It is more blessed

Acts 20:35 ...remembering the words the Lord Jesus himself said...it is more blessed to give than to receive.

I have always liked going Christmas shopping.  Mainly because I like buying presents for my family.  Every time I travel to a foreign country I have so much fun picking out things I know they will love.  I could spend way too much money on presents for other people.  I find great joy in getting presents for people, especially if they were not expecting them.  I have always enjoyed that type of giving.  However, while living in Ghana I have discovered what it really means to give.  To give of myself, my time, my energy, and my money. 

I have not solicited funds for my work in Ghana since March 2009 and yet every month I am blessed by friends, church family, and supporters who God uses to provide for all of my needs.  I am able to buy food, pay for transportation, pay the electricity/water bills, buy materials for the reading program, etc.  And every month there is money left over.  It has become my great to joy to share all that is left over with those in need here, or to use for particular needs around the VOH.  I have always known that there is more joy in giving than receiving, but not really.  Now I understand.  I don't ever want the people here to thank me, because the money is not from me.  Those wonderful, loving people back home that support me have touched the lives of people here in ways they do not even know.  Providing library chairs, sending students to extra classes, paying for textbooks, providing money for medicine, paying school fees for kids who can't, buying school supplies... It certainly is more blessed to give than to receive.  When someone gives me a great gift, I am very thankful, and humbled, and awkward. 

There are unending needs here.  Everyone could use more money.  You don't know shoestring budget till you have been in a place where there is extreme poverty.  There is no such thing as a budget at all for many of these people.  It seems sometimes that the needs are too great, too many. But one day, one need at a time.  I find that every time that I open my hands and heart to address the needs around me, God continues to take care of my needs.  I am sharing this for only one reason: because I hope that you experience what it means to give. To really give. To give when you have, and to give when you don't.  To give what hurts the most.  The most difficult thing for me to give right now is time.  I have made the choice to be here, but giving away time that could be spent closer to family and friends costs a lot.  More than money could pay.  But, the truth remains, it is more blessed to give.

Some might call it stupidity...

Sometimes I have moments in time when the world seems to freeze and I wonder how on earth I ended up in that particular situation. Last Friday night I was walking the streets of Accra hand in hand with a hotel manager helping me to look for somewhere to sleep for the night. While I realize that sounds rather sketchy I should back up and explain. Friday I spontaneously decided to go into Accra and do some research for graduate school. I brought along a list of recommended hostels/hotels in the area I would be for the evening. I was at the internet café for a few hours researching schools when I realized it was already 8:00pm. So I packed up and went outside to hail at taxi to the YMCA (yes ladies and gentlemen, there is a YMCA in Ghana!). Turns out it is not a real popular place, and the taxi driver had trouble finding it. When he finally dropped me off there, I was told it was only for men. Oops. The information had failed to state as much. Oh well, it looked sketch anyways.

Plan B was a hotel not far away that was rather cheap and reportedly clean. Upon arrival I was informed it was all full. By this time it is almost 9pm, and I was started to worry a bit. Apparently the hotel manager was also concerned because he took my hand and told me he would walk me to a few nearby hotels to see if they had vacancy. Ghanaians are rather hospitable, and I was thankful for his willingness to help me. IN fact, he spent almost two full hours helping me look for a place to sleep for the night. We checked several nearby hotels, and took a taxi to one a bit father out: all were full. Who would have guessed that cheap no-name type hotels would all be full on a regular weekend?? I had stayed somewhere a few weeks before with no problem, but it was already closed for reception at that time of night. I had the option of some expensive places not too far away, but ended up accepting the manager’s offer to have me sleep with his sister.

I had to go and get something to eat, as I had not had lunch or dinner yet that day, and then promised to be back soon. By the time I returned the sister, whom I had never spoken to, was already asleep. So, he banged loudly on her door, woke her and her roommate up, and rolled her over to make room for me. -She is probably a few years older than I am, and was sleeping on mattress that barely resembled its original form. There was no sheet on it, and no padding left to speak of. He did bring me a cloth thankfully. So, I dropped into bed completely worn out well past midnight. When I woke the next morning around 6 next to a stranger it felt rather strange. I was greeted by a “Good morning obruni.” The situation struck me as rather funny at this point. I had never spoken to either of these ladies before and I shared the bed with them.  I was rather thankful for it though. 

