My first Christmas out of the USA

There have been several firsts this month, including celebrating Christmas outside of the USA.  I noticed at the international airport in Abidjan (we were picking up one of the missionary kids coming home from school break), we are actually allowed to have a nativity scene in public without someone trying to sue the government.  In a country that is better than 50% Muslim it’s amazing that no one seems offended!  Muslims and Catholics and Animists and Christians all seemed to go about their way without any trouble at all.  Okay, so that was my opinion for the night. :)

 

This is my first Harmattan season.  The dictionary describes it as “a dry, dusty easterly or northeasterly wind on the West African coast, occurring from December to February.”  What happens is that the wind blows from the north, above the Sahara dessert, blowing with it a wall of sand to the south.  One morning when I woke up, I was struck with how cool it seemed, and that is not at all normal!  I found out that the temps drop because of the wind and how the sand blocks the sun.  It's kind of like looking through the smog in one of the large cities in the States, only instead of smog it is a very fine sand.  This time of year is dangerous because the wind carries with it meningitis, an infection which is transmitted through the air.  They say if a child is brought to you seizing, having an elevated temperature during the rainy season it is most likely cerebral malaria.  Whereas, if the same child were brought during Harmattan you would treat him for meningitis.  

I also drove for the first time here in Africa.  In actually, since I left the States for language school in December 2009, I have not done a lot of driving.  Losing that independence has been a challenge for me, especially since I’ve been driving for over 30 years!  Kristine was gracious to allow me to drive her 4x4 a few times here in Bingerville.  When I was telling a friend in the States about this, she asked if we drive on the same side of the road as in the States.  I broke out in laughter!  I know she was asking if we drive on the right side of the road vs. the left side, but the reality is that we drive as much as possible where there are not potholes.  This translates that we drive on both sides of the road and even the sidewalk when necessary!  It actually reminds me a little of driving the Dan Ryan Expressway in Chicago.

Today we had our missionary Christmas party.  I’ve just never had a Christmas where I was sweating.  I mean, come on, I grew up in Detroit, and I’ve lived almost ten years in Colorado!  This just is too strange to be saying Merry Christmas with sweat trickling down my back.  But anyhow, there are two other independent Baptist missionary families in the general area (within an hour and a half drive), so they joined Kristine and I at the Mach’s home.  The Machs host the Christmas party for the missionaries each year.  That made for 17 folks today.  Believe it or not, I was asked to plan the games and bring cookies for the cookie exchange.  If you know me well, you know that neither of these areas are strong suites for me, but I decided to give it my best.  I was pointed to the ‘Minute to Win It’ games, and chose 8 games for the two teams to play as a relay.  It was great!  Watching grown adults trying to pick up and hang up Christmas ornaments by sucking them up with wrapping paper tubing was just too much fun!  Especially when I got to take the pictures and didn’t have to do it myself!  As for the cookies, American products are very precious commodities here, but I decided to use my graham crackers.  It is not possible to get those here so I figured I had a good shot of them going over pretty well.  I made up this mixture of butter and brown sugar with ground pecans, poured it over the graham crackers and baked them.  To add a little Christmas touch I sprinkled craisins over them.  Again, graham crackers, craisins and pecans are all precious items.  Now to look at them, they weren’t that impressive, but they tasted fantastic!  So, I happily packed them in a basket with some green tissue paper and brought them over to the party.  We had the cookie exchange after the meal, and all the ladies pulled out their cookies.  When I pulled out mine, they were swarming with ants!  Ugh!!!  Will I ever get past living with ants???  I told Becky Mach the cookies were a loss and explained the situation.  Her response?  Stick them in a hot oven for 5 minutes and the ants will run away.  Get out of town!  So, that is my fourth first – salvaging cookies from the ants by sticking them in the oven.  Would you believe that two of the men and one of the women asked who made them because they like them so much?   Wow!  It was a good day. 

Wherever you find yourself this Christmas, even if it is a long way away from anywhere you’ve ever been before, I hope you know just how loved you are.  God, our Creator, loves you with an everlasting love, and with His multitude of kindnesses to you, He wishes to draw you to Him.  Of course, the greatest demonstration of this love was when He allowed His Son to die in your place (and mine!).  His mercy endures forever.  While you have breath, if you’ll respond to His love He’ll never turn you away.  That’s a comfort and a peace, no matter where you are this Christmas!

Malaria: The beginning of the end?

As I am studying tropical medicine right now, I found this article interesting on malaria.

Steve Connor

Thursday, 10 November 2011

You wait for years for a breakthrough in the battle against malaria, and then two come along in two weeks. But the advance announced yesterday by scientists at the Wellcome Trust Sanger Institute in Cambridge is potentially far more significant than last month's news of an experimental vaccine made by GlaxoSmithKline (and part-funded by Bill Gates), which showed partial success in early clinical trials. Scientists involved in those trials emphasised that the vaccine would only be able to contribute to the control of malaria.

The Cambridge scientists' discovery offers hope of something far more thrilling: the complete global eradication of the disease.

That tantalising goal is significantly closer, thanks to the discovery of the critical component of human red blood cells that appears to be vital for the malaria parasite to complete its lifecycle within the human body. In effect, the deadly parasite's "Achilles heel" has been identified.

This means that it should be possible to design a vaccine that blocks the parasite's development within an infected person – which, researchers believe, should prevent both the disease and its mosquito-borne transmission.

Malaria is one of the world's biggest childhood killers. Nearly a million people a year die from it, mostly children under five living in sub-Saharan Africa. Scientists have spent decades trying to devise vaccines which protect people against infection or can control the parasite's development once it is inside the body. However, the complexity of the parasite's lifecycle has frustrated the design of effective vaccines.

But now, said Julian Rayner of the Sanger Institute, the crucial protein "lock" on the surface of human red cells that allows the mosquito to insert its "key" and gain entry has been found.

"The interaction [between malaria parasite and red blood cell] that we have found has the potential to be the basis of a vaccine that would save millions of lives," Dr Rayner told The Independent. "This is possibly the most exciting vaccine target for the past 10 years."

The work behind the breakthrough, published in the journal Nature, focuses on the second phase of the malaria lifecycle in the human body, after it leaves the liver to invade the red blood cells during its "merozoite" stage.

Scientists at the Sanger Institute were able to identify a human protein, called basigin, on the surface membrane of the human red blood cells that the parasite appears to need to unlock the membrane and invade the cell.

"The malaria parasite shuttles between mosquitoes and humans. But the stage that actually causes the symptoms of the disease is where the parasite invades human red blood cells," Dr Rayner said. "It has to get inside a red blood cell to divide, spread and multiply – it's essential for the parasite's survival. But it's also a potential target for attack."

