Sabbatical Day 14

Sunday, 18 June 2017

Worship at the Evangelical Presbyterian Church at Sogakope

Prelude - Breakfast on the Pier

The dining pier in background,
the hospitality manager
prepares to feed some ducks
with bread from the fridge
visible on the pier.

Breakfast at the Holy Trinity Spa and Health Farm, just as at the Coconut Grove in Elmina, is served at an open-air dining space. Unlike the Coconut Grove, however, the Holy Trinity's dining area has a television mounted on a bracket just inside the entryway and, while we were there, piping CNN news or the Federations Cup. Also unlike the Coconut Grove, breakfast was always pre-assembled and waiting for us under cover.

On the Saturday we arrived we had not yet had breakfast, so the hospitality manager asked us what we would like, perhaps a full English breakfast. We said yes then, and on Sunday and Monday also, sensing by then that we really did not have very many options. The Holy Trinity full English breakfast would include a two-egg omelet seasoned with what appeared to be scallion and bell pepper. This was served beside baked beans and what passed for sausages but looked like hot dogs that had been scored for effect. As I write this now, some weeks later, I seem to recall there being a small serving of sauteed mushrooms also.  A side plate included a selection of fresh mango and orange slices, sometimes papaya or watermelon.

Additionally on the main plate would be two perfect slices of white bread, slightly stale, as if stiff bread was somehow the same thing as toast. Driving about we would almost always see at street corners women selling the kind of loaves from which these slices had been cut - long and rectangular (or square if you looked at them edge-on) and with a faint yellow crust in clear plastic, stacked in piles impossibly deep either at the roadside or in massive basins on the women's heads. The Holy Trinity had a refrigerator situated on the pier between tables overlooking the river and facing the television. Its top shelves were populated by loaf after loaf of the stuff. I only ever saw it served for breakfast until this morning, so why they needed so much was a bit of a mystery.

Nestle breakfast beverages

Then, there was the matter of the coffee. The day we arrived we had been greeted by an office worker who asked whether we would perhaps like an espresso or cappuccino after such a torturous night and subsequently long morning on the road from Tema. Coco and I gratefully accepted, and Gwen was provided hot cocoa, from a machine that seemed very similar to the coffee machine that had greeted us at our hotel in Paris. It took a while for the beverages to arrive, though arrive they did and happily. Strangely enough, we learned that the pause was due to the fact that the machine had not been turned on until we arrived. This morning, as we passed through the lobby on our way to breakfast, I asked whether we might again enjoy a cup of cappuccino. After a similarly long period, it was served - again, I presume, because they had not turned on the machine before I made the request. Once we were on the pier and seated, we discovered that our table was supplied with a plate full of Nescafe packets and a pot of hot water. A small pot of semi-skimmed milk was there also and a bowl with sachets of sugar. From this moment forward in Ghana, this sufficed as coffee.

Each morning but this one, we would have breakfast as a family alone on the pier. This morning, however, a rather important looking man appeared. He wore a white dress shirt open at the collar, slacks, and loafers. Attending him were two members of the staff. Once he had been seated, at the table on the other side of the refrigerator from us, the first staff member exited after a quiet exchange of words. As soon as the first was gone, the second - a man who did not appear to be Ghanaian but, rather, Indian or Sri Lankan as I observed his skin tone and hair texture - produced from behind his back a small tray with items for shaving on it. There was a soap for making foam and a brush for mixing and applying it, as well as a straight razor and a towel. He placed the towel over the other man's shoulders, mixed the foam, and applied it to his head and face. He then proceeded to shave the important looking man. When he was done, he wiped the remaining foam with the towel until the man was gleaming and stood aside at comparative ease. In a moment, the first staff member appeared with the important looking man's breakfast.

As you may have seen from yesterday's post-ending video, there are ducks - white and mallard (?) - that live at the Holy Trinity. They are very interested in the human breakfasts that happen on the pier, since, it appears, one of the reasons for having meals in that open-air, watery setting is to provide for an easy method of waste disposal. Servers empty unfinished plates over the railing of the pier and into the Volta River. These ducks are very fond of this practice. I noticed, they seemed very well acquainted with the important looking man, and made quite a fuss in the water while he was being shaved. During his breakfast, he looked over at me with a twinkle in his eye and said something in the local dialect to the first man, who went to the refrigerator and withdrew two of the loaves of bread from it. He handed one loaf to the important looking man and unwrapped his own, as the important looking man unwrapped his and stood up from his chair with his napkin still attached at his collar. This now got Gwen's attention because the waterfowl were making such a racket. Each of the men broke their loaves and chucked first one half and then the other as far as they could out into the river. A huge commotion ensued as the ducks swarmed upon sinking loaves. Laughing at the sight, the important looking man sat back down and returned to his breakfast.

Gershon arrived, a moment later, to take us to church with him. We lingered for a bit, waiting for Gwen to finish her breakfast and Coco and me to empty our coffee cups. Then, Gershon said that he learned worship had already started at the church in Sogakope. So, we exchanged waves with the man and his attendants, and off we went.

"By the way. Do you know who that was having breakfast on the pier?" I asked Gershon when we were in the van.

"No, I haven't any idea," he said. "But he seemed to recognize me."

The important looking man, dressed
more formally than when we saw him.
Source: starrfmonline.com

Pres. Akufo-Addo
Source: www.ghanaweb.com

I said that I had thought he might be a local chief or, perhaps, a government executive. His round features and gleaming face reminded me of President Akufo-Addo. "No, I don't think so. I don't know who he is, but I am pretty certain he isn't in government," said Gershon, and we continued on to join Sogakope's Evangelical Presbyterian Church already in progress.

The next night at dinner, the hospitality manager asked me, "Are you a pastor?"

I said, "Yes, I am. And so is Rev. Dotse who has been showing us around."

"My boss thought you might be," he said. "He thought you had the look of a pastor."

"Your boss? Dr. Anyah? How am I acquainted with him?"

"Why, you and he both had breakfast at the same time, yesterday. That was when he saw you and your friend. He said to tell you he is honored to have you stay at the Holy Trinity."

"Well, please tell him that I am sorry we had to leave in such a hurry. But we are honored as well, to be here."

Worship
We did indeed arrive about fifteen minutes after worship had begun at Sogakope's E. P. Church. Music was playing and the congregation singing as we approached the building's covered porch. Deacons stood at either side of the door to the worship space which was barred with a two-by-six plank until they saw us and removed it. The custom is to hold the crowd during the individual movements of the service, but to seat latecomers only when an informal moment arises after the opening of worship; hence, the board. Gershon said that he did not plan to ask for a place of prominence since we were late arriving, but did I want to be seated in the chancel? I said no, I agreed with him, and so one of the deacons showed us to a pew slightly more than halfway up that was empty enough to accommodate us. It had three women seated in it, who moved to the other end as first Coco, then Gwen, then I made our way in. Gershon sat next to me near the end.

Evans had dropped us off in the lot and then gone on to find parking. He appeared, a few minutes later. But by this time, our pew had taken on a couple more people at Gershon's end, so he stepped up to the next pew, where he was invited to sit between a couple of apparently eligible women who seemed delighted to have our handsome young driver crowded in the midst of them. At one point in the service, one of them even put her arm around him over the pew back, one supposed in order to make more room but maybe not.

The congregation was singing a hymn when we arrived which seemed familiar. When it ended, I remarked to Gershon that, had I been singing it back home, it would have been "Higher Ground." He said that, had I been able to sing in Ewe, I would have been singing that also.

