We went to see the Chief today. He is a man of power and influence in the Songhai community here, and we should not try to do our work without his knowledge.
We missed him by ten minutes, but his brother was there. We talked to him and told him about our hope of returning to conduct medical clinics and educational programs. The brother was enthusiastic about our goals and said they would cooperate in notifying the people.
The immam who advises the Chief arrived as we were talking in the Chief's office. He, too, seemed supportive and eager to help.
We talked for 15 minutes and left with the impression that the Songhai community would readily receive medical and educational assistance. Their are no medical clinics operating among them, as far as we know, and the teaching of English is almost exclusively governmental.
Team members were entertaining school children when we returned to the school which was our meeting place. Denise was telling Bible stories. Yvette was helping an autistic young man and his family. Anna was visiting with a young mother and her child, asking about hair-braiding and how long it takes.
Chad, an intern from Tennessee, was trying to mimmick me, he said, by falling asleep on a bench. My clock never quite adjusted, so I perfected the art of cat-napping anywhere, anytime, but not without a lot of jealousy and protest from other team members. Any pictures or stories you may encounter about this are likely borne of frustration and ill humor.
Sim had gotten on the concrete floor with the children and was in need of help to rise. Adam was just taking it all in. And Fourcows (aka Kristen) was insisting that her father had raised the price on her dowry, putting it out of range of almost all prospects.
We are approaching dinner time here when we will enjoy a feast prepared by Adeline. She cooks American dishes and nails them every time.
At 9 p.m. we will leave for the airport and a endure long process of checking bags and going through customs. Flights leave in succession around midnight, and the lines are long. Our flight leaves at 1 a.m. Saturday morning. We hope to be home by noon.
Our team is tired, but we are happy. We have had a marvelous experience in Africa. All of us want to return. The Songhai people have captured our hearts, and we are eager to follow up with more teaching, more learning, and more opportunities to incarnate the love of Christ.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Timber Market Madness
Two girls about 12 years of age stopped to gaze at a mob scene in the Timber Market in Jamestown. Sim was in the middle of a jostling crowd with fifty outstretched hands. He was the only one who would own up to having any CDs left to give out, and people were loudly demanding that he give them one.
I was on the periphery enjoying the view because, as I told them, "I am finished." That is, I have no more CDs. The two girls stood before me, one with fifty bags of water balanced in a bowl on her head and the other balancing a bowl of food but without any cloth beneath the bowl. It seemed to roll around on her head as she talked, and she was skilled enough to keep it centered.
They asked politely in English what was going on, and they wanted audio CDs, these two girls. I suspected they might not be Songhai, and the CDs were in the Zarma language. I had heard many times this week, "I cannot hear Zarma." These amazing people are all tri-lingual, but Zarma is not widely spoken.
"Are you Songhai?" I asked them, and they said yes. But I was suspicious. Here in the Timber Market people were now claiming to be Songhai so they could get a free CD.
"Mate gum," I said to them, a traditional Zarma greeting (or close). They went wide-eyed and dissolved into giggles without upsetting the balance of their burdens. I realized then that they were indeed Songhai and that this was very likely the first time in their lives they had heard a white man speak Zarma. I am one of only a very few white guys on the planet that can greet someone in Zarma (more or less).
I became one of the 50 demanding CDs from Sim who delivered some of the last two to the girls. We hurried out of the market lest we cause an even bigger scene. Everywhere the Songhai people walked carrying CDs others wanted to know what they had in their hand and where they got it. Hence, the discreet and private conveyance of the initial CDs to a small, select group of men that Gomer, the missionary, already knew turned into people hurrying down the dusty roads between long racks of rough lumber looking for white people bearing gifts.
After eight days, we're still learning how to do this properly.
Earlier, one veteran laborer in the vast Timber Market in the Jamestown area of Accra had estimated for us that 1,000 Songhai work there. I think they all tried to get their hands in Sim's backpack.
Even Muslim men wearing long shiny robes and round caps and toting prayer beads wanted CDs. They could have been--and probably were--suspicious of these white Christians. But they were also curious, I am sure, about the contents of a CD about Jesus.