While some might call it stupid or naive to think I could find a place to sleep without planning, I prefer to think of it as another lesson in Ghanaian hospitality. 

The High Table

I attended quite the birthday recently. It was the 50th birthday of one of our drivers, Alex. Most birthdays in Ghana seem to come and go without much to-do, so I was surprised to receive an invitation to a birthday party.
I should have known better than to arrive on time, but I did anyways. You would think I would learn such things after a year here. 6:30pm on Saturday. The music blared over the empty courtyard set with plastic chairs and a decorated table full of fake flowers, glasses, and cake. I waited outside the courtyard making small talk with teachers and staff members who also were somewhat early. One particular teacher seemed to be assigned as the MC for the evening. Turns out my name was on the list of mentionable people in attendance. I was a bit caught off guard, because how did they know I was coming anyways? I didn’t think much of it, until the party was in full swing and I heard my name being announced. Of course, the party did not get rolling until after 7:30pm.
As it turns out, Ghanaian birthday parties are much like other ceremonies, in that they come with a full set of chairpersons for the event. After a brief introduction the party, the MC announced the particular individuals who would occupy the high table. Our chair person for the event was the director's wife, and I was among of the assistants. All of this was going on in Twi, so when the announcer switched to English I was surprised to suddenly hear my name. I was introduced and asked to come and sit at the "high table." The table situated at the front of the crowd laden with decorations, treats, and drinks. I felt a bit awkward, especially since the birthday boy (man) himself was not even seated at the table, and nor were any of his family members. The rest of the program proceeded on in Twi (the local language) and I sat and pretended as if I could understand (while stifling yawns threatening to offend). The MC continued on with the evening's program of tributes, dances, songs, etc. At one point I was called away from the table to join in the dancing. Now, despite the fact that I have been here more than a year, I have not yet perfected my Ghanaian dance moves. I think I managed to spare some dignity despite my haphazard rhythm. We were served drinks, and a small plate of snacks (made from scratch by his wife).
Birthday gifts were presented in political fashion, accepted with a handshake and photograph as if they were national presidents signing a treaty. We then "assisted" in cutting the cake, of which we were served larger slices than the rest of the party guests who only received a small bite. Then a birthday quiche was cut, and again the portions were in our favor. Finally, we received our party favor. The goody bag. Literally. Inside the bag was a plastic bowl. To top it all off, inside the bowl was a bag of meat. Cooked chicken pieces to be exact. This is considered quite the gift. I couldn't suppress the smile that threatened to appear as I discovered my party favors. It was the perfect finale to the most unique and exciting birthday party I have ever attended. I am considering instituting the tradition of having a chairman and chair people to assist at my next birthday party. After all, 25 will be a big year too right?

ABCD's

For those of you faithful readers, you will remember a time a year ago when I pronounced my dislike for phonics throughout my university studies.  I never wanted to teach early literacy, ever.  And yet I find myself in the middle of Ghana as the reading facilitator and chief advocate for the school and orphanage. 

I went to Accra last week in order to purchase some free books for the rewards for reading program, as well as some readers for our primary 1-3 classes. (Thank you to the generous donors who made that possible!)  I am not teaching p.e. at all this year, so I am teaching mostly reading with a little bit of social studies mixed in here and there.  Last week we received 48 new students on campus that were child trafficking victims on lake volta. They have been rescued through the Touch a Life Foundation.  They will be staying on our campus for the next year.  I was already overwhelmed with the amount of children  unable to read, or read well.  Then came a whole batch of kids who had never set foot in school before, and who don't speak english.  I have realized I need to focus on encouraging and equipping teachers with resources and ideas for how to incorporate reading into the classrooms or my work is in vain.

One young boy who is one of the most recent children rescued is named Jacob. Jacob has some hearing difficulties due to an unattended and inflamed ear drum rupture/infection a few years back.  I found him outside of class on his first day in first grade refusing to enter.  When I realized the situation, I sat down with him and we thumbed through a few literacy books I was holding at the time with ABC's listed inside.  I then lead him into class and we sat down to learn how to write his name.  He is a sharp kid.  He made connections between the alphabet on the page and his name.