A tall young woman stepped to the lectern and read a prayer. Gershon told me all the different purposes for which she was praying. After she said "Amen," Gershon told me that she was inviting the choirs of the church to sing. The first choir to assemble was the chancel choir - about thirty men and women, all in liturgical robes. Some of the women wore turbans, some scarves, and some wore mortar boards. I asked Gershon whether they were students. He said, "No. In the E. P. Church we try to emphasize the equality of all people regardless of gender. As a result we have many women in prominent positions in the church. You noticed that the liturgist here is a woman, and her head is uncovered. But we have not been able to shake the idea from some that, despite Paul's admonition in First Corinthians, they do not have to have their heads covered. And in every church choir I know, the women wear head coverings. If they do not arrive at church with something on their heads, we always have mortar boards available for them to put on. And so that is why they're wearing mortar boards."

"No kidding," I said.

"No, no kidding," he said.

And, I will tell you, sure enough: All but two church choirs I heard and saw which included women did indeed have every female member with her head under wrap. The two choirs that did not were contemporary music choirs whose female members, in their twenties, had forgone either scarf or mortar board. A recording of the contemporary music choir at Sogakope is included at right. You can't see them, but these women are uncovered.

During the anthem, a tall thin woman suddenly appeared in the aisle at the other end of our pew. By now, most latecomers such as ourselves had arrived, and most of the seating was taken but not all of it. Certainly, our pew was full. She nevertheless indicated to the three women at the far end that she desired to take a seat between the nearest of them and Coco. She was quite insistent, wedging her thin self into the scant space and practically sitting on my wife as a result. I scooted closer to Gershon and Gershon to the men at his right, and Coco with a look of bewilderment and frustration did her best to make room as the woman proceeded to assume as much space as she could.

When the chancel choir had finished, four more choirs were invited to sing their portions of the service - a junior women's choir, a mixed choir of young women and men, a senior women's choir, and a men's choir. In the case of the first, not only did they sing, but as they sang, the congregation came to their feet, clapping the rhythm along with the drum and tambourine. And then one of the senior women began dancing. Others stood and joined her. First, they danced in their places, then they emptied out into the aisles and danced in front of the choir. Before long, they persuaded a young couple dressed in white and seated on the front row to get up up and dance with them. Soon, more people in the pews were dancing and making their way into the aisles. For ten or fifteen minutes this went on. The dancers returned to their seats after this, although much dancing ensued during the time of offering as people brought gifts forward.

Looking to my left as I stood with my fellow pew members, I saw what I expected: Gwen overwhelmed with the volume of the song, as surreptitiously as she was able, working her hands up to her ears to dampen the sound. Seeing this too, Coco drew her close so that only one hand might be needed. When the song was over and we were seated again, Gwen seemed a bit more comfortable, but I noted to Gershon that when an opportunity presented itself we ought to see if Gwen and Coco might be able to observe the rest of the service from outside. It was heating up with all the energy and the process of the day toward noon, not to speak of the unwelcome worshiper who was practically on Coco's lap, and even with ceiling fans turning at full I knew Coco probably would need to step aside too. Gershon said that the offering, which was coming up after the men's choirs had sung, would provide such an opportunity. We would walk up with our offerings, and we could exit out the side.

The E. P. Church is not a big denomination, and it suffers from a lack of ordained ministers according to the number of churches there are to be served. This combination of circumstances results in the fact that, when an ordained minister visits a congregation, it is not unusual for him to be recognized. Here in Sogakope, if the Rev. Gershon Dotse was hoping to avoid notice he was bound to be grossly disappointed. For the pastor of the Sogakope church was a classmate of his at Trinity Theological Seminary in Accra. Therefore, proceeding to the front for the sake of making an offering, Gershon was noticed. The pastor, who also arrived late for the service (He had been elsewhere for the morning, present at one of the three other churches he also has charge of.), was entering as Gershon and I were escorting Coco and Gwen out to a shade tree in a courtyard near the church. To Gwen, we offered the chance to attend Sunday School in a nearby out building, but she elected to stay with Mom in the shade. Meanwhile, Gershon and his friend were falling all over each other with joy at meeting again. It appeared that our host's return had not been much publicized. Now, it would be impossible for us to return to the row behind Evans and his bevy of interested eligibles.

The pastor insisted that we must sit up front with him. Chairs were brought, and there we sat, as the music for the offering ended and the stands for the offering were removed from the center. The liturgist announced, by Gershon's translation, that scripture would be read. As she announced the names of the readers, four rather confused looking people came forward. "Apparently, they didn't know they were expected to read," I was told, but I was also assured that, finally, I would be able to hear something in English, since the third reading of the day was to be in a biblical version other than Ewe. The confused readers persevered through their readings, even the one who was not reading in Ewe. Unfortunately for me, however, the passage was not in English but in Twi.

As the readings continued, more chairs were added to the chancel, and now people who looked like dignitaries were seated with us - a middle aged man in robes of kente cloth, an older woman decked in pale blue whom another man presented almost ceremoniously with a paperback book that had his picture on the back of it.

Now, the preacher - a lay member of the congregation - arose. And, although his sermon was surprisingly brief (perhaps ten minutes) and although he infused his message with much humor, and although Gershon said that he thought for sure there would be some translation provided, the Spirit's guidance was offered in Ewe only. "I will tell you later what he said," Gershon promised.

The service drew to an end. Community announcements were made, including an invitation, as I understood it, for people to remain for a talk by an inspirational author who was present. The pastor was introduced by the liturgist, and he then introduced "Osofo Gershon 'Doochay'" to the congregation, who immediately applauded with much enthusiasm. Osofo means "Pastor"; Doo-chay, it turns out, is how Gershon's surname (Dotse) is actually pronounced. Gershon, in turn, invited me to join him and introduced me, "Osofo David Denoon." This elicited a surprisingly widespread intake of breath and subsequent "Aaaah!" and a fair amount of murmuring. Gershon and the pastor both explained to me at the same time that there is a very popular minister in the E. P. Church with the same last name as mine. Now it was my turn to gasp and say, "Aah." I said that I had not known I had relatives in Ghana but that I would be interested to know him and find out whether we are in fact related. Then, I turned to the church and with Gershon's help (translating) told them the purpose of my visit - renewal and a bit of adventure. Everyone seemed very approving of my interest in adventuring, especially in Sogakope. Gershon then excused us, and we bade a hasty exit as the pastor introduced the speaker.

Meanwhile, out under the shade tree, Coco and Gwen had been amused by a little girl who was playing near them. She was maybe three years old and, after much wandering around the grounds but refusing to attend Sunday School, she had become much enamored of a pile of rubble just on the other side of my family. Mother and daughter, it turned out, were seated just beyond the worksite where a new parsonage was being constructed in the church compound. So, the stuff in this pile were odds and ends from the building. Eventually the allure of the rubble wore off, and Coco caught her attention. Or, it would probably be more precise to say, Coco's relative pallor caught her attention. Coco says that, while in conversation with Evans who had managed to give the slip to the women in his pew, she suddenly became aware of a presence beside her. It was the little girl, staring at her arm with her mouth gaping. "Hello," Coco said gently.

The girl now looked up at her face, still reflecting a fearsome awe. As she did so, Coco turned her right arm over to reveal the still more pale underside of it and stroked it with the fingers of her left hand. The girl seemed genuinely alarmed, possibly wondering what affliction would cause her to become so pale and her hair to straighten. Evans at first tried to explain that Coco was from a far away country where many people are her color, but he was speaking in Twi rather than the local Ewe. So his explanation made no sense to her.