I longed to snap some pictures, but my camera stayed in the backpack until I saw a king-size wooden bed sitting in the middle of the road between the lumber racks. Following the lead of one of the Songhai who thought his wife might be interested in the bed and took photos with his cell phone, I whipped out my camera and caught the bed and its craftsman with hundreds of boards in the background. The Timber Market may be the size of eight or ten city blocks. The scale of African life is way to wide and deep and high to capture in a photo or a film. All of my senses are under continual overload everywhere I go.
The poorest residents of Accra live in the Jamestown area, the center of which is James Fort Prison. It is an ancient structure on the seashore where slaves were held before their transport across the Atlantic. Ghana was one of the favored areas for slave traders. What a sad and tragic part of Africa's history--and the history of the world.
Some of our team members have taken African names like Freckles, Peppers, and Fran. Our youngest member, Kristen, is now "Fourcows." We should have her officially engaged before the end of the day. Suitors are everywhere.
Suitcases are bouncing down the terrazzo staircase. People from all over the world come and go at the Baptist guest house with dizzying rapidity. My coffee needs refreshed as the world wakes up, and my last day in Africa (this trip) opens before me.
I was on the periphery enjoying the view because, as I told them, "I am finished." That is, I have no more CDs. The two girls stood before me, one with fifty bags of water balanced in a bowl on her head and the other balancing a bowl of food but without any cloth beneath the bowl. It seemed to roll around on her head as she talked, and she was skilled enough to keep it centered.
They asked politely in English what was going on, and they wanted audio CDs, these two girls. I suspected they might not be Songhai, and the CDs were in the Zarma language. I had heard many times this week, "I cannot hear Zarma." These amazing people are all tri-lingual, but Zarma is not widely spoken.
"Are you Songhai?" I asked them, and they said yes. But I was suspicious. Here in the Timber Market people were now claiming to be Songhai so they could get a free CD.
"Mate gum," I said to them, a traditional Zarma greeting (or close). They went wide-eyed and dissolved into giggles without upsetting the balance of their burdens. I realized then that they were indeed Songhai and that this was very likely the first time in their lives they had heard a white man speak Zarma. I am one of only a very few white guys on the planet that can greet someone in Zarma (more or less).
I became one of the 50 demanding CDs from Sim who delivered some of the last two to the girls. We hurried out of the market lest we cause an even bigger scene. Everywhere the Songhai people walked carrying CDs others wanted to know what they had in their hand and where they got it. Hence, the discreet and private conveyance of the initial CDs to a small, select group of men that Gomer, the missionary, already knew turned into people hurrying down the dusty roads between long racks of rough lumber looking for white people bearing gifts.
After eight days, we're still learning how to do this properly.
Earlier, one veteran laborer in the vast Timber Market in the Jamestown area of Accra had estimated for us that 1,000 Songhai work there. I think they all tried to get their hands in Sim's backpack.
Even Muslim men wearing long shiny robes and round caps and toting prayer beads wanted CDs. They could have been--and probably were--suspicious of these white Christians. But they were also curious, I am sure, about the contents of a CD about Jesus.
I longed to snap some pictures, but my camera stayed in the backpack until I saw a king-size wooden bed sitting in the middle of the road between the lumber racks. Following the lead of one of the Songhai who thought his wife might be interested in the bed and took photos with his cell phone, I whipped out my camera and caught the bed and its craftsman with hundreds of boards in the background. The Timber Market may be the size of eight or ten city blocks. The scale of African life is way to wide and deep and high to capture in a photo or a film. All of my senses are under continual overload everywhere I go.
The poorest residents of Accra live in the Jamestown area, the center of which is James Fort Prison. It is an ancient structure on the seashore where slaves were held before their transport across the Atlantic. Ghana was one of the favored areas for slave traders. What a sad and tragic part of Africa's history--and the history of the world.
Some of our team members have taken African names like Freckles, Peppers, and Fran. Our youngest member, Kristen, is now "Fourcows." We should have her officially engaged before the end of the day. Suitors are everywhere.
Suitcases are bouncing down the terrazzo staircase. People from all over the world come and go at the Baptist guest house with dizzying rapidity. My coffee needs refreshed as the world wakes up, and my last day in Africa (this trip) opens before me.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Trampled by Dance Troupe
The drums were not for us--all 12 of them.
The dancers were not dancing for us as a preliminary to the showing of the Jesus Film. They were conducting one of their three weekly two-hour practices.
And they were terrific. I wish they had been wearing their costumes.