Once the scientists had identified the key protein "receptor" on the membrane of the red cells, they devised experiments to see if it was possible to block the interaction between malaria parasite and cell. They succeeded with antibodies designed to recognise and stick to the corresponding receptor protein on the parasite – blocking the "key" used by the parasite to unlock red cells.

"We can show that if we use antibody against the receptor we can completely block all detectable invasion by the parasite," said Gavin Wright, whose laboratory at the institute devised the techniques for making pure malaria parasite proteins. "We have done experiments where we've raised antibodies against the parasite protein and again we've shown very strong inhibition of the invasion process. As a starting point for vaccine development, you couldn't hope for better."

Professor Adrian Hill of the Jenner Institute in Oxford said the breakthrough could improve future vaccines.

"Reports of positive results from ongoing trials in Africa are encouraging, but in the future more effective vaccines will be needed if malaria is to be eradicated," he said. "The discovery of a single receptor that can be targeted offers the hope of a far more effective solution."

 
 

First post from Ivory Coast

So we have finally made it to Ivory Coast – the Machs, Kristine and I are all on the same continent, and in the same country, living directly across the ‘street’ from one another.  (I’m really not sure I can call the sandbag filled ruts a street, but since people do drive through here, I’m not sure what else to call it.)

It’s amazing what happens in a house in a tropical climate when it is uninhabited for over a year.  The other day, I read some lyrics which say, “Mold me and make me”, and immediately I thought of the white mold growing on the doors in the room where I’m sleeping, the smell of mold in the bathroom, and the mushrooms literally growing from the wood in the frame of my window.  Talk about a health hazard!  I’m very grateful to the man who invented bleach.  In French, bleach is called ‘eau de Javel’ – water of Javel, the inventor.

Becky Mach (there are 4 Beckys between Ghana and Ivory Coast) asked me to go to the store with her and one of her workers, Kady, to get some groceries for the family.  [Thanks to the missionary that brought us to the house, KM and I were able to get groceries at a Lebanese store before our arrival.  This store was very much like shopping in France as far as the types of groceries available.  One of the great benefits to French colonized countries is that they tend to sell the things the French like – cheese and olives, to name some of the things that thrill my heart!]

Anyhow, I went with Becky and Kady, and we walked maybe a third to a half of a mile.  Keep in mind, it is the end of the rainy season and the temps are starting to warm up, around 85F, with very high humidity.  Becky said we would take a taxi back to the house with the groceries, so I wasn’t bothered by the amounts of water and other groceries we were buying.  (I learned in France not to buy more than I could comfortably carry home.)  Kady went to the market to get eggs and some fresh fruit, but when she met us at the grocery store a conversation ensued b/n the two that I couldn’t really follow.  They were speaking pretty fast for me to understand the words, but I understood the situation – there weren’t any taxis since the war.  So while they continued their somewhat lively conversation, I pulled my bandana out of my purse, rolled it up and put it on my head because I knew what was coming.  Somehow, the 3 of us were going to have to get those groceries home, and they were too heavy to carry the American way.  When I put the bandana on my head, Kady stopped talking and began laughing, and then helped me get the box situated on my head.  I was very impressed by her, as she carried the other box of groceries, plus the eggs and fruit!  Becky was not quite sure what to think, but she got the water and bread until Kady recruited two little boys to carry the water jugs (about 3 liters a piece).   I got more than a few stares by the Ivorians, and one man gave me two thumbs up.  When we got back to the house, Kady was quick to tell the other ladies what had happened, and later Becky said she was questioned as to why, after all the years she’s been in Côte d’Ivoire, that she hasn’t ever carried anything on her head.  Too bad I didn’t have my camera!    

September/ October newsletter

In the last three days I have packed my belongings and traveled from Kumasi, Ghana to Grand Bassam, Ivory Coast.  Our final destination is Bingerville, but that will have to wait a couple more days for the arrival of the Mach family.  What an interesting journey it has been! I refer not just to the physical travel, but to the work of the Holy Spirit in my life these last six months as well. 

Last week, Dr. Bernard Kadio, his wife, Dr. Nathalie, and their son, Johanne, drove two days to Kumasi to offer free medical services to the missionary team and to the Ghanaian school children and staff with whom I worked.  It was a busy and profitable time of medical consultation and education, especially on the subject of malaria and childhood illnesses.  After completing this ‘medical mission’, the four of us drove eight hours to Takoradi, where I was reunited with Isaac and other church members.  Yes, Isaac is now a member of Mt. Calvary Baptist Church!  It was a great delight to watch a video of his baptism and to also give him a Proclaimer: an audio Bible reader that reads aloud the Bible in the Dagbani language.  The following day, Kristine and her guard dog were added to our mix, we drove another eight hours, and crossed the border into Côte d’Ivoire without incident.  I can’t begin to tell you what all that statement, ‘without incident’, means, except that it makes me give praise and thanks to the Lord!  I’m also incredibly grateful to the Osgood, Consford and Post families for hosting me through my travels.

A verse that has been on my mind quite a bit lately is I Corinthians 4:5 where Paul writes, “Judge nothing before the time.”  Most of my life I have been in the habit of scrutinizing my circumstances and asking, “What is being accomplished?”  Yet, on meditating on this portion of the verse, I realize the limited value of this question, because until the Lord returns and gives perfect understanding, I may only see bits and pieces of His handiwork.  I know that when He looked at what He had done at creation He declared that it was good.  As I continue on this journey, and as I allow Him to lead and guide me, the answer to this question will be, “Though I’m not sure of what is being accomplished, I know that it is good.”  Thank you for joining me on this journey, both through your prayers and financial support.

Safe arrival

Well, I'm writing from Ivory Coast.  It was a safe arrival, and no problem at customs.  They could use a little help with their bathroom, but otherwise everything went fine.
Thanks so much for your prayers!  Will try to write something more interesting soon.

Travel

Wow!  I just looked at the date of my last post and realized I really need to be more diligent about posting!

The last 4 days have been spent in Kumasi with Dr.s Bernard and Nathalie Kadio, from the Ivory Coast.  We got to do provide some medical helps to the missionary team and the school children from the church school.  That was awesome being able to finally use do some medical stuff on the field, and the Lord really blessed the time we had.
Today, we drove from Kumasi to Takoradi, which was a 7 hour trip.  Praise the Lord, it couldn't have gone any better!  And a double praise that the electricity came on shortly after our arrival so we have some A/C tonight!  These are the loving kindnesses from my sweet Lord - kindnesses motivated by His wonderful love!
Tomorrow, we head into Ivory Coast.  It will be the Kadios (along with the 5 year old son), Kristine and myself.  I do ask your prayers for our safe travel, and especially for the border crossing.  This trip will probably take 7-8 hours.
The Mach family is flying Saturday and arriving on Sunday evening, so I would appreciate your prayers for them as well. It's not so easy traveling with children.
I found it hard to leave Kumasi, as in so short a time the Lord had already begun a work of love for the folks there.  But today it was good to see Isaac again, who is now baptized and regularly attending the local Baptist church!
Pray that the French will come back to my head!