By this time, the girl had been in my family's vicinity for almost an hour, and no one had come to check on her. Coco wondered aloud whether her parents might be in the sanctuary but didn't know how to call for them. Evans tried to ask around about the girl, but no one seemed to know who her parents might be. At the same time, no one appeared worried, either, especially not the little girl... except about Coco's frightful lack of melanin! I, of course, want to be able to say that Christian community can include everybody, enough to rest assured that belonging will be a quality ascribed to all among you on any given day. Still, it would have been nice to find her parents or older siblings or somebody who knew her, just to ease our consciences from having driven off at the end of worship.

Gwen would spend the rest of this day with her new friend Jennifer. Jennifer would take her around the grounds, showing her the stables and the snack bar (which includes a wet bar that not surprisingly overlooks a threatening-looking crocodile enclosure!). Jennifer even served her an orange Fanta - Gwen's staple beverage during our time away.

Gershon offered to take me to an evening service at Sogakope's E. P. Church but, upon finding out from his friend that the night would just be a lay-led music service, elected instead to take advantage of the pastor's hospitality and grant me a quiet evening.

Sabbatical Day 13

Saturday, 17 June 2017
Sogakope, Volta Region, Ghana

The Holy Trinity Spa and Health Farm

I did not know this before I went to Ghana: It is a very ostentatiously religious country! I've called it religiose and pietistic at different times, but there was no moment we spent in Ghana in which we were not reminded of God's sovereignty and Christ's lordship and the Spirit's abiding presence... and the people's reverence in their regard.

The right side of Evans' windshield 

I have not mentioned yet that, wherever we drove with Emmanuel, his radio was usually tuned to a station playing Christian music. I recall, on the day we went to Cape Coast, he rolled the dial round to a program that sounded at first like someone preaching. Then the preacher began singing, and he sang and he sang and he sang! Belted, really. Emmanuel turned down the volume, but it was never lost on any of us that this preacher, who surely sang this same song for half an hour as we drove, was pouring out his heart in praise of the work of Christ and the Holy Spirit in his life. As I recall now, I think that this song also accompanied us for a long stretch, as we traveled that first night from the airport in Accra to the resort in Elmina.

Evans did not have nearly as much religious music playing, but the windshield of the van was decorated with a decal portrait of Jesus and more decals expressing satisfaction with the workings of God. And an Israeli flag; I never got much of an explanation about that. Virtually every other car or taxi or bus carries some message of Christian encouragement. Those that did not, and they were few, expressed an Islamic sentiment.

It is not unusual to hear Christian music playing at restaurants during meals, or at poolside. Everywhere we went were eateries (chop bars) and drinking establishments (spots) and shops with names like "God Is Good Grocery" or "God Did It All Fashion" and other businesses, like "Bride of Christ Aluminum Works" or "Blessed Assurance Car Repair." By far, one of the best I've heard of is in the image at right, "Jesus Is Above All Liquors."

Source: Google Maps

So, I guess it should have come as no surprise that the place where we would stay in Sogakope - a place that Gershon described as a spa and which we chose over the resort he also recommended - should have been called, "The Holy Trinity Spa and Health Farm." In the accompanying YouTube video (scroll to the end of this entry to view it) you will discover, as we did, that our home away from home for the next three days was not only dedicated to the pleasure, health and well-being of its clients but also to the glory of God. Our room, named rather than numbered, was the Royalty Room in the Queen Esther building, which adjoins the King David building. Nearby is the Bezaleel building, which seems to serve as their main storage unit. One lovely enclosed garden is called, the Vineyard of En-Gedi (Song of Songs 1:1). Other locations are the Valley of Beracah (2 Chronicles 20:26), a "block" featuring smaller guest rooms and apartments. And there is the Abishag building, notable for being as Abishag was for David, a comfort from the strains of life. This was where Gwen and Coco went for massages and facials and mani-pedis; it was also the site of the Ruth and Boaz Conference Rooms.

In much the same way as music seemed to be constantly playing in the cars and restaurants wherever we were, at the Holy Trinity there was a constant loop of instrumental gospel music playing in the main courtyard. At first I had thought that I was hearing someone at a piano or electric piano, but - as with the classic jazz music playing in the lobby of our Paris hotel - I became used at certain times of day to hear the same pieces playing. This, I am sure, is intended to direct the mind and spirit but also to provide a measure of relaxation and healing.

The Holy Trinity Spa is, as it turns out, an outreach of the Department of Integrative Medicine of Holy Trinity Hospital in Sogakope. Both institutions are owned and operated by Dr. Felix Anyah. The Spa, for a great part like our own First Congregational Center for Counseling and Healing, is a ministry of healing. It is designed to offer treatments but also introductions to healthier living. Its Ten Health Pillars are announced throughout the complex:

1. Regular and appropriate exercises (sic)
2. Scientific relaxation and restful sleep
3. Health diet
4. Detoxification (including fasting)
5. Management of stress and stress disorders
6. Supplements
7. Positive attitudes
8. Spirituality
9. Health through water (SPA) (C.A.M.)
10. Medical, surgical, and dental treatments

All but the last of these are provided onsite by a sizable, capable and competent staff. Probably our favorite staff member was Jennifer, a college student from Accra who was able to provide care and companionship for Gwen from lunchtime until bedtime daily. On the 17th when the two of them were introduced, Jennifer offered to put together a team of staff to play basketball with Gwen after Gwen said that this was her favorite sport (actually, softball at that point probably was her favorite game, but they don't play much softball in Ghana). Having seen the Holy Trinity bill of fare for various treatments and treatment programs, I worried a bit that the formation of a staff basketball team might be more than the Lilly Endowment might be prepared to provide for, financially. However, Jennifer just took Gwen out and shot hoops with her, later giving her a tour which included the building which housed a gym with basketball and squash courts. Tennis courts are outside, but Gwen doesn't play tennis. So they rambled round to the stables, where there are horses and camels, and to the bar which overlooks a crocodile pool and (separately) an enclosure with tortoises. After supper, Jennifer took Gwen to the gym building to play a couple rounds of ping-pong and some badminton. Before they left, I handed Gwen a GHc20 note to give to Jennifer as thanks for being Gwen's company. Jennifer delivered Gwen back to our room, looking a bit serious. Gwen reported, after Jennifer left, that Jennifer wished we wouldn't tip her. "She says it's her job to do that," Gwen reported, "and tipping her feels like we're paying her twice."

Coco and Gwen enjoyed facials and mani-pedis, this day (the therapists providing these did not flinch at being tipped). Coco noted that the products used were not the high-end creams and polishes that one might expect at a salon in America or Europe; the most expensive products were by l'Oreal and Oil of Olay. Coco noted that the Holy Trinity Spa's merchandise at the gift shop was somewhat different than what one might expect to see in a typically evangelical place of business - including not only sunglasses, books, and supplements but also sex-enhancing oils and edible panties. When she brought these to my attention, I looked online at the resort's website and found that it is promoted as a honeymoon and marriage enrichment destination. And, certainly, among the very few guests there present with us were couples who appeared to be very much in love and taking full advantage of the provision for relief from the stresses of getting married (just as the website promises).

It was the bathroom of the Abishag building that gave Coco her first clue, however, that the Holy Trinity at least had a different sense of humor from most evangelical institutions with which we are acquainted. There, she was greeted by a sign when she closed the door of the stall she was using:

The Holy Trinity logo

But such was the entire place, full of unexpected things. The cable television provided to our room had fourteen channels, of which eleven provided actual programming and only three of those non-religious programs. Of the religious programming, I discovered one channel with the symbol for the spa pasted in the upper right corner. It ran only the preaching of someone who seemed to be a popular speaker, talking about how just about all medical science agrees with the Bible. Of the few times I tuned in and watched for five minutes or more, I watched a channel with the Spa's logo on it and which featured the Singapore-based evangelist Joseph Prince. He seemed like a curious choice for Ghanaian TV viewers to be watching, considering that he is not even African, but the owner of the Holy Trinity may have found in Rev. Prince's sermons' blending of science and Christianity some resonance with Dr. Anyah's holistic approach to medicine.