Ever since that moment he seeks me out in school and in the evenings to learn letters and numbers.  He doesn't have to speak any english for me to realize how intelligent he is.  Every alphabet card I showed him today he made real life connections to by pointing or imitating the pictures displayed on the cards.  For example, the letter "F" card had a picture of a fox holding a fan.  So he picked up a book and began fanning himself.  He grabbed his chair and positioned his chair so close to me he blocked the view of the other three boys to the book we were looking at.  He leaned intently in to look and listen to everything.  I was playing an alphabet song for him to listen to and point to the letters as he went along.  It took him a few minutes to realize that the song and the letters were connected.  Then he would seriously shout "A!" B, C, and D.  because those are the only letters he knows.  The rest he doesn't know, so he would just keep shouting those four.  I couldn't help but smile at his over enthusiastic shouting.  Both at the letters and objects that matched the pictures in the book.  I am excited to watch as his english proficiency grows and his first year of school unfolds. 

B.Y.O.S.

Today I learned a valuable lesson.  When eating lunch at the school, you must b.y.o.s.  (Bring Your Own Spoon).  Lest you be caught sitting in the back of the library spoonless, chopstickless, knifeless, forkless, staring at a bowl of rice as I was yesterday.  I was left with two options:  drink my rice out of the bowl or eat with my fingers.  The first option has its obvious problems.  The second has no immediate difficulties, except how to wash your hands afterwards.  There is no sink or running water at the school.  The only prospects for hand washing is a bowl of dirty water the children have all been using all day to rinse their hands.  I didn't feel like have tomato sauce all over my hands was very professional either. 

I finally decided to use bits of bread to eat as much of the rice as possible.  Turns out bread is not really an effective rice scooping tool.  When the slice of bread was gone, I resorted to more embarrassing means of eating my bowl of rice.  I won't be caught spoonless again.

Meow

Thanks to Pam Mears I have been dibling it up this week.  By that I mean that I have been administering DIBELS reading tests to all the 1st-5th grade classes.  Thus far, with the help of some volunteers, I have made it through all the 1st-3rd graders along with about a quarter of the 5th grade students. I am pretty sure I could recite the materials in my sleep.  Each test must be administered to a single student at a time as it is not a written test, but oral reading.

One aspect of the 1st grade test is phoneme segmentation.  For everyone who is not a teacher, that means taking apart the phonetic (sounds) in a word.  So the word hit becomes /h/ /i/ /t/.  I asked one particular student to tell me the sounds he heard in cat.  He said "meow." 

Despite the cute answers, the overall outcome has been quite discouraging.  Of the couple hundred students tested so far probably only about 5 are on or above grade level. I expected as much, but without the concrete stats it was a little easier to imagine I was wrong.  Reading is not a subject on their syllabus, or in their timetable (subject allocation).  Therefore the only direct reading instruction comes from me.  I have my work cut out for me this year. Especially since the teacher they hired to take over teaching reading has decided not to come.

What Planet is This?

I flew into OKC with Francis Flair last Thursday to bring him to America for college at Oklahoma Christian University.  Seeing the USA through the eyes of Francis has been a whole new experience for me.  I had the opportunity to introduce him to things that were completely new and fascinating for him.  Such as mailboxes, ice machines, grocery stores, chocolate chip cookies, dead bolts, etc. He mentioned he felt like he was on a different planet all together.  Our lifestyles are so completely foreign to him.

I might have almost drowned him trying to teach him a cannon ball in the pool.  Good thing my dear friend Amy Hubble came to the rescue.  I might have been too busy laughing to notice that he was actually panicking.  Bowling went a little better.  He actually came out on top during the second round.  The movie theater, was impressive.  So much so that he fell asleep.  (I'll let him off the hook with jet lag on that one)

Francis was amazed at the campus of OC.  He has never seen a school compound like it in his lifetime.  I had a great time giving him the tour and introducing him to the faculty and staff we met along the way.  I was completely overwhelmed with the love and support with which he has been received.  Gifts from cash, to cookies, to bicycles and open arms awaited him.  God is truly wonderful.  I am amazed at the way he has taken care of Francis.  I hope the OC community will continue to help him adapt to life in the USA. 

I tried to teach Francis the things he could not say in America.  Let me give you a few examples of our America lessons:

#1: Don't ask for a rubber. 
(a rubber is a plastic bag in Ghana)

#2: Don't say you are going to flash someone.
(flashing means to call and hang up after your phone number has appeared on their phone)

#3: Don't hiss at people.  In America, it will still get their attention.  But not the kind of attention you are looking for.

#4: Lock public bathroom doors.  (He learned that one the hard way)