We found out later that this troupe performed in Sweden and Norway last year.
They had the community center rented. We did not.
We watched them, though, fascinated by their energy, stamina, and synchronized choreography. They pounded the concrete with their bare feet. I could feel the vibrations beneath my feet. I think the entire concrete slab was throbbing.
The 12 drummers drumming were also chanting with the 12 dancers dancing. They were truly amazing, and the total effect in the darkness of an African evening made for an unforgettable, if accidental, experience for we Americans.
We postponed the showing of the Jesus film until a later date. We did not want this scheduling conflict to cause a rift within the community. We thanked the dancers for allowing us to watch their practice, and we told them it was fine that we had to wait. Some of them were members of Christian churches in Accra, and they were disappointed that the film would not be shown.
The sound for the film was not working, we discovered later, and the advertisements had not been distributed, so it was just as well. We settled in our hearts that God would use this delay to make the public viewing an even more effective event when it does occur. As far as we know, the Jesus film has never been shown in Accra in the Zarma language.
We have had a long discussion about whether to give shoes to the onion boys who are teaching us Zarma and learning English simultaneously. Their culture does not wear shoes, but it is a rural culture, not urban, and the hazards of wearing sandals are evident from the condition of their feet. These wounds are dangerous because of sanitation conditions.
The onion boys might or might not wear the shoes, though they have expressed real interest in them. And they might or might not wear them properly. For now, we have decided against the shoes.
The gift of learning English is truly precious to them. They are learning to write their letters and numbers. They are learning the names of body parts and articles of clothing. They are bright and motivated. They know that English spoken and read and written will open up a new world of opportunities for them.
The ladies will teach in the primary school again this afternoon, after the lessons with the onion boys (they sell onions by the roadside for those not following this blog), and we men will go to the large timber market or lumberyard run by Songhai men. This is a rough environment, according to our missionary, and the ladies should not venture into it. Advances to the ladies are common everywhere we go, but they could be mistreated at the timber market.
The Baptist guest house where we are staying is a revolving door for missionaries from around the world of all different Christian denominations and groups as well and nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) doing al kinds of engineering and medical work among the Ghanaian population. We are encouraged to see how many Christians feel the calling to help articulate and demonstrate the gospel for these wonderful people. Dozens of tribal groups are represented in Accra, and dozens of languages. While most Africans we have met speak several languages, communication is still a critical need, especially for new immigrants like the Songhai.
The time here is a little past 10 a.m. This is the slow part of the morning for selling onions and a good time to talk to the Songhai men.
So I am out of this internet cafe and off to the roadside where I will sit under a tree and practice my newly acquired Zarma vocabulary.
The dancers were not dancing for us as a preliminary to the showing of the Jesus Film. They were conducting one of their three weekly two-hour practices.
And they were terrific. I wish they had been wearing their costumes.
We found out later that this troupe performed in Sweden and Norway last year.
They had the community center rented. We did not.
We watched them, though, fascinated by their energy, stamina, and synchronized choreography. They pounded the concrete with their bare feet. I could feel the vibrations beneath my feet. I think the entire concrete slab was throbbing.
The 12 drummers drumming were also chanting with the 12 dancers dancing. They were truly amazing, and the total effect in the darkness of an African evening made for an unforgettable, if accidental, experience for we Americans.
We postponed the showing of the Jesus film until a later date. We did not want this scheduling conflict to cause a rift within the community. We thanked the dancers for allowing us to watch their practice, and we told them it was fine that we had to wait. Some of them were members of Christian churches in Accra, and they were disappointed that the film would not be shown.
The sound for the film was not working, we discovered later, and the advertisements had not been distributed, so it was just as well. We settled in our hearts that God would use this delay to make the public viewing an even more effective event when it does occur. As far as we know, the Jesus film has never been shown in Accra in the Zarma language.
We have had a long discussion about whether to give shoes to the onion boys who are teaching us Zarma and learning English simultaneously. Their culture does not wear shoes, but it is a rural culture, not urban, and the hazards of wearing sandals are evident from the condition of their feet. These wounds are dangerous because of sanitation conditions.
The onion boys might or might not wear the shoes, though they have expressed real interest in them. And they might or might not wear them properly. For now, we have decided against the shoes.