That said, Joseph Prince was just one more voice among many on television and radio and promoted on billboards spouting Prosperity Gospel themes and promising miracles. I'll try and address my feelings about this in another article, but let it suffice for me to say here that - seeing the conditions of life in Ghana, which are much like the conditions of its infrastructure and the practices of drivers and pedestrians there - people there as everywhere are simply wanting to make ends meet, and it may indeed require a miracle for most of them to do it!

Sabbatical Day 19

Friday, 23 June 2017

An Open Letter to My Friends in the African Methodist Episcopal Zion Church

My dear AME Zion friends:

Janice & H. E. Lane, foreground (from an article in the

Evanston Round Table, 18 July 2014)

When I was serving a congregation in Evanston, Illinois, I became aware of the amazing work of the Rev. Hardist E. Lane, retired pastor of the Fisher Memorial AME Zion Church, through his H. E. Lane Center for Positive Change. Rev. Lane and his wife Mrs. Janice Lane along with numerous friends and colleagues, eventually including myself, worked with ex-prisoners in order to reconnect them with society following their incarceration. It was with the help of Rev. Lane that I learned to refer to recently released individuals as "ex-prisoners" and not as "ex-offenders," since those who occupy prisons seem often to have been placed there more for the purpose of justifying the prison's existence than because they need to be separated from society because they pose a safety risk to the general public.

Rev. Lane was succeeded as pastor by the Rev. Warren E. Smith, who has taken up work as a pastor as a second career complementing his service as a social worker. It was Rev. Smith who, upon learning that I was about to exit my own Evanston post, insisted unblinkingly that he hoped I would consider entering the AME Zion as a pastor next. And although I had wondered then at his encouragement, despite my own heart for justice and witness, upon reflection of his career(s) and the passion and work of Rev. and Mrs. Lane and what I have just seen today, I can say honestly that I should have taken his words more seriously. This is not to say that I am unhappy in the UCC or unsatisfied with my work now, but that with today I have a greater sense of the impact and vision of the AME Zion and its outreach.

This morning, my family and I attended a cultural festival in Ho, Ghana. 

Panorama of the (Ho) Sacred Heart Senior High School grounds as we gathered for the festival competition

Such cultural festivals, I have learned, are often the culmination of the academic year, as elementary and high school students from across a locality participate in competition based on culture. Participants dress in their native clothing, singing familiar songs and choruses, drum or dance as groups, pairs, and individuals, and compose, memorize, and present poems and essays. Local winners go on to city or district wide competitions, then to regional competitions, and eventually they compete on a national level. The area schools represented at this local competition included, of course, our hosts' E. P. (Evangelical Presbyterian) schools, and the public, Catholic, Seventh Day Adventist, and AME Zion schools.

Outstanding in every category were the AME Zion competitors. And this turned out for me not to have to do with the content... at least, not at first. All the content of each group presentation was the same, after all - the same dances were danced, the same songs were sung. This was necessary for the group competitions to be on a level playing field. Where the AME Zion children and their directors really stood out was in the pride and expertise with which they presented their pieces and themselves. 

Throughout our time in Ghana, I have seen dedicated individuals who are determined to make a sincere and concerted effort to have an impact on their society and country. One cannot doubt the sacred conviction that lies in the hearts of the church leaders - both clergy and lay - whom we met. And the children and teachers we saw and with whom we interacted in a practice competition at the Seeger Memorial E. P. Church and School in Hohoe certainly impressed us with their abilities and talents. There was a moderating sense of caution among them, though. Maybe they just hadn't practiced quite enough to feel thoroughly comfortable and at ease.

Until this moment, however, I do not think I had realized quite the fullness of spirit and purpose that are contained in the AME Zion's motto, "Black Liberation and Evangelism," or how completely this gospel call is meant by the church. But this is what I saw on display, today, in Ho. Your vision encompassed and encompasses the plight of Black people everywhere - those who were enslaved, yes, but those as well who were the subjects of colonial empires. The AME Zion has recognized throughout its history the damage that has been done, rendering Black folk powerless and oppressed, and the critical importance of making a stand by the grace of God through Jesus Christ and in the Holy Spirit. Only by accepting for oneself the power made available from heaven for one's work on earth can one hope to overcome the vast array of stumbling blocks in one's way.

After the elementary and high school groups had sung their pieces, it was time for the girls' speaking competition. Most of the girls reciting stood front and center and presented pieces that offered unalloyed praise for traditions and practices that have made their culture a reflection of wider Ghana. 

Then came the last presenter. I don't know whether the Z in Zion brought the AME Zion school's students to perform last. But this was the final competitor in her category and the most memorable for me. She was a high school student mindful not only of the past but of her future. This I knew because I was fortunate enough to be seated beside a woman who had come to see my hosts Gershon and Pamela. She is Gershon's late father's third wife, who was also the mother of Gershon's youngest sister whom we had met yesterday in Hohoe. As the speaking competition began, "Mama" decided to interpret to me what the girls were saying.

I noticed immediately that, in addition to folded swaths of cloth that formed a belt around the high school student's waist, she also had tucked a cellular phone. It was barely visible, and I haven't been able to locate a photo that reveals it; you'll just have to trust me. But it was curious and almost humorous to me that someone dressed so traditionally should have missed such an anachronism as that, or that her coach should have missed it.

My interpreter told me that the girl was talking about how she had always been taught that the old ways were important and must not be lost. To know who we are, we must first know who we have been. Hence, the fabrics with their traditional prints and patterns. But, the young woman continued, we must not forget that our ancestors were young once, and the voice of youth then has formed our traditions today. Therefore, we must not reject new things like technology and other innovations out of hand (she now took the cell phone from her belt and made a grand, sweeping gesture with it, eventually setting it on a large stone near her). Now, she pointed a finger at the crowd listening and said, we must balance our traditions made by voices that were young once with the developments of young voices today. We must encourage our youth, not only tell them to respect the old ways.

Her confidence and poise, her inflection and carriage, all communicated to those of us listening a sense of prophecy and purpose. I reflected with my interpreter how this was typical of the AME Zion clergy and communities I have come to know in the U.S. I told her that I had not previously known that the AME Zion had established missions and schools in Ghana but that it made sense that they should have. It seemed further to me in keeping with the witness of that church to inspire their youth to say that they must have a voice, and a voice respected, in the growing traditional future of their culture and society. 

There was one moment in the speech when she took a long pause. I thought for a moment that she was simply composing herself in the midst of an impassioned address. But then something familiar became obvious, from my own high school recitations - and many since: she'd "gone up." She'd forgotten part of her speech. She paced, trying to remember. Then, I watched as she retraced her steps and what must have been sense memory loaded in, as the location and position of her decorated body, traditional dress, and fascinating belt (with respect to that cell phone) reminded her what came next. I imagine that the judges subtracted points for that, and, though we could not stay to the end of the competition to find out what her outcome was, I doubt she won... but maybe. Maybe the power and encouragement of that message and its messenger were still enough.

