize with our minds. We are spiritual beings,
living in a spiritual world created and governed by a spiritual God. I've
discovered this dependence on the Holy Spirit is a lot easier said than
done. Our minds want to analyse and understand, and God is saying, "Where is
your faith?" I'm learning that we have to silence our fleshly desire to be
"in the know", believing that it gives us some semblance of control, and
rest in the knowledge that God holds the whole world in His hands and that
not one sparrow falls out of His sight.
Shepherd's Home is the name of the orphanage run by Thomas and Felicity
Okyere in the capital city of Accra, Ghana. The Okyere family (Thomas,
Felicity, and their two daughters) live on the second floor, (where I have a
room), and the seven children who are part of Shepherd's Home live below. In
the past, the children have had a "mother" that lived with them. However,
it's been a struggle recently to find someone willing to make such a big
commitment. These children are not necessarily orphans, but usually come
from one parent families where there is insufficient care due to lack of
finance and education.
Manyama, or Ama, is the youngest child at Shepherd's Home. She came as an
infant and is now three. Persistent and engaging, she has a smile from ear
to ear and loves to comb my hair at every opportunity. Kwesi is a handsome
six year old with a voracious hunger for knowledge and a determination to
teach me Twi, his native language. Anita is the eldest at ten years old. She
is absolutely beautiful and shoulders her responsibilities as the big sister
with readiness and grace.
Hawwaa, at eight, also takes a position of authority alongside Anita. She is
striking and has a tremendous ear for beat coupled with a natural affinity
for dance. Kwabena can jump higher than anyone I've ever seen. He's seven,
and his athletic abilities extend to climbing as well. He has a habit of
coming up behind me and climbing up my back and onto my shoulders in under
three seconds. The other athlete is Daniel. An avid soccer player, he's nine
years old and loves to joke around. Small Anita is eight, with the sweetest
nature and a charming, open face. She's a little quieter than the others and
likes to sit next me, holding my hand.
I wish all of you could meet them. They're fascinated by my red hair and the
fact that you can see my veins through my skin. Amongst their numerous
questions were: What's your belly button look like? What kind of money do
you have in England? Have you seen snow before? Can people live on the moon?
Do you know how to swim? What languages do you speak?
There are many stories to relate, but this last one made a great impression
on me. I went downstairs to play with the kids one evening as they were
finishing up dinner. It was yams with a sort of vegetable sauce. We were all
talking and Anita wanted me to taste her food. So, she gave me a bite from
her hand, and then everyone had to do the same. Little fingers holding food
crowded around my mouth because each wanted Auntie Rebekah to taste their
dinner. These kids get three meals a day, no snacks, and treats are a
rarity. They drink water, and occasionally tea. I have never heard them
complain that they're hungry, and whatever they have, they share.
I'm sure you're overloaded with information now, and I apologise for not
getting something out sooner. Depending on my internet availability, you'll
get weekly updates until my departure in August.
Thank you so much for your prayers and financial support. In all honesty,
these three and half weeks have been tough. (More on daily life in Ghana and
the other street outreaches in my next update). Please pray that I would
hear His voice and have His wisdom in the words that I speak, especially to
the children. Know that you are all in my prayers, and be encouraged. The
faith that I have met in these Ghanaians is strong and continually growing.
It's a first-century type of faith, and their love for their Saviour is
infectious.
With much love,
Rebekah
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