The gift of learning English is truly precious to them. They are learning to write their letters and numbers. They are learning the names of body parts and articles of clothing. They are bright and motivated. They know that English spoken and read and written will open up a new world of opportunities for them.
The ladies will teach in the primary school again this afternoon, after the lessons with the onion boys (they sell onions by the roadside for those not following this blog), and we men will go to the large timber market or lumberyard run by Songhai men. This is a rough environment, according to our missionary, and the ladies should not venture into it. Advances to the ladies are common everywhere we go, but they could be mistreated at the timber market.
The Baptist guest house where we are staying is a revolving door for missionaries from around the world of all different Christian denominations and groups as well and nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) doing al kinds of engineering and medical work among the Ghanaian population. We are encouraged to see how many Christians feel the calling to help articulate and demonstrate the gospel for these wonderful people. Dozens of tribal groups are represented in Accra, and dozens of languages. While most Africans we have met speak several languages, communication is still a critical need, especially for new immigrants like the Songhai.
The time here is a little past 10 a.m. This is the slow part of the morning for selling onions and a good time to talk to the Songhai men.
So I am out of this internet cafe and off to the roadside where I will sit under a tree and practice my newly acquired Zarma vocabulary.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Coffee Candy at Sunset
The sun is down now, and I am in an internet cafe off a small courtyard where we will shortly show the Jesus film to a crowd of Songhai. The film is in Zarmama, their native language, and I know they will be intrigued.
Today we have distributed dozens of CDs and DVDs among the Songhai. We have seen a good-sized lot full of thousands of bottles and Songhai boys washing them in a large concrete trough. They sort the used glass bottles and recycle them as a business. Everyone at the lot wanted CDs.
A drum is sounding in the courtyard. It stands more than three feet tall and is 18 inches wide. It is part of the presentation, but I don't know how. Another drum has been added, higher pitched.
I looked for small, individually wrapped coffee candies up and down the main street here in Nima but without success. I found them yesterday from a young man with a trey of candies balanced on his head. They were inexpensive and delicious. A lady with a small stand promised me she would have them for me tomorrow when I come by.
We are situated across from the Nima market, a maze of hundreds of shops varying in size from the tiniest stands to the large timber market. Along the street are many women plying their wares, especially great sacks of corn and beans and peppers. They are eager for visitors to see and buy.
The people here seem to have marriage continually on their minds. All of the women have been propositioned multiple times, and even Sim became the object of a young woman's admiration. Denise still doesn't believe this, but I was there and I know it is true. I just witnessed a man and woman in a tugging contest at the front gate of the courtyard. He told me that she was pursuing him, but that she was too short for his tastes. I told him that I thought she was fine-looking and a woman of good character. At that point, she released him and ran away. I have never been a great match-maker.
The coffee candy will wait until tomorrow. The Songhai are gathering, and I am eager to see what happens with this public viewing of the Jesus film. We are learning their ways, and they are learning some of ours. So far the friendships have been rewarding, and all of our contacts with the Songhai have been pleasant.
Our youngest team member, Kristen, has been propositioned the most. I finally contacted her father and asked he would me to broker a deal and at what price. Kristen insisted she was worth a billion, but her father set her price at four cows.
Listen to the drumbeats!
Today we have distributed dozens of CDs and DVDs among the Songhai. We have seen a good-sized lot full of thousands of bottles and Songhai boys washing them in a large concrete trough. They sort the used glass bottles and recycle them as a business. Everyone at the lot wanted CDs.
A drum is sounding in the courtyard. It stands more than three feet tall and is 18 inches wide. It is part of the presentation, but I don't know how. Another drum has been added, higher pitched.
I looked for small, individually wrapped coffee candies up and down the main street here in Nima but without success. I found them yesterday from a young man with a trey of candies balanced on his head. They were inexpensive and delicious. A lady with a small stand promised me she would have them for me tomorrow when I come by.
We are situated across from the Nima market, a maze of hundreds of shops varying in size from the tiniest stands to the large timber market. Along the street are many women plying their wares, especially great sacks of corn and beans and peppers. They are eager for visitors to see and buy.
The people here seem to have marriage continually on their minds. All of the women have been propositioned multiple times, and even Sim became the object of a young woman's admiration. Denise still doesn't believe this, but I was there and I know it is true. I just witnessed a man and woman in a tugging contest at the front gate of the courtyard. He told me that she was pursuing him, but that she was too short for his tastes. I told him that I thought she was fine-looking and a woman of good character. At that point, she released him and ran away. I have never been a great match-maker.