I thought you would want to know what I saw, today. And I wanted to say that I know more about you now than I knew when the day began, thanks to a girl and her schoolmates at a cultural competition in Ho. I thought you should know (even though you undoubtedly knew already) about the legacy of witness and purpose you established with your schools and churches in Ghana. You deserve to know of the success being realized with your international outreach funds in Africa. All of these bear a very similar, empowering witness to the one I have experienced here. 

"Black Liberation and Evangelism," preach on!

Your friend and admirer,

Dave Denoon

Sabbatical Day 12

Friday, 16 June 2017
From Elmina (Central Region), to Accra and then to Tema (Greater Accra Region)

Over-speeding and Standing Still

The calls from Gershon began mid-morning, but by this time my cell phone was again needing to be topped up. So, the front desk sent someone down at 9AM to tell us that he had called to say, he and the driver had just left Accra. That should put them in Elmina at noon.

About an hour later, another message came: Traffic was slowing them down. Much as they might try, Gershon did not think that they would reach us much before 2.

Meditation on a Cash-based Economy
We took the luggage to the front desk at 2 o'clock, and I settled up with the receptionist on duty. She told me the total, which accounted for the food and drink of our meals charged to the room over the last four days. I handed her the church's debit card, and she said, "Thank you, but I should inform you that using a card entails a five percent usage fee." Although I was a little shocked at the up charge, nevertheless I had no other means of payment, and costs otherwise were remarkably inexpensive, so I told her all right.

It now began to dawn on me that I had paid in cash for literally everything else in Ghana, thus far. Furthermore, when I had received the bill for our first non-breakfast meal at the Coconut Grove Beach Resort, which included breakfast in the room charge, the bill had only listed the charges for food. There was a space at the bottom for one to calculate the 15% of taxes and any tip (unlike in Paris or London where the value added tax and service fee were calculated into the bill). So, I calculated 15% more and another 15% for Moses our server, signed it with our room number, and handed him back the folder with the bill in it. He looked at the paper in something like horror and said that, if I simply charged the bill to the room, he would not receive from the management the full amount of the tip. So, I subtracted out the tip from the total and told Moses that, once I had some cash on hand the next day, I would tip him. He served us at supper also, and I kept my promise on Wednesday with regard to both meals, after we returned from Cape Coast Castle.

Having done so, I could not help but notice that the staff, which was already quite attentive and helpful, became much more attentive and helpful. My grandfather's old saying, that "tip" stands for "to insure promptness," began echoing in my head. But moreso than just the matter of tipping was my realization, at the front desk with the receptionist demanding five percent extra, that we were experiencing in its blooming fullness a truly cash-based economy. (By the end of our two weeks, it would be obvious that this was really a paper-based economy, but more about that later.)

The Road East

Gershon arrived at 2:45, apologetic and concerned about our timing for arrival at our next destination, a spa near the city of Sogakope which ought to be - in good traffic - about five hours away. The hope had been to arrive in time for supper, but obviously we were looking at a very late supper if that would be the case.

Our driver makes a point.

Gershon introduced us to our driver. "This is E-vonce," I heard him say. I repeated the driver's name and shook his hand. I imagined that his name would have been spelled, "Yvonce," but pronounced as if there is a plural to the Russian pronunciation of Ivan. Yvonce was about five feet and eight or nine inches tall, probably in his early twenties, and fit. He wore his hair close cropped (not shaved like Gershon), and looked neat in a t-shirt and jeans. Yvonce's command of English was arguable, and he was a bit shy about it. English is taught in school, and in most schools it becomes the language of instruction. I never asked Yvonce about his schooling, but I have come to assume that he must not have finished high school.

Our transportation

Yvonce came with a 9-passenger van, a 2008 Ford E-Series that had been made in the U.S. I'm sure of this, since its speedometer was marked in miles per hour, rather than kilometers. It had seen better days, and the interior was worn in places and not terribly comfortable, but the air conditioning worked and was zoned, according to the control panel, front and back. It seemed a bit large for our needs. But we knew that Gershon's wife Pamela would be joining us for a portion of the tour, and, besides, it would be nice to be able to stretch out should we need naps between destinations. It was also remarkably inexpensive, coming at a cost - including Yvonce's services, food, and lodging - of only $110 a day, plus fuel. (Gershon said that the merchant who rented him the vehicle was a member of his home church, so that may explain the bargain.)

Once all our luggage had been loaded - Gershon and Yvonce very impressively making it fit in a space that seemed more designed for seating than storage - we were off!

Yvonce took a different route away than we had seen with Emmanuel, through a more affluent-looking section of Elmina. As we rounded the first corner, in fact, we passed a palatial estate on a hill overlooking the resort. Gershon pointed out that this was the residence of a former Ghanaian presidential candidate, Papa Kwesi Nduom, the owner of the GN (Groupe Nduom) Bank from which I had conducted my first ATM transaction. Emmanuel, pointing at the home from a different direction a few days before, had noted that this was the home of the owner of the Coconut Grove Beach Resort but had said nothing about Mr. Nduom also owning the resort.

Rather than taking us through Elmina, as I say, Yvonce circled around it. The point was to avoid delays. And, indeed, the moment an opportunity presented itself to hasten our journey on its way, Yvonce most certainly did! I am comfortable saying without reservation that I have never traveled at quite that rate of speed before. In areas in which there were no vehicles in front of us, our driver seemed to have no qualms at all increasing our speed to 80, 90, even 100 miles an hour!

Yvonce was in the driver’s seat, of course. And although Gershon had offered me the front passenger seat (shotgun), I elected to sit in the first row in back. This was a couch designed for two people – one at the window and the other in the center of the vehicle (where I was). Gwen and Coco sat in the row behind me, also designed for two, while some of the luggage inhabited the final, three-person row and the rest took up the narrow space for storage between the back row and the back doors.

When Yvonce would hit top speed, the second or third time, he did so passing another vehicle and with oncoming traffic visible maybe a quarter mile ahead. He would duck in front of the car we had just passed and continue on, his velocity unslowed.

Now I will tell you, I have passed many a vehicle on a two-lane highway, and no few of those times I have accelerated to a speed I thought unwise – especially if there was oncoming traffic, but always I would decrease speed once past the vehicle I was rounding. Not Yvonce. No. And just when I would convince myself that, in fact, he had found a new, more reasonable speed at which to travel, the engine would surge and the pointer would swing round. And I would look back at Coco with a helpless look, as she looked at me questioningly and with maybe a hint of panic. Thankfully, Gwen either slept through all this or became so concentrated in a video game on her iPod that it seemed she was not paying attention.

All the while, he and Gershon carried on what seemed like a carefree conversation in (I learned later) Yvonce’s native Twi dialect. (Gershon, it turns out, is quite the Ghanaian polyglot!)

It may be helpful at this point to note a few things about driving in Ghana. The first is the sign I noticed on that night journey from Accra to Elmina. As I watched Emmanuel’s speedometer slip past the 80 kph speed limit, there came a roadside warning, “OVERSPEEDING KILLS.” (“Not just speeding,” said one American breathlessly when I spoke about it with them there, “overspeeding!”)

The second thing is that one of the first stories I heard about Ghanaian drivers was in the documentary on PBS about Maya Angelou. There, it is told that her son was injured horribly in an accident in which he was the passenger on the back of a motorcycle in Accra. That someone might be injured riding a motorcycle comes as no surprise, considering the way bikers bob and weave through traffic whether it is standing still or moving. Trust me, that he survived was practically miraculous.

The third thing that it is helpful to bear in mind is that Gershon’s father – and the loved ones of many with whom I spoke – died in an auto accident in Accra. In Gershon’s father’s case, his death came just three weeks before Gershon was set out for Eden Seminary.