Trust

I was with a family at the hospital the other day when they had a sick child.  Going to the hospital here is not like in the States, which implies an emergency room visit, or an in-patient stay.  Here, from my observations, most hospitals are run by an individual physician.  He has his office at the facility, he can order lab work, do treatments, prescribe and provide medicines, and he takes care of the inpatients, as well.  In fact, in one hospital I visited, even the sheets were stamped with the physician’s name.  So, to go to the hospital can be as simple as visiting the doctor’s office or as serious as requiring an in-patient stay.  This day it was just a visit with the doc, some lab work, and some prescriptions.

I have been living in an apartment complex with five other families.  On my way to school that morning, one of the moms called me to look at her son – he was ‘breathing funny’.  The night before I had dealt with another team member’s child that was having an asthma attack, so I pondered what could be wrong with this child as I climbed the stairs to their apartment.  Indeed, this 18-month-old boy was breathing quite ‘funny’.  He had sternal retractions (his sternum was sucking in), along with abdominal breathing and nasal flaring – all very serious signs.  I told them we needed to see a doctor much sooner than later, so we went to the doc’s office at the hospital. 

I was actually impressed by what I saw with this doc (in comparison to the doc I had been dealing with, with other sick children), as he actually examined and assessed this child, gave orders for treatments, and kept the child long enough to see if he would improve with these interventions.  One of the treatments he prescribed was a nebulized medication, where medicine is placed in a cup and aerosolized through a mask.  As you can imagine, having a mask with a cold mist coming out of it being strapped to his face was very terrifying to this little boy.  In the States, at least theoretically, if not practically, we try to take the fear out of treatments for little children.  For example, I was always taught that if a child seemed scared of wearing a mask, to put the oxygen tubing through the bottom of a Dixie cup because it is something with which the child is familiar, thus less frightening.  From what I’ve seen, that kind of thinking isn’t a priority here.  So in this situation, the dad, a very gentle man, held the boy while the assistant administered the treatment.  Mom made a gallant effort to keep her emotions in check, and tried to soothe the little guy.  In reality, there is nothing painful about this treatment.  There is really nothing for which the boy should have been crying, except he was scared.  He was safe in his dad’s arms, and his mom was very attentive.  Dad kept saying, “It’s okay, I’m here with you.  You’re alright.”  The whole treatment lasts about five minutes, but that boy was wailing at the top of his lungs.  It struck me as I watched that scene that I am like that little boy sometimes.  Even though I am safe in my Father’s everlasting arms, and I have the comfort of the Holy Spirit, I sometimes find myself in situations that are frightening to me.  I’m okay – God is directing the circumstances – everything is under His control – it is not for my harm, but my good – yet there I am wailing because of fear.  I could learn a lesson of trust from this situation.

On a different note, I think I am beginning to understand one of the difficulties of living in another culture that contributes to culture stress.  Culture stress is a term being used to replace culture shock, as the word ‘shock’ indicates something rather acute and self-limiting.  The degree of stress from living in a foreign culture may fluctuate in intensity, but from what I’ve read, it never completely goes away.  For me (and I’m sure for others as well) the unpredictability of any given situation makes every experience a bit stressful.  For example, in the States when I drive down the road I can generally expect that people in the east-bound lanes will drive east-bound.  I can also expect that if I’m walking in a pedestrian walk-way there will not be motorized vehicles in that same walk-way. However here, it is not at all uncommon to have someone decide they don’t want to wait and so drive into the lane of oncoming traffic in order to get around a delay.  Amazingly, it seems to be quite effective for them, and I have not yet seen an accident here. (Not that there haven’t been any near misses!)  And, since I don’t drive, I haven’t had to deal with the unpredictability of such a situation.  However, as a pedestrian I have had the bejeebies scared out of me a number of times when I was walking in a pedestrian walk-way facing oncoming traffic (so I can jump out of the way should the need arise) only to find someone driving up behind me, as though it were a lane on the road. I was oblivious to the fact that they were behind me until they honked just as they passed me!  I’m not sure one ever truly gets use to that.  And it’s really bad when one of the other missionaries does it, just to be funny – not to name any names, Bro. Omar!

Things that make me laugh

 Lately, I’ve been noticing things that amuse me.  I don’t mean in the way of making fun of someone, but just in a way of the differences in our styles.  For example, it’s not uncommon for people to ride in the open bed of trucks, even the large delivery trucks.  So the other day as I’m walking home from school, I see this man riding in the back of a delivery truck wearing a woman’s dress.  Only I don’t think he had a clue it was a woman’s dress.  It was a long, sleeveless, denim dress that buttons down the front, and he was wearing it like a long vest.  He had on trousers (pants refer to men’s underclothing), but no shirt, and this long denim dress.  If he only knew what it was I’m sure he’d be horrified – but then again, maybe not. 

To qualify what I’ve said I should explain that most of the clothing that doesn’t get sold at the Goodwill or Salvation Army stores in the States ends up in places like Ghana, and it gets sold at the market or by street vendors.  Many of the clothes I see here are things that came straight from the States, which is unfortunate in that the dress here has become grossly immodest because of our influence.  My blog, my opinions. :) 

Anyhow, do you remember me mentioning the tro-tro’s back along the end of May?  It’s the cheapest form of public transportation, and I think I said I don’t think I’ll ever ride in one of those things voluntarily.  Well, after paying $2 for a taxi ride somewhere, I decided to try the tro-tro for only 20 cents.  Of course, we don’t use dollars and cents, but I think you get the meaning.  Today, I caught a tro-tro to a local school, where I’ve been taking some French lessons (that’s a whole ‘nother story), and I told the side-car man where I wanted to get out.  You see the tro-tro is manned by 2 people – the driver and this guy I call a side-car man.  The vehicle has a sliding side door that in most tro-tros doesn’t really close any more, and this guy hangs out the window waving his hand and hollering something.  Basically, he’s trying to find out if the pedestrians along the side of the road are wanting a ride or just standing there waiting on something.  As the tro-tro slows down, he opens the door, hops out and lets you get in with the rest of the sardines, and you’re supposed to tell him where you want to be dropped.  I said to the man, “Calvary Temple School”.  Evidently, he didn’t understand me, and he asks me again after I’m in and we’re driving down the road.  They stop and pick up some more folks, and then this very long, loud, amusing conversation begins in Twi amongst all the passengers (except me).  I don’t understand much Twi, but it was obvious by the gesturing and the laughing that the conversation was about me.  I mean really, sometimes I think it’s so shocking for them to see someone white that they jump when they see me (at least, I hope that’s why they jump), so I wouldn’t expect to be in a tro-tro and not be the topic of conversation. Finally, the man next to me has enough nerve and skill in English to tell me neither the driver nor the side-car man know what to do with me.  “Where is it you want to go?” 

