Reflections on January 19, 2012 by Erica

January 19, 2012
When we sit to write we stare into the distance. Our friends gently prod us to get the day’s blog done. Still we stare.
Tonight’s view is from the patio on which we have been eating our meals at the Bob Coffie Hotel. After dinner I sat in this spot with my feet up on the iron rails and watched 5 of the finest young adults I have known walk across the street to hold a mini health clinic. Doc Ryan, Jes, Madison, Kelsey, and Johnson went to aid the baby I carried in a sling on my back a few days ago. He has a boil on the back of his head that needed attention. I waited for them and went to the team and prayed for Ryan and the baby. I closed with ‘NOW we are Ghanaian.’ Our friends here pray and invite the Lord into all they do. At my other home, in America, we forget to do that.
That was the end of a long and very hot day.
We spent the first part of our morning at the school where Felicia, a dear friend of this EHBC/CCC mission team, teaches. Jes led us and grew us in our teaching skills. We read the same book we read to the children at Brilliant Academy. It is called Whoever You Are. It tied in beautifully with the letters-to-new-friends that Jes had the students write to their American friends at Fay-El in Manlius. The boys generally drew cars and trucks. The girls drew pictures of mango trees and people. They were eager to learn and well behaved. Our friend Felicia runs a tight ship. The school is wonderful, but woefully short on supplies by any standards.

Our next stop was to say hello to Brilliant Academy, administer the anti-parasitic Albendazole to 265 children and teachers, and say goodbye to Brilliant Academy. When Kenkaiser (yes I spelled that correctly in Ghanaian) arrived behind the group of us, the children erupted in joy. He blessed the children with a football (the black and white round kind) Leaving after such a short, short, short visit was difficult for us all and brought tears to more than a few. I made the mistake of waving to Evans as I do at home for “bye-bye” and I was saying ‘va’ , which means ‘come’. Evans is a teenager who melted my heart on Tuesday. This boy pulled his chair next to mine (from the back of the open sided palm-frond pavilion) and leaned in and asked me what I was willing to do for this school. He wanted books. When I waved va/come Evans watched me and looked confused and kept eye contact with me and started to follow the crowd to meet up with me. I realized what I had done and changed my wave to the open-palm parade float wave. I was at once embarrassed and so sad. In July, I, or someone I trust, will hand Evans the books I will be purchasing for him and his fellow students.

Our next stop was a ‘village-that-started-with-a-K’ (Jes said so). Here we were greeted with a newly expanded palm frond canopy and drumming. There was a bore hole ceremony and another line of medication and vitamin hand-outs. Ken, 2 villagers, Kelsey, Lauren, and I walked the paths half a mile that took the villagers to the only source of water available before the bore hole was dug. It was hot. I mean it was HOT. Very hot. The girls and I talked about what it would be like to carry the water on our heads on this path in this heat. We were silent most of the walk. When we arrived at the spot we found a large dry field. It had dried up completely in November. Nothing could enable me describe to you what it was like, taking in that sight of the dry field combined with the image in my mind of the fresh water I had just seen pouring out of the pump as our friend Abraham pumped water during the ceremony. Perhaps when I tell you in person through my tears (or when Ken does, or Lauren does, or Kelsey does) you will get the picture I am trying to paint for you from this porch in Ho, Ghana.

And yet it gets even better…

While we were away on our water hole walk, Doc Ryan was aiding an elderly man who was suffering with pneumonia. As we headed back into the village ryan greeted us one by one and asked if we had antibiotics (it would be a 3 hour drive one way to pick up meds and it would be dark soon and we were leaving the next morning to catch our plane in Accra). Ryan had faith that Papa Bear, who was still at the parched water-hole site, would have the medication he needed in his McGuyver bag. THE absolute miracle of the day (of at least several) is that Ken did indeed have antibiotics with him in case one of us got ill. Ryan, through our interpreter, Johnny, explained to the elderly man how to take the medication. We left the village-that-started-with-a-K at peace knowing he was going to be well soon.

Our drive home was filled with conversations with our Ghanaian friends who had traveled to the schools and villages with us. Each of us spent time with someone and learned about the bush, plants, wildlife, villages, peoples, dirt, and life we passed as we drove back to the hotel. Our last dinner on the porch was spent ‘sharing.’ Each night a leader posed the question ‘what was the best part of your day?’ or ‘in what way did you see God work through someone today?’
I cried as I tried to tell my story from the day. Ok, I didn’t cry. I couldn’t speak. I wept. Some of you have seen that. It is ugly. Luckily it was very dark on the porch.

This is my last night here.
My heart is heavy.
Part sadness. Part fullness.
Because a I have to leave this place and these people and
because I have experienced this place and these people.

-e

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