Needless to say, I suppose, between Yvonce’s overspeeding and an almost complete lack of police barricades, though speed bumps and humps tended to slow us somewhat near intersections and villages, we arrived in Accra in much less than the standard three and a half hours. On the east side of Accra, amid industrial sites and new home developments, the highway became four lanes, divided, and limited access, like an Interstate. And for about ten miles, it seemed as though we were going to make it to Sogakope in time for a late supper. In fact, Gershon called ahead for just that purpose. ("We'll arrive around 9PM," he told them when he placed the order.)

Then, we began noticing that traffic was slowing and becoming heavier. Gershon attributed this to the usual Friday migration from out of the cities to the country, where Ghanaian funerals customarily take place. I had heard of the opulence of Ghanaian funerals, often with special, personalized coffins and celebrations that can last for days. Gershon lamented that funerals, even for poor people, will be like this. As we drove, he noted billboards and posters memorializing people with phrases like "A Life Well-lived" or "Gone Too Soon." Such words usually were accompanied by a photo of the deceased and occasionally a brief biography or obituary. The printing and display of these announcements could themselves run the family of the deceased hundreds of dollars. Add in the cost of embalming, coffin, transportation of the body, venue, catering, music, and sundry other additions, and a funeral could cost you a year's wages or more!

The average life expectancy of a Ghanaian is between 66 and 67 years. Add to that the number of accidental deaths, and the desire to pay exorbitant tribute to the dead, and you have quite the funeral industry. And quite a migration on the weekends, when the celebrations of life would take place.

At Tema, a major port and a city immediately adjoining Accra, traffic simply stopped. We had just passed through a toll plaza. Between that bottleneck and an unidentified event ahead, the road to Sogakope became a parking lot. Yvonce attempted to skirt the traffic on a couple of occasions. Familiar with Tema, on one occasion he followed an exit only to rejoin the standing traffic, entering again after crossing the road at the end of the exit. On another, he actually followed some other ambitious drivers through what may or may not have been an actual, designated roadway, then through the neutral roadside area of a filling station where he re-entered the roadway, a bit farther along. There is truly nothing like cutting off another driver (or two or three) on your way through a truck stop! But nothing worked to shake us loose of the standing traffic.

An hour passed, and we had not moved. Yvonce dutifully kept the car idling and the air conditioning on. Eventually, at 8:45, he determined that he would take advantage of his knowledge of Tema's streets. Waving to other drivers, especially a couple of buses alongside us, Yvonce cut across the snarl of cars, motorcycles, trucks, and buses, from our position in the right lane. At the encouragement of some pedestrians in the median, he found a bit of pavement. Across, he waited for the westbound traffic to clear and sped off back in the direction of a major intersection we had crossed, a couple of miles back. Once there, he took us into Tema.

I think I have mentioned before that the major thoroughfares in Ghana tend to be well-paved and fairly passable. Side streets, however, are another story entirely. And so it was now, as we bounced and rocked our way through neighborhoods on our way first to the north, then meandering to the east where Yvonce hoped to find another cross street beyond the traffic jam. The next one was blocked with traffic trying to enter the highway and backed up. And the one after that.

It was now 9:30, and Gershon turned to me. "I think we need to stop for the night and try to get to Sogakope in the morning, because I am sure, no matter how we try we will not get there before midnight. And it might be later. Is that all right?"

Coco and I shrugged, to say that if they thought that this was our best choice, that's what we would do. "Can we get some food?" Coco asked, as Gwen complained of being hungry.

"Oh, yes. We will find a hotel with a restaurant," Gershon assured us. That turned out to be the Kowa Naso. And notwithstanding an unfortunate lack of sheets there, we were all grateful for the grace of a place to end the day and stay and sleep.

The next morning, I spoke with Gershon before Yvonce arrived with the van, and expressed my concern about his speeding as lightly as I could. "You know, I noticed yesterday that Yvonce was driving much faster than I feel comfortable. I'm clear that the van must have been made in America, because it has a speedometer that measures miles rather than kilometers per hour. He is clear, isn't he, that the speed limit signs are in kph, not mph, right?"

Gershon followed my jest and laughed. "Yes, I am sure he just wanted to make up for the lost time in traffic," he said.

"I think if it was just me," I said, "I would have been concerned about his speed but could have overlooked it. But my family is with us in the car, and I'd appreciate it if he would drive what's posted, even if we are running late."

There was no point at which I could identify that the two of them discussing Yvonce's speeding, and maybe Gershon was right and Yvonce simply wanted us to arrive on time. But I can say that he drove the posted speed limits, everywhere we went thereafter, and thereafter I think I have never felt safer or more confident in anyone's driving than I did Yvonce's.

Oh. And it turns out his name is Evans.

Sabbatical Day 11

Thursday, 15 June 2017

After a morning at Kakum National Park and the arrival of a group of students from Texas at the resort, Gwen offers some insights about slave castles and how captives were treated, and what it's like to be an African American in Africa

On Wednesday afternoon, the Coconut Grove gained a new energy as a dozen or so students from Texas State University and their professor, Dr. Rose Pulliam of TSU's School of Social Work, settled in for a few days. Dr. Pulliam annually brings a class of graduate and undergraduate students to Ghana for field study and consultation with Social Work instructors and students across the country.

Dr. Pulliam and I became acquainted at breakfast on Thursday morning, as we each enjoyed breakfast with coffee and glasses of bissap. Bissap is hibiscus tea made very strong to a consistency not unlike grape juice, then sweetened and chilled. It is popular as a drink, any time of day, but the Coconut Grove served it on occasional mornings in place of a fruit juice, probably because of its high anti-oxidant and vitamin C content.

Dr. Rose Pulliam
photo from her Twitter account -
@workingforpeace

I was interested to know about her program and the students' experiences, and she seemed interested in an American family that would go on vacation to Ghana. We both reflected on the gladsome history of Ghana - first West African country to declare independence, one of the few African governments to witness decades of successive peaceful transitions of power, the hub of the electrical grid for most of Ghana and virtually all of neighboring Togo. But we were also concerned about the fact that this coastal region was the locus of most of North America's slave-based economics (Angola being the most common location of South America's), and wondered aloud about the long-term effects of colonialism and post-colonialism on Ghana's infrastructure, economy and people. Just as the conversation was getting good, it was time for Dr. Pulliam to board the van for Cape Coast. So, she suggested that she and I might talk with the students, that evening, about our observations and concerns and hear from them. I'm sad to say that the events of the rest of the day and into the evening didn't really allow for that, but I still was able to have a fascinating conversation about the conditions in Ghana with another American person of color, that evening.

This was my family's day to go to Kakum National Park, an area of hundreds of square miles of rain forest that includes a great deal of wildlife and a canopy walk. A canopy walk is a bridge suspended by ropes and cables between tall trees so that visitors may observe from scores of feet above the forest floor the goings on of the creatures below. And it also affords a spectacular view.

R82 just south of the Kakum NP entrance gate
Note that the road is only about two-thirds paved.
This actually made it so that passage straddling dirt and
pavement was preferable to driving only on pavement.
As a result, the roadbed - designed for two lanes -
only accommodated one lane at a time. Oncoming traffic
either had to pull off the road or veer hard to the right.

The drive from the resort to the park is about fifty miles long, but in the daytime (which is to say, without police checkpoints) that journey takes almost two hours. Everything seemed to be going very smoothly, pavement-wise, until we got just north of Cape Coast. On the outskirts of town, it becomes clear that someone had the inspiration to widen the two-lane Route 82, or maybe just to pave it. But for most of the way, there is pavement either on only one side of the road (and much of that crumbling), or else there is no pavement at all and one is subject to gullies and pits. Where full pavement of two lanes resumes, still there are potholes that threaten to swallow your vehicle. I am quite certain we never exceeded thirty miles and hour during the last sixty minutes of our drive. We left the resort at 10AM. We arrived just a little before noon.