So, all of that to say, while we’re driving down the road in this tro-tro trying to get more passengers than could possibly be legal, the driver almost hits this pedestrian – an older, gray haired man wearing a woman’s black fur with leopard fur trim, winter hat.  After all, it was only 80 degrees today. From what I understand, we’re having better weather than the folks in the USA. 

Independence Day

This was a good weekend.  Saturday I went visiting with Felicia, Emmanuella and two other ladies.  Felicia is hot after souls!  Almost every one we meet she asks me, “Can we tell them the gospel, Miss Becky?”  What missionary’s going to say ‘no’ to that question???  We were able to speak with three people about the gospel – a young lady visiting in this region, a 16 year-old young man playing football (soccer), and a young man in his 20’s. 

The young lady listened as we explained the gospel – me in English and Felicia in Twi – but she was still convinced she needed to do something to get saved.  She promised to come to church today, but if she came we never saw her.

The 16 year-old stopped his football game and found 2 benches for us to sit and talk.  I usually begin by asking the person, ‘If you were to die today and stand before God, and He were to ask you why He should let you into heaven, what would be your response?’  Ernest’s response was amazingly honest.  He said, ‘If I should die today and face God, I guess he would have to send me to Hell, because I don’t know why He should let me into heaven.’  I was actually amazed at his ability to speak English, and so I let him read aloud the verses we were reading.  He had no argument believing he deserved to go to Hell (just as we all do), and he seemed to understand that Jesus came to die in his place.  I spoke with him in English initially, but when it was obvious he was struggling to understand some of what I was saying Felicia went over it all in Twi.  I thought he had a grasp of the gospel, and when I asked him what his thoughts were regarding our discussion he said he would like to put his trust in Jesus.  We prayed together, but I’m a little concerned after he made a comment about giving up all his sin.  I explained again that Christ died for all of our sins, and that as long as Ernest has flesh he is going to sin.  He promised to come to church, but again, if he came I did not see him.

The last man invited us to come and talk to him.  He was sitting outside his door doing laundry, but he stopped to sweep off the stair and lay down a garment on which we sat.  I asked him my usual question, and he said his trust was in Jesus Christ and that he believed in him.  I told him the devils of Hell believed in Jesus – they knew who He was from having known Him before they were banished from Heaven.  I read to him James 2:19, and then Felicia and the young man both demanded an explanation.  As soon as I explained about their (the devils) knowledge of Christ in Heaven they asked if those angels could accept Christ as Savior.  I told them ‘no’, and they both said they understood the difference – while the devils believe Jesus to be the Son of God, they could not accept His substitutionary death for salvation.  Yet as sinners, that death is the very thing to reconcile us to God.  Felicia and this young man have both accepted Christ’s death as the only satisfactory payment for their (our) sin to the One they (we) have offended.  I have no desire to take him from his church if they teach the gospel, but hopefully we will see him for other services when his church is not meeting.

Today we had a special day at church.  July 1 is the Ghanaian independence day, and of course ours is Monday.  So after the morning service we had a picnic lunch on the grounds, followed by volleyball, a football penalty kick shootout, other games and the evening service starting at 4:30 pm.  It’s been a while since I’ve played volleyball, but it sure was fun.  I did take a dive across the grass to save a ball, and came up full of stickers – what we call ‘goats heads’ in CO.  Except now my legs are covered with angry looking red spots, as though I have about 50 or more bites.  Who knows what’s in the dirt here! 

July 4^th every one on the team celebrated together at my apartment – 36 people in an 800 or 900 square foot apartment!  I say ‘my apartment’, but it really belongs to the ministry, not me.  And I got the better end of the deal. The men did the grilling outdoors (hamburgers, hotdogs and something that had the looks of pork chops but tasted like steak), and all the ladies brought sides.  There was even an apple pie contest, and I got to be a judge.  And if that wasn’t enough, I was allowed to turn on the A/C all day, so the house was very comfortable, even with all those folks.  We even adopted a fellow American that one of the missionaries met at a local store.  He’s just a ‘baby’, maybe 22 or 23 years old, and he’s here all by himself from another mission agency.  I’m sure his days get plenty lonely! 

We again played several games of volleyball, and the kids had a parade at the church.  They decorated their bikes and tricycles and even themselves.  One of the things that I appreciate in Ghana is the pro-American sentiment.  It’s not at all unusual to see American flags flying (or Israeli flags, either, for that matter), so it didn’t seem we would be offensive to have the patriotic paraphernalia. One of the Ghanaian young ladies helped me to clean up afterwards, so the house was back in order by nine that evening.  Needless to say, Ibuprofen was in order that night after all that activity! 

I have always been very patriotic, and in my younger years seriously considered military service, but I especially remind myself how blessed I am to have been born and raised in America now that I see what life is like outside our borders.  We’re not better than other folks, but God has certainly blessed our nation.  I fear for the choices we are now making that mock the God that has been so good to us.

Thanks for the birthday wishes!

 Thanks to so many, I had a great birthday.  I had several Facebook posts, wishing me a happy birthday, and I even got 4 packages of birthday goodies!  It took some time to claim them at the post office, though.  The first three were easy, but one was sent to the ‘parcel service’.  The lady completed some paperwork and charged me 7 GHC, about $5, and then gave my package to another person further down the counter.  When he got around to helping me, I was made to open the package for him to inspect the goods and determine how much to charge me for customs fees.  He saw my trail mix and said, ‘You people’, with a little bit of disgust in his voice, and he questioned me as to what hairspray is.  He was completely bald – kind of a waste. :) Some other lady looked things over and had me give him back the paperwork (despite the fact he was standing right next to her), and I was again told to have a seat.  The whole thing took about an hour, but I finally got my package and it didn’t matter the silly paperwork exercise – I have trail mix!!  And it’s not the store bought kind.  No, this is a special mix created by my pastor’s wife and shared with a dear friend that I’m sure spent an arm and a leg buying the ingredients and then paying the postage.  Every handful reminds me that I’m loved.  Ahhh – happy camper. :)

For those I haven’t told yet, I have relocated for the summer to Kumasi, Ghana.  One of my supporting churches has a team of missionaries here.  I’m helping out in the mornings at their ACE Christian school, and I’m really enjoying it.  Let me tell you about one of the little girls.  Her name is Emmanuella, and she’s about 8 or 9 years old.  I’m not sure exactly how she came to Christ, but when she didn’t show up at her public school her teacher came looking for her.  She just has a very sweet spirit, and I can see why her teacher would take notice that she was missing.  When the teacher found out she was going to a Christian school, Emmanuella invited her to visit the church.  On her first or second visit to the church, the teacher, Felicia, got saved, and now comes to every service, including soul winning.  I have gone out with her a few times on Saturday mornings, and she wants us to stop at each vendor to witness to them!  She translates for me, and I believe she will soon be doing the witnessing on her own.  Both Felicia and Emmanuella are real delights. 

