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!