Emmanuel explained that the road conditions in Ghana are often determined by the outcomes of elections. When one party is in power, their inclination may be to strengthen transportation infrastructure, but the next party in power will want to direct money to social services or agriculture or the military or the environment. Ghana is run on a shoestring of tax revenues and foreign aid, and therefore - even though all of those interests may be complementary - they end up competing for the same money. The road to Kakum was a vivid illustration of this.

The park was abuzz with the sounds of young people. Just as the youth of France may go on field trips to Versailles, and the youth of east central Missouri to Jefferson Barracks, the youth of Ghana get to go on field trips to this rain forest. There were at least two busloads of high school youngsters, in addition to a young family whom we also had seen at the resort this morning and the family of an American college student just finishing her year of field work in Kumasi. Together, we purchased tickets and were provided lanyards (badges) that authorized us for the Canopy Walk or (in the case of the young family) Nature Walk.

The Kakum National Park, according to our tour guide, is home to forest elephants, a number of species of monkeys, dozens of bird species, and a wide variety of reptiles and amphibians. Most of these, however, only come out at night. So, she offered that we might want to come and camp in the canopy treehouse sometime. Then, we could see and hear how the forest comes alive. We decided to try our luck in the daytime, instead.

The Canopy Walkway has two routes - the short (or "low") route with only three bridges strung between some impressively massive, and tall trees, and the long (or "high") route with seven such bridges. Coco elected to take the low; Gwen and I went for the high. As it turned out, all of the girls and one boy on the field trip, who started on the Walkway Tour about ten minutes after us, would follow Coco. The rest of the boys, quite a rowdy crew and possibly an explanation of the forest animals' decision to remain nocturnal, were behind Gwen and me. This wasn't an issue, really, until we had crossed the third bridge, which was when the boys entered the first one.

Gwen's Journal: "When Dad stepped down on the tall [bridge] it started to sink. That made Mom's mind up: she is going to take the short one. There are seven bridges you have to walk on to get to the end of the top ones. For the short you got to walk on 3. I went with Dad and, believe me, it would roam back and forth each time."

You see, when each bridge receives the weight of the first person to enter it, there is a moment when it settles. There is a loud thump that arises, and it can feel for a moment as though the bridge is entirely giving way. But in fact, the wood plank on which you are about to walk is simply setting itself down comfortably on its base of cable and rope. There won't be another such sound until the last of you steps up onto the next junction, and the plank rattles itself back up until the next person can enter it. This series of thumps and rattles and the natural tendency of the very strong netting on either side of those on the Walkway elicited an excitement among that crew of boys that was memorable for its very noisiness! I didn't understand much of anything they said, since, despite them being Catholic students of a school that insisted upon their use of English in the classroom (I'll explain how I knew this in a moment), on this field trip they were carrying on in their local language. But what I understood was the tendency of schoolboys to tease and jostle each other for the sheer fun of it.

Gwen, however, was not amused by them and practiced to get as far ahead of them as she could, even as she sought refuge behind me as we passed from station to station. Also not amused were the girls and one boy on the field trip whom we met as we cleared our fifth bridge. The sixth bridge on our walk was the second on theirs, and Gwen and I had paused at the junction. The boy had taken the lead and silently stepped clear of one bridge and sullenly onto the next, as if to get away from everyone. Behind him were all the girls, led by one who looked quite simply terrified. Still on the bridge, which had settled quite a bit due to the weight of all the girls on it, she looked up at me with anxious tears and said, "I am very afraid."

"You don't have to be," I said as assuringly as I could. "You're just fine." Gwen punctuated my words with her own, smiling, "There's nothing to worry about." I reached out my hand to her, and she took it and stepped up onto the landing, then continued on. When the next bridge settled under her, she shrieked. "Just keep moving," I said. "Being afraid of it only makes it worse!" Gwen warned. And onward she went.

After the seventh bridge (her third), the girl was so relieved to be on terra firma once more, she began crying, and her classmates all gathered round her to comfort her. Gwen and I stepped off after them. She took off to find Coco, and I walked behind slower. Eventually, I became aware that the girls were following me, as if I was their guide, and to get them on past where I needed to be to meet my family, I paused. The lead girl paused too, and so therefore did the others. I waved them on, telling them that the boy who had been leading them was farther up the path. They went on, each thanking me and bidding me a good day. Meanwhile, the rest of the boys could be heard bouncing and whooping on the bridges behind us.

When we had been traveling to Cape Coast, the day before, I had pointed out to Emmanuel all the schoolchildren in uniforms. "Different colors designate different schools," he said. "Brown skirts or pants and gold shirts indicate that the students attend a public school. Presbyterian schoolchildren wear green or blue, and Catholic school uniforms are white on top and blue on the bottom." All of the young people we were encountering were Catholic and attended schools often staffed by American or British teachers. As I would learn at Akosombo Dam, in a few days, this can impart to the students a distinctly Western - rather than African - inflected accent.

It was afternoon, almost 1 o'clock, when we got back to the Reception area and Emmanuel. The park had a "Rainforest Cafe" and a few vendors selling snacks. We decided that we would have a late lunch back at the resort, but to tide us over I bought some popcorn at one of the stands. The woman had popped it in a cast iron cooker over charcoal, and it was some of the best popcorn I've ever eaten, I have to confess.

It was about 3PM when we arrived at the Coconut Grove, so we turned lunch into dinner and opted for a light, savory snack at about 8 o'clock. The college students returned, shortly after we did, and a few donned swimsuits and walked in the waves while about eight or ten of them followed the lead of one young woman who had gone horseback riding on Wednesday after Gwen's dismount. She rode a spirited filly up front with the wrangler while the rest sat nervously in their saddles and did their best just to keep things under control. After sunset, around 7PM, they all gathered for a buffet. Gwen, Coco, and I claimed another cabana for ourselves and enjoyed grilled calamari, Ghanaian beer, and Fanta (Gwen's beverage of choice since discovering that it was served absolutely EVERYWHERE!).

Coco asked whether Dr. Pulliam had invited me yet to come and talk with the students. I said, no, but that I figured they needed a chance to unwind and defuse after a day spent in slave castles. Gwen asked what I would have talked about. I told her that the professor and I had spoken briefly in the morning about how Ghana was both more and less than we had imagined it would be. "More and less?" Gwen asked. "Yes," I said, "I've been having a hard time seeing how people live here..." "The bad roads and the shacks and all the trash!" said Coco. "So, the way they live seems like less to me, and the stuff they have to deal with is so much more than we have to. Also," I continued, "my heart tells me that they probably have to live this way because we have it so good where we live."

Gwen thought about this and said, "Yeah, it doesn't seem fair. The schoolkids all have to wear the same clothes. And all the girls' hair is short. And the roads really are terrible, and there's trash even on the beach. You had to clear a big piece of wood with nails in it that drifted up on the beach so that someone wouldn't step on it."

Coco told her that Ghana was a great country, because so many of its people came to America and built our economy and a lot of our buildings without being paid. "You mean, slaves?" Gwen said. Yes, said Coco, and furthermore so many able-bodied people, strong people were taken away from here that - although it strengthened us in America - it crippled this country and its neighbors for a long time because they got taken.