Sounds of Africa

 There are many sounds that come to my ears each day that in these three months have become familiar to me.

Each morning around 5 am I here the high-pitched cacophony of these beautiful, iridescent blue birds.  They are not nearly as big as the noise that comes from their pointy, bright orange beaks!  It seems they always precede my alarm clock by about 30 minutes. 

I hear the constant hum of the ceiling fans that bring a comfortable breeze through the house in the mornings, and a thick, humid stirring of air in the afternoon heat.  When the hum arrests during electrical outages, there is a physical discomfort that comes with the silence.  Thankfully, those outages usually last only an hour or so.

Around 8:30 each morning the familiar cry of a lady’s voice begins to come to my conscience mind.  It took several weeks before I understood her to be calling out, “Ice water for sale!”  I finally understood her call one morning as I spotted her walking by the house with a tub of water sachets on her head.

There always seems to be hammering of some sort.  I still don’t know what it is that is being pounded, and I’m sure it’s not coming from the same source each time.  Plus, there is the beating of drums every morning at a local school.

When Isaac is here, it is the grass being ‘mown’ by a machete.  I miss the smell of mown grass by a lawnmower. 

Occasionally I hear sirens, but not often.  And there are always horns honking when going to the market.  It’s not for the purpose of telling people to get out of the way, rather to tell people “I’m here”.  For a taxi driver, he wants potential customers to know he’s available.  For the driver going around the curve in the road it is to announce to oncoming traffic to get into their ‘lane’.  I use that term loosely, as often the vehicles drive 3 or 4 abreast, regardless of how wide the road was intended to be.

When on foot, the most common call falling on my ears is, “Oh broni!”  It is the Fante word for white person, and the little children come running to the side of the road to announce to the neighbors the presence of a white person.  I try to always wave to acknowledge them, and sometimes the very small children want to touch me.  Their eyes get like saucers, and sometimes just before our hands will touch it is too much and they begin crying and run away. 

The cocks crowing, the goats and sheep bleating, the dogs barking – those sounds are a constant throughout the day.

The smells are a totally different subject!

Visit to Kumasi and Isaac gets saved

 

I recently took a trip to Kumasi, Ghana to visit a team of missionaries there.  It’s about a 5-hour bus ride, but thankfully they sent a young Ghanaian woman down to ‘fetch’ me and bring me back because I would not have known what to do if the bus would have had troubles.  The bus was actually pretty nice.  It was much cleaner than the average taxi (okay, so that’s not really saying much, but there weren’t any chickens or goats on board), and it had A/C so strong I had to turn mine off!  I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been cold in the last 3 months, and two of those times were going to Kumasi and returning from Kumasi! :)   

They do have things called tro-tros (that is a total guess at the spelling) that are basically like a 15 passenger van with a hatch-type back door.  Usually there’s about 20 people or more in there, beside whatever else has been strapped onto the top and what is hanging out the hatch.  It’s an interesting sight to behold, and I don’t think I’ll ever be brave enough to try one of those things.  My personal favorite is when another missionary says, “Hey, can I give you a ride to….?” 

But back to the bus.  I had no idea that there were ever movies made in Ghana, but unfortunately they are.  For the entire ride there and the entire ride back (with the exception of about 40 minutes some guy stood up to preach) they played these cheesy, Ghana made movies with lots of screaming, violence and other things I didn’t want to look at or to listen.  Praise the Lord for my IPod that has over 200 sermons, 500 songs and the entire Bible on it!  While at times I still had to put my hands over my ears to block the sounds from the movie and to hear what I was listening to, I was thankful the movies were in the local dialects so I couldn’t understand them if I did hear anything.

One thing I noticed both going and coming is that almost every village has a ‘church’ of Latter-day Saints (Mormons) and Jehovah Witnesses.  We may not like their doctrine, but they are more faithful to what they believe than most folks who have the truth.

While I was at Kumasi I helped in a small ACE Christian school scoring paces.  Both the missionary kids (MKs) and Ghanaian church members children make up the student body.  This was my first experience with ACE, but I think it would be great material to help Isaac learn to read.  Currently, I’m using an A Beka reader, but I wish I had more pictures.  Isaac doesn’t know the English words to a lot of things, so sometimes I’m just busy trying to teach him what a word means.  Otherwise it is nonsensical to him.  Beside that, the reader has animals meeting one another like people do.  Try explaining that to someone who probably has been exposed to animistic beliefs! 

Speaking of Isaac, I would like to tell you about his recent conversion.  Since trying to teach him to read he has been more willing to talk to me.  Before, he was so quiet that I didn’t know if he understood anything I said or not.  Now, I realize that he’s probably watched enough Hollywood movies that he understands more than I have given him credit. 

Anyhow, I was given the Firm Foundations material that presents the Bible chronologically.  Unfortunately, I asked for the wrong series – there is evidently a series for Western cultures and another for more tribal cultures.  But I have still found the material very helpful.  In particular the sketches that accompany the Bible accounts of the Old Testament are great when you’re working with someone that is illiterate.  It helps them picture those things to which you are referring.  For Isaac and me, the sketch of Cain offering fruit from the garden and Abel preparing to cut the throat of a lamb was a tremendous help. 

Last Tuesday Isaac was late getting to work.  That is unheard of for Isaac.  He has never been late in the 3 months I’ve been here.  All I could picture in my mind was him laying dead on the side of the road after being hit by a car or something (he rides his bike to work each day).  The Holy Spirit just pricked my heart that I had not fully given him the gospel.  Once before he was in my presence as I gave the gospel to someone else, but I was not addressing him per se as I didn’t think he understood at the time.  When Isaac showed up about 40 minutes late he explained that he had overslept and got here as fast as possible. 

