This post originally appeared on my personal blog on January 30, 2008, but over the weekend I realized I needed to relearn some of the lessons I learned in Africa. Aren’t you glad you get to revisit Ghana with me?
OK – so last week I promised that I would write about my trip to Ghana. I’m going to do my best to be concise, but it was a 17-day trip, so I’m not sure how concise I can be.
I went with a group from school. Beeson requires us to complete three internships. One of them has to be have a cross-cultural component. You can either complete an entire semester-long internship, OR you can go on a two week trip to a foreign country and get your credit that way. Which one would you choose? I, obviously, went for the two-week trip.
Instead of giving you a blow-by-blow account of the trip, I think I’ll start by including part of a paper I wrote before we left:
Inevitably, when I tell people I’m going to Ghana, their reaction is one of anxious enthusiasm. They know that this is an amazing opportunity for me, but they also fear for my safety. The news is filled with riots and demonstrations in Kenya, and if Kenya is in turmoil, the rest of Africa must be as well. “You know, Africa isn’t known for its political stability,” they say. Even if I explain to them that Ghana is one of the more stable countries in the continent, I can tell they don’t believe me. “Don’t drink the water…or eat the food,” they caution me. I tell them that I have to eat something, and no matter how many granola bars or water bottles I stuff into my luggage, it won’t be sufficient. My mother, knowing that mosquitoes eat me up like crazy, points out that my chances of contracting malaria are higher than others. Thanks for the reminder, mom. These are just a handful of the concerns I hear. They range from the downright silly to the deadly serious. If I’m honest with myself, I will admit that these fears are not just the fears of my friends and family. They are my fears as well.
When I woke up this morning and turned on the news, images of burning churches in Kenya filled the screen. It’s not that far away from Ghana, just a hop, skip, and jump across the continent. Uneasiness filled the pit of my stomach as I packed the rest of my belongings. Surely, everything will be fine, at least I think it will. This is the biggest judgment of the country I will have to lay aside. The notion that it is dangerous for me to be there pervades my mind. Even if I take every precaution necessary, I am still afraid that someone will snatch my money in the market, rioters will burn down a church I am working in, or I’ll catch a disease from a loose chicken on an overstuffed tro-tro. I constantly have to remind myself that their way of life is not wrong, it’s just different. They are not uncivilized: their civilization simply looks different than mine. Aspects of Ghana that make me raise my eyebrows, like overcrowded cities and animals wandering around, are just part of their way of life. There is nothing wrong with it. Political riots break out in the United States, and there’s no guarantee of my safety here either. These are the things I try to remember.
So I went, and lo, and behold, I survived to tell about it. We spent the first half of the first week hearing lectures from various African theologians, church leaders and missionaries. Then we started the trek around the country. Hang on, let me get a map for you:
We started in Accra, down at the bottom of the map. Then we traveled to Ho, in the east. From there, we drove to Kumasi, in the middle of the country. We left Kumasi and went to Mole National Park, in the far north. After visiting the park, we drove to the small village of Carpenter, not on the map, but between Mole and Kumasi. Then, we traveled south to Cape Coast before heading back to Accra and flying out. How’s that for travel?
The country was beautiful, but impoverished. Most of the people there live on less than $1 a day. Don’t get the impression that all of Africa is mud huts and loin cloths. Accra is a city of 4 million people, and Kumasi has over 1 million people. There are definitely urban areas, but when we started driving around and visiting the rural areas, things started changing.
There is so much to say, and right now, I am just too tired to say it all. So let’s do this. In the coming weeks, I will write about my trip to Ghana in sections. Your next installment will come Friday.
Until then, grace and peace.
Life has been busy lately. So busy, in fact, that I haven’t taken the time to sit down and write here as often as I would like. With a baby set to arrive in just three weeks, baskets of pink onesies and fluffy blankets have swallowed me. I’ve been getting her room in order and and hosting family and having a baby shower, and life has been insane. In the midst of my normal, everyday life, I’ve been consumed by writing projects. I’ve got articles coming out in ec and myMISSIONfulfilled in September, and another article coming out in the December issue of ec. I’ve also signed a contract to write Sunday school curriculum for Clarity Publishers, and I’ve completed one of six lessons. I’m trying to crank out a couple more lessons before it’s baby time. All of that explains my recent absence. If you don’t hear from me again for a while, it probably means that the baby is here and I’m getting used to life as a new parent.
But regardless of all that is going on in my life, consuming my time and occupying my thoughts, I am still called to be about the business of God. Last week I wrote a Sunday school lesson to teach other people, but this week, the truths of the lesson keep popping up in my life. It seems that I need to teach myself the things that I wanted to teach others. It’s far too easy for me to lose sight of God in the middle of my busy-ness, and I was on the verge of turning down a wonderful opportunity to serve him because the timing is inconvenient.
Sometimes I wish I came from a more liturgical tradition. The kind that allows the church calendar to dictate the rhythms of life and set the tone for worship. Our church usually does a pretty good job of at least changing the fabric draped over the cross in the baptistry, but for some reason, Ash Wednesday came and went without a change in color. Our cross still sports the bright red and gold colors of Christmas. We’ll celebrate Easter on Sunday, and I know for a fact that the cross will be arrayed in shimmering white, but I have really missed the purple cloth of Lent this year.
I grew up in traditional Southern Baptist churches, and I never knew that there were entire seasons built around Christmas and Easter. I didn’t know what Advent was until my grandmother died and we began celebrating Christmas at my aunt and uncle’s house. They, being good Episcopalians, place an Advent wreath in the middle of their dining table and light the candles throughout the season. The wreath fascinated me, and from that moment on, I was intrigued by this other world of rich traditions that I knew nothing about. As a teenager, most of my friends were Catholic, and their observance (or lack thereof) of Lent always grabbed my attention. We Baptists didn’t give up anything for Lent, and I really didn’t see how abstaining from chocolate or Coke would have any affect on God at all.
Love has been in the air lately. And on TV, the radio, and billboards. Valentine’s Day came and went, but love has remained on my mind.
When Christians talk about love, we tend to gravitate toward 1 Corinthians 13. It is, after all, THE love chapter. But as I sat in church one morning, I started wondering what would happen if we quit trying to make the chapter fit our notions of romantic love and started applying it to our relationships inside the church. What if we actually loved one another the way that Jesus says we should? What if we allowed 1 Corinthians 13 to define the way we treat one another in the church? I bet things would be a lot different.