"Slavery was horrible," Gwen responded. "How could people make others live the way they did in those slave castles?! Mom, you didn't hear some of the stuff that guy said they did to the women and girls there. I couldn't believe it. It was disgusting. And they'd put people in cells by themselves and leave them to die, if they tried to escape or rebel. I think I would have died if it had been me, because I couldn't stand it." She continued, "I hadn't expected it would be this sad here. I mean, the people are all really nice, and the national park was good..."

Gwen took a breath. "What did you think of Kofi calling you, 'My African sister!' when he greeted you, yesterday?" Coco asked.

"That... was a little weird," Gwen said, "but then everything about that place was a little weird."

"No," Coco said, "I mean, how does it feel to have brown skin in a place where everybody else is the same color as you?"

"I don't know," she said. "It doesn't feel like I'm the same. Do you feel different?"

"I certainly do," Coco answered.

"Yeah," I said, "so do I. I'm not saying it's like being black in America, but me being a white guy with a gray beard here certainly seems to be setting expectations about me among people here. If I don't remind myself that I'm white, it doesn't take long before something somebody else says or does reminds me!"

"Like what?" Gwen asked.

"Like usually they think I ought to spend some money."

"That reminds me. I've been thinking about what you ought to get me for my birthday..."

After dinner, the students adjourned to the beach where staff had set up a bonfire for them. And they talked and talked and laughed and sang, long after my family turned in for the night. The sound of the waves overwhelmed their voices, though, and the three of us slept very well.

Sabbatical Day 10 - Part 2

Wednesday, 14 June 2017, afternoon

Getting in Touch and Feeling My Age

Rev. Gershon Dotse
and his CPE certificate of completion

What follows is a description of what transpired between the last two paragraphs of the previous Sabbatical Day 10 posting.

For three days the Rev. Gershon Dotse and I had been finalizing our itinerary for the rest of our stay in Ghana. Gershon, as many of you know, is an ordained minister in the Evangelical Presbyterian Church of Ghana - a church in the Reformed theological tradition which has a partnership with the United Church of Christ through our global ministries. Gershon studied for two years at Eden Theological Seminary, here in Webster Groves, gaining a Master of Theological Studies degree - a degree usually preparatory to doctoral study. Like many other foreign students at Eden, Gershon connected with my own First Congregational Church of Webster Groves because we are close by and therefore accessible on foot from the seminary, on Sunday mornings. And like many other foreign students at Eden, Gershon joined First Church during his time of study so that he could have a pastor and community with whom to connect.

Gershon's interest was to go on and study for a Ph.D., then to teach at a seminary. And although I have not discussed it with him exhaustively, it would appear that either his three-year student visa or his funding ran short of his anticipated time of study. So, rather than continue on and get that Ph.D. here in the States, Gershon elected to enhance his pastoral and counseling skills by making his third year of study in a Clinical Pastoral Education (CPE) program through Laclede Groves Senior Living of Lutheran Senior Services. There, he worked as a chaplain in a rigorous program that included an assignment to a caseload of residents, logging of his work, and discussion with an instructor and other students about the relative successes or "growth opportunities" he experienced. He did brilliantly, of course, but said in retrospect to me one day, "It's very conservative there," referring to the theology of the instructors there which differs by sharp contrast with the liberal theological training he received at Eden and at his first seminary, Trinity Theological Seminary in Accra. "The women in the program had a hard time with the stated expectation that they would not serve as pastors." (Over the next couple of weeks, it would be interesting -in light of his statement - for me to learn that, though theologically liberal, Gershon could be rather traditional in his expectations. I'll save that for a later entry, though. For now, let's talk a bit about communicating in Ghana.)

My correspondence with Gershon, since his return to Ghana in May, had had its challenges. Gershon's access to wifi turned out to be rather spotty in his hometown of Hohoe. So, he was unable to send documents he wanted us to see. Meanwhile, we were having some trouble connecting by phone with him.

We knew, by the time we left the U.S., that our Consumer Cellular SIM cards would not connect with systems in France. When we arrived in Paris, our orienteer Shannon offered us her wisdom about cellular SIM cards. She suggested that we go to a tabac. A tabac is what we would otherwise call a quick shop, except that their quick shops often include a full bar from which you can often order not only drinks but sandwiches and other fare. Most of them sell prepaid phones and SIM cards which you can "top up" online. Shannon offered suggestions about companies she thought offered really good bargains.

MTN and Vodafone marketing is everywhere in Ghana!
Photo from https://gwuoid.wordpress.com/tag/ghana/

Our French SIM cards, however, would not connect with Ghanaian cellular systems, so we knew that we would eventually have to buy new ones. And although I had learned in my first few days in Elmina that there were two very strongly represented mobile telephone service providers - MTN and Vodafone (you could see them advertised on umbrellas and the sides of buildings, almost as much as promotions for Milo and Miksi chocolate milk powders). By Wednesday, Gershon had finally been able to send his latest draft of our itinerary, and I wanted to be able to speak with him about it. He suggested that we have someone on the resort staff run out and get me a SIM card.

They don't have tabacs in Ghana. You can purchase a SIM card from an authorized dealer, however. Sometimes, they're found in storefronts. Usually, however, they're either standing in an intersection or sitting under a roadside umbrella. The guys I connected with at the front desk were very enthusiastic about getting me a SIM card. They told me that SIM cards are usually free but come with coupons in a variety of denominations. I handed them a 10-cedi bank note (GH¢10, worth about $2.50), and one of them called another staffer whose shift would begin at 3PM to stop at a kiosk.

At 3 o'clock, a messenger from the front desk came to our lunch table to say that the employee had been delayed but was still going to pick up my SIM card. I was assured that it wouldn't be much longer. Indeed, about a half an hour later I was still at lunch and received word that my SIM card was waiting at the front desk.

Examples of Vodafone top up cards

The young man who handed it to me asked whether I wanted him to set up my phone. But since I had successfully installed two French SIM cards (and those instructions were in French!), I figured a Ghanaian SIM card (in English) should be a snap! As it turned out, he ended up doing it for me anyway.

Vodafone, you see, has a number of different ways to connect with their system. You can connect with a contract, the way most affluent Ghanaians do it. You can connect without a contract, by having them send you the SIM card after you register for it online. Or you can do what we had done, which is to get the card from a guy under an umbrella who is actually giving them away to young people like the staffer who had just arrived at work.

I got the SIM card installed myself and immediately tried to call Gershon. The call went through, but before we had spent thirty seconds in conversation, we were cut off: I had only installed the card, I hadn't topped it up. I tried to read the instructions on the accompanying piece of paper, but the print was so small and difficult to read, I concluded that I ought to go to my computer for advice.

The business side of a Vodafone top up card,
just about actual size.
(Source: Wikipedia)

I looked online and learned that with the SIM card had come a cardboard folder with a code that needed to be entered via text before the GH¢5 of call and data time could be mine. I entered every number on the card that I could find. The online article said that topping up would require a 14-digit code, but the only numbers on the little folder I could find had 16 digits. Exasperated after my fifth try at this, and the time now approaching 3 o'clock, I went to the front desk with the phone and the folders. I handed them to the receptionist, who took them from me, reached into his pocket and withdrew a coin, and proceeded to scratch off a gray bar I had up to now ignored.

Lo and behold, below the gray bar had been the 14-digit code all the time! As he entered the code, a second receptionist now took the remaining card, unsealed it, and scratched off the second code.

I don't remember ever feeling quite so old or so ignorant as I felt watching these two men in their twenties quietly and smilingly enter the codes I had somehow missed entirely.

Never mind, now I could call Gershon with my GH¢10, and I did.