We have been doing a Bible lesson four evenings a week after his reading lesson, so that evening I was very pressed in my spirit to present the gospel, even though we had only gone through Cain and Abel in the accounts of the Bible.  For two hours we talked about how Adam and Eve tried to hide their sin and cover it up with their own works, and how Cain tried to offer the works of his own hands as well, but that these efforts and offerings were not satisfactory to God.  God demanded that blood be shed as a payment for sin.  It isn’t enough that sin is forgiven – a righteous judge cannot simply forgive a criminal for his transgression.  The sin debt must be paid.  After I brought Isaac to the understanding that he and I both are sinners, eternally separated from God because of our sin and deserving of eternity in Hell, I showed him the sketch of Cain and Abel.  I reminded him that the works of our own hands cannot satisfy God.  I asked him, “Isaac, can you die in my place to pay for my sin?”  He immediately said that he would!  But then I asked him, “Isaac, what about your sin?  You can’t die for me because you owe the same debt I owe.  Do you know someone that can die in our place, someone whose death is acceptable to God because He has never sinned?”  He thought for a minute then looked up and said, “Jesus!”  Amen!!  That’s what I’m talking about!!  I then pointed back to the picture and asked him if he knew that Jesus was called the Lamb of God, and he said he knew that but he didn’t understand why.  I then explained to him while pointing at the picture of Abel with a knife to the lamb’s throat that Jesus was like a lamb that went to the slaughter, and that just as God accepted Abel’s sacrifice, He accepted Christ’s.  Shortly thereafter he placed his trust in Jesus Christ to pay his sin debt instead of trusting his own good works.  Praise the Lord!  Thanks to all who have prayed for him.

I started a near riot at a burial today.

I say burial because the actual funeral will be held at a later time.  My understanding is that the more important the individual that died, the longer they will take to bury him or her.  I was told one political leader was refrigerated for over a year before his burial and funeral, and to have a body refrigerated is quite expensive. 

Anyhow, the lady that was buried today was named Grace.  She was a member at the church where I attend, Mt. Calvary Baptist Church.  I really only met her a few times, but I noticed her coming into church as she had quite a pronounced limp.  She was older than most here, probably in her early 60’s, and she didn’t speak much English.  She died on Thursday and was buried on Saturday, which one of the older members stated was very disrespectful.

I attended the burial with an American missionary pastor and 5 Christian nationals, one of which was her sister-in-law.  The spiritual condition of the rest of those in attendance is unknown to me, but I was not impressed that it would be Christian. It was held in a village about 30 minutes from where I live, and where the church used to do some outreach. 

When we arrived the road into the village was blocked at the center of town – it was impossible to go past where the services would be held.  We were ushered to the town pavilion where many older men in their traditional dress were sitting and greeting one another.  It seemed before they could take a seat they must present themselves before the others and exchange greetings, and then they would sit on the bench that encircled the inside of the pavilion.  There was a family pole, which was a stick about 5 feet tall with 3 carved figures of animals perched on a small board at the top.  The largest of the animals looked like an elk or reindeer, which was curious to me as I’m sure they’ve never seen such an animal here. 

In the pavilion there was also a soundboard set up and a DJ playing ‘music’ on a set of 14 speakers stacked over 6 feet tall.  The speakers were set up next to a canopied area that had been draped with lace and plastic flowers.  Under that canopy was a brass bed with the dead body, posed as though she were taking a nap.  There were plastic flowers across the foot of the bed, and for the most part only the women would approach to view the body.  On either side of the bed sat a woman waving hankies over the body.  At first I thought they were saying prayers or doing something ‘spiritual’, but then I realized as I was waving the flies away from me that they were probably waving the flies off the body.  Then I thought about the fact that the body had more than likely been laid out like that the evening she died, and several someones had probably spent the last day and a half trying to keep flies and such off of her.  Wow – I don’t know who normally gets appointed to such a job, but I can’t even imagine what that was like in such heat. 

The music was so loud the vibrations literally physically hurt my heart and ears.  If someone had problems with irregular heart rhythms, this would have really set them off!  I had no idea how long that would last but I started praying, ‘Please Lord, do something!  Protect us from this ungodly stuff!’  About 15 minutes later the music stopped, and then some women with about 30 of the village children came into the town square beating plastic fuel containers, boxes and anything else they could get their hands on, dancing and chanting.  They danced in front of the bed, weaved in amongst the people, went down the street, came back and repeated this a few times.  It was then that someone told us the power went off and the DJ wasn’t able to play his music any longer.  Glory hallelujah!!  God most certainly did something!

In the midst of all this goats and chickens wandered in and out, and flies were in gross abundance.  There was one goat in particular that I thought was going to have a kid in the middle of the service. I have never seen an animal so pregnant!  It was almost wider than it was long, and I was really wishing I had my camera.

There were 2 other canopies with plastic chairs for those in attendance, which I assume it would be impossible to live in this village and not attend.  The older women wore their traditional mourning dresses, black or dark brown, while the younger women wore all kinds of stuff – anywhere from blue jeans and t-shirts to Ghanaian style dresses.  It is shocking to see Western style dress in Ghana.  In many places in Africa, only prostitutes would dress in pants and tight clothes as you see here and in America.  It’s not at all unusual to see Wendy’s t-shirts or Kmart t-shirts, but I still find it odd.  Of course, they have no clue what the shirt refers to – they just bought it from the clothes that came from Salvation Army and Goodwill. 

After about an hour and a half from the time the services started a casket was brought to the bedside and a drape was placed around the canopy.  Several women were inside the canopy and evidently it was their job to move the body from the bed to the casket.  I didn’t notice any men helping, and it seemed to take about 30 minutes.  Again, I can’t even imagine the repulsiveness of this task in that now closed off canopy.  Just the thought – the flies, the heat, the odor!  After the body was moved the men came and moved the closed casket onto 2 benches in the middle of the square, and a cloth was placed over the top of the casket.  I don’t know the significance of the cloth, but they seemed very careful not to let it touch the ground.

As members of her church we were responsible to sing, so we sang 3 or 4 hymns, but I doubt too many people had any understanding of these English words.  However, I’m sure it was the first time that they ever heard white folks singing.  The American pastor preached in English and it was translated into Fante by one of the Christian nationals.  I sure like listening to Spirit filled African preachers!  After the pastor preached a message that contained the gospel, they took an offering for the bereaved – I assume to help pay for the casket and burial services.  That’s when the trouble started.  I had brought a stack of John and Romans scripture portions, and I asked the family if I could pass them out.  I was told it would be fine, but as I started quietly handing them to people around me it seemed it was too much to see a ‘broni’ (as they call white people) giving something away.  I now know what it means in the Bible when it says Jesus was ‘thronged’!  As I said, I only had a stack and there wasn’t going to be enough for everyone, but a man grabbed my arm and said, “Give them to me!”  Recognizing things were getting out of control, I gladly handed them to him, and he did his best to try to pass them out.  We had a box of about 150 in the car, and someone brought those out.  People were pushing and shoving, and I thought 2 old ladies were going to start throwing punches!  They even snatched the empty box! 

At that point, we headed to the car and drove to the cemetery.  The casket and family were loaded into the back of a station wagon taxi, and they drove to the cemetery also.  Everyone else just walked.  Grace was buried under a large tree on the side of a hill.  I was thinking it wasn’t such a bad place to be buried when they told me we needed to sing again.  The hole had been hand-digged and lined with cement. The casket was placed in the hole, Psalms 23 read in English and Fante, a shovel of dirt thrown on by the pastor and then several men with shovels filled in the hole.  We left before this was completed, but I was told that more than likely people would start pouring liquor into the ground around the hole in order to appease the demons and spirits. 

Isaac

Please note that I don't have internet service right now, so that is why I haven't posted.

I want to tell you a little about Isaac, our yard worker.  This young man came with the house.  He is employed by the missionary that normally lives here, and we have kept him on to keep up the yard and do things around the house.  Truly he is a very unusual young man! 

What first impressed me is that he is always on time.  I don’t believe he owns a watch, but he is always here before his work time.  If we ask him to come at a different time, he is flexible and here for that time also. 

I’m also impressed because he is self-motivated.  I don’t have to tell him what to do to keep up with the yard (as if I would know anyhow!), and he looks for things that need to be fixed.  As I’ve noted before, our water supply is not always reliable, so without me asking he began to check the polytank on the roof to let us know if it is running low.  Around the property is a cement block wall, about 7 feet at its highest point.  There are rusted knife blade type protrusions that are cemented on top to prevent people from jumping over the wall.  One day I found him out there with cement replacing a portion of knife blades that had been knocked down.  I hadn’t even noticed they were missing, yet he had and he was fixing it.

We were told that Isaac doesn’t know how to read or write, so I wanted to teach him.  I told him I’ve never taught anyone before, but he said he would like to learn.  He explained to me that he wasn’t able to go to school because his parents did not have the money to pay his school fees (books, uniforms, etc.).  Instead he was sent from his home in the north to Takoradi to live with his uncle and to find work.  He also told me he sends his money to his parents so that his younger sister can go to school.  When I asked him about his siblings he stated his two younger brothers died ‘for want of food’. 

Today Isaac was able to say the alphabet without looking at it, he read more than 15 words, and he could articulate what the difference is between B and b.   He recognizes God, Jesus, his name and sin.  I’m incredibly excited, but at the same time I wonder how he’ll ever learn enough to be able to read the Bible.  It is one thing to quote scripture to someone, praying they’ll believe and understand, but it’s another to have them see it for themselves.  I realize either way the Holy Spirit is the witness of the Truth, but so much of the word of God has been twisted here, and used to teach false doctrine. By his testimony he is trusting in his good works to get him to Heaven.  I have witnessed to him once, but I want to lay a foundation of the gospel from the Bible. He said he is willing to let me teach him some Bible lessons.  Please pray for Isaac!

I killed my dance partner last night.

Ha!  I knew I’d get your attention!  Yes, the humor is starting to revive – thank you for all your prayers. :)

So who is my dance partner?  I actually have many.  Let me explain.

One of the other missionaries here has likened the road to church to that of the surface of the moon.  Lots and lots of craters!  The drivers are going to do everything possible to avoid the potholes, even if that means driving in the other ‘lane’ of traffic (as if they have lanes).  Or it could mean driving where the pedestrians are walking.  But, despite their best efforts the taxi drivers have dubbed the ride on this road as the ‘Ghanaian dance’.  Your whole body feels a lot like one of those bobble head dolls as you rock from one crater to the next.  So my partners in this dance are the taxi drivers and other passengers!  Don’t worry, though.  I didn’t kill any of them.

My partner I did kill was totally unexpected.  Two nights ago I walked into my bathroom without turning on the light, and as I stood in front of the sink my uninvited partner step on my bare foot.  In fact, he ran across my foot, which caused me to do quite the jig!  I caught a glimpse of him as I looked down to see him scurrying under a piece of tile.  One really big cockroach!  Ok, for now on I’m turning on the light before I walk in there. 

So, last night he shows up again, but this time I’m ready with my can of ‘Birtox Parfume’, otherwise known as insecticide.  I’ve heard stories from other missionaries of these indestructible screaming roaches that you step on 20 times, their guts are hanging out and yet they’re still running away.  So I decided on a two-pronged attack: chemical then physical.  Once they’re disabled by the chemical, then I beat them into pieces until they quit moving.  The worst part is picking up the pieces.  Anyhow, I sprayed under the bathtub where I saw him hide, and this morning I started looking for his ugly little body.  But I didn’t see him anywhere on the floor.  Instead he’s floating in the bathtub where we keep water for dishes and laundry.  Good thing we add bleach!

The battle for my spirit.

 25/4/11

I’ve tried to write something for my blog this last week, but my mind just isn’t seeing the humor.  I realize humor is what helps deal with the frustrations – the vast different-ness of living in another culture.  I read I Corinthians 6:20 the other day, “For ye are bought with a price: therefore glorify God in your body, AND IN YOUR SPIRIT, which are God’s.”  Obviously, the emphasis is mine. However, as I read it the other day, the emphasis was that of the Holy Spirit’s. 

May I be perfectly honest with you?  Please understand that I want to serve God.  I want to please Him.  I want to be anywhere He wants me to be.  I desperately want to see His face some day and hear Him say that I pleased Him.  I want to tell people how to go to heaven and hear them say, “Thank you for coming all this way to tell me this.”  But my flesh!  It wants to be where I’m familiar with what’s going on around me – not where there’s a constant uneasiness as to how I should handle a situation.  My flesh wants to be where I can go to the store and buy what I’m looking for, for the same price others pay – not the price they charge the white man.  My flesh wants to be clean and comfortable – not hot, sticky and dirty from road dust and diesel as I walk or ride in a taxi wherever I’m going.  My flesh wants to go back to the mountains of Colorado and hike for hours on end, hearing and smelling nothing but nature and praising God for His beautiful creation – not seeing trash every where, smelling things that are rotting, or hearing rock and roll or reggae music blasting in my ears from churches and taxi speakers.  These are the things that wear away at my spirit and cause me to fight a battle each day to tell myself I can’t allow those thoughts of going back to what’s comfortable.  Not to a location, but to a place in time when my life was comfortable – when I had my dream job of flight nursing, was 20 minutes from the mountains, had the strength and vigor of youth, had my home church where I could attend every service and activity, and my best friends surrounded me.

But I’m bought with a price.  My body and my spirit are His.  It does no good to give Him my body by coming to Africa and submitting to all this, but then let my spirit drag around being miserable.  He purchased both.  I’m to glorify God with both. 

While I see this great failure in my life right now, I praise Him that, as He so often does, He has responded to this failure with gentleness and blessings.  He has given me missionary families that allowed me to come over and visit, who fed me a wonderful dinner and let me watch a DVD with their kids sitting around me on Easter Sunday.  He has given cooler temperatures with a little bit of rain, allowing me to sleep through the night.  He has brought visitors to church that I invited the day before.  He has allowed me to share the gospel and see one bow their head to trust Christ – the first person I’ve seen do that in Africa.  He has allowed me to download my pastor’s sermons, and sermons from other godly preachers.  He has allowed me to talk with a godly, older missionary couple that can no longer serve on a foreign field because of their health.  He has allowed me to keep up with my friends via skype and email.  He’s given me a pastor that would spend on hour talking with me, giving me counsel and just checking to see how I’m doing.  He’s given me a pastor’s wife that emails or calls to give me updates on my home church.  He has given me prayer partners around the world that not only pray but also send me notes to remind me they’re praying.  He has given me more than I could possibly comprehend!  And just reminding myself of these blessings makes me love Him more.

Forgive my transparency.  But as I tell the Lord often, I am not ‘big and strong’.  I’m made of the same human flesh as the worst of sinners.  My strength is in Him.  He is my refuge. 

Questions I ask myself

 So, do you think the IRS will have any problems with listing a machete as a deductible?  We are allowed to count lawn-mowing services, and the yard guy cuts the lawn with a machete. 

Should I be grossed out when 5 or 6 moths fly out from the cereal box I’ve been eating out of for a week?  Don’t worry, I’m eating more than cereal – and I don’t mean moths and cereal!

Should it bother me that on the beach where I’ve just been swimming (okay, splashing, since I swim like a rock!) I find a bunch of white shell-looking things, and when I ask what they are I’m told they’re sharks teeth?

Should I be suspicious when the police pull over the taxi driver I’m riding with, and his first reaction is to get out his money instead of his drivers license?

Should I be worried when I try to put on my seat belt in the taxi because the game of ‘chicken’ he seems to be playing is making me nervous, but when I look for where it should be it has been removed?  Only the driver has a seat belt.  Me, a former trauma nurse!  Me, who harps on all my passengers that they must wear a seat belt before I’ll start the ignition! 

There's a new sense of 'normal' in my life.

Shopping

 Shopping in Ghana can be interesting.  I know I’ve told you about the market, but now I want to tell you about the grocery stores. 

From what I’m told, even 5 years ago, most things Western were absent in the stores.  In fact, if I understand right, there really weren’t that many stores!  If you really want to find something Western (something you’d find in the States), you go to the Lebanese stores.  Makes sense doesn’t it – that the Lebanese sell American products.  Anyhow, I personally am thankful for these stores.  Of course, we all know you can find Coke and Pepsi products all over the world, in the remotest village, so that’s no big surprise.  But I thought I’d mention a few other items that have surprised me.

Aunt Jemima pancake mix and syrup – the mix is over $15 for a large box.

Johnson and Johnson baby products.

Kleenex toilet paper and facial tissue.

Cheerios – which I really like, but not at $9 a box.

Several Kellogg’s cereals – again rather expensive.

Colgate and Aquafresh toothpaste.

Hershey’s chocolate syrup.

Pringle’s potato chips – again rather expensive, but in general, chips are not popular.

Microwave popcorn – I buy a bag of the old fashioned stuff at the market for less than 70 cents, and I can make several servings on the stove!

Skittles, Mars bars, and Cadbury chocolate bars.

Pampers diapers.

Things that are very expensive are hair care products for white folks and sunscreen!  Yes, Tracey, I actually found some sunscreen yesterday.  SPF 15.  I sure appreciate the SPF 50 you sent!  You would have thought that I would have thought to bring that stuff coming to Africa, but it was winter in PA when I was packing.

When I say ‘store’ here, I am speaking of a small shop with about 4-7 short aisles, with every spot crammed full.  You have to scrutinize every square inch because otherwise you could miss something you’d really appreciate if you knew it was there.

What do I miss? 

Nuts.  You can get peanuts pretty cheap, but almonds, cashews, etc. are expensive and hard to find.  I found a 1kg (2.2 pounds) bag of almonds for 26 Ghana cedi, which is about $21.

Cheese.  Again, you can find mozzarella, cheddar, Gouda, Parmesan, and a few others, but you’ll pay a pretty penny for it.  Every one of those is over 20 Ghana cedi per kg.   

A variety of snack items.  As I say, you can find Pringle’s and pretzels, but I like all the selection in the States.  I do think I found some trail mix type of stuff, though, and it seems affordable.  I think it’s even organic!

There is a vanilla ice cream that is good and very affordable in single servings.  We can doctor it up with bananas and chocolate syrup.  Flavored ‘ice creams’ are more like flavored frozen ice, though.  Believe it or not, we found Ben and Jerry’s in the local Lebanese store.  I didn’t even look at the price though, for 2 reasons – I can only imagine the cost, and I wouldn’t support that company, not even in Africa! 

Musings

I have just finished reading a very challenging book written for missionaries.  I would, however, dare say it should be applied to all Christians.  The book is entitled, “Have We No Right?”, and it speaks of giving up what we would consider normal rights as missionaries [Christians]. 

Chapter titles are:

The right to what I consider a normal standard of living.

The right to the ordinary safeguards of good health.

The right to regulate my private affairs as I wish.

The right to privacy.

The right to my own time.

The right to a normal romance, if any.

The right to a normal home life.

The right to live with the people of my choice.

The right to feel superior.

The right to run things.

As you read these titles, is there anything in there about which you find yourself cringing?  There are a few areas that make me cringe, and that I am having to live through them right now.  I am such a weak Christian – weak in living for Christ, but strong in demanding my rights!

The final chapter is a poem that I would like to quote, but I wish to give all credit to the author, Mabel Williamson, who worked with China Inland Mission.  The book is published by Moody Press.

He Had No Rights

He had no rights:

            No right to a soft bed, and a well-laid table;

            No right to a home of His own, a place where His own pleasure might be sought;

            No right to choose pleasant, congenial companions, those who could understand Him and sympathize with Him;

            No right to shrink away from filth and sin, to pull His garments closer around Him and turn aside to walk in cleaner paths;

            No right to be understood and appreciated; no, not by those upon whom He had poured out a double portion of His love;

            No right even never to be forsaken by His Father, the One who meant more than all to Him.

            His only right was silently to endure shame, spitting, blows; to take His place as a sinner at the dock; to bear my sins in anguish on the cross.

            He had no rights.  And I?

            A right to the “comforts” of life?  No, but a right to the love of God for my pillow.

            A right to physical safety?  No, but a right to the security of being in His will.

            A right to love and sympathy from those around me?  No, but a right to the friendship of the One who understands me better than I do myself.

            A right to be a leader among men?  No, but the right to be led by the One to whom I have given my all, led as is a little child, with its hand in the hand of its father.

            A right to a home, and dear ones?  No, not necessarily; but a right to dwell in the heart of God.

            A right to myself?  No, but, oh, I have a right to Christ.

All that He takes I will give;

All that He gives I will take;

He, my only right!

He, the one right before which all other rights fade into nothingness.

I have full right to Him;

Oh, may He have full right to me!