The coffee candy will wait until tomorrow. The Songhai are gathering, and I am eager to see what happens with this public viewing of the Jesus film. We are learning their ways, and they are learning some of ours. So far the friendships have been rewarding, and all of our contacts with the Songhai have been pleasant.
Our youngest team member, Kristen, has been propositioned the most. I finally contacted her father and asked he would me to broker a deal and at what price. Kristen insisted she was worth a billion, but her father set her price at four cows.
Listen to the drumbeats!
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Religious Fervor in Ghana
The Second Coming of Christ will be May 21, 2011, according to a prominent billboard in Accra. The end of the world will be October 21, 2011.
Predictions continue even though "no one knows the day or the hour" and "it is not for you to know the times or seasons" (it's in your Bible). What we do not know we make up, and what we know for sure to do (feeding the hungry, prayer, sharing the gospel, etc.) we ignore.
Religious signs and sayings are everywhere in Accra. Taxi drivers display their faith. Signs on school buildings mention "blessings" and "glory." Businesses have names with theological and biblical terms in them.
The headmaster of one school we visited said that she was a member of a "powerful Charismatic church." This church is known throughout the country.
I have seen two churches with annual themes for 2010. One featured "The Year of Fruitfulness" with Psalm 1:3 as the year's verse and the other "Abundance." Themes of abundance and prosperity are very common in the preaching, teaching, and advertising of Christian churches here.
Only a few weeks ago the president of Ghana told the world that Ghana "is a Christian nation." He meant by this, I assume, that Christianity is the dominant religion of the country. The Ghanaian constituion guarantees religious liberty. No religion receives tax support here.
The president may have been prompted to make this remark because many Muslims are migrating south to Ghana and Accra in search of jobs. The Sahara Desert is growing. Their agricultural livelihoods are disappearing. They come to Ghana to work, to sell their products, and to send their money back home. This is true of many tribal groups including the Songhai with whom we are working. Boys 12 years of age have left their homes in Niger to live and work in Accra for months.
The growing presence of Islam is obvious and problematic for many Ghanaians. Christianity and Islam coexist in Africa but not always peacefully. Tribal laws and values are shaped by religious persuasion. Religious conversion may be--and often is--the end of family ties, friendships, business relations, and educational opportunities. We have discovered only one Christian among the thousands of Songhai who are new residents of Accra. And we have heard the personal testimony of Muslims who convert to Christianity at great personal and economic cost.
Even so, Ghana is a gerat mission field with many opportunities for presenting the gospel of Christ and building friendships across religious, denominational, and tribal boundaries. New immigrants have dreams of getting good jobs, going to school, and building new lives in the great urban sprawl that is Accra.
We are learning a little Zarma, the tribal language of the Songhai, as we are teaching them English. Loving Muslims means having a genuine desire to know them and to see their hearts and hopes. The love of Christ will open our hearts to them as they open their hearts to us.
Religious fervor, Christian and Muslim, will be part of the landscape here in Accra for the foreseeable future. The coexistence of these two powerful religions here is not just theoretical. It is the daily experience of life.
I am no expert on Islam. This is one of few opportunities in my lifetime to build friendships with Muslims and learn their ways. Those I have met have beautiful smiles and warm hearts. Their struggles are just like ours. If genuine love of neighbor prevails, then peace should also prevail and fear of one another should dissipate.
My church in Houston sponsored an Arab Christian church that met in our facility and interacted with us weekly. Fahed Karmoot was their pastor. I know that we cannot represent Christ well when we are intimidated, afraid, and ignorant of one another.
How Christianity and Islam relate to each other may determine more about the peace and prosperity of Accra--and the world--in the 21st century than any other factor. We who know Jesus Christ as Savior and Lord must lead the way in love and understanding--loving Muslims just like they are and checking ourselves daily for faithfulness to Christ in every word and deed. When Christian faith is warm-hearted and passionate and truly looks and sounds like Jesus, it is the most compelling force in the world.
Predictions continue even though "no one knows the day or the hour" and "it is not for you to know the times or seasons" (it's in your Bible). What we do not know we make up, and what we know for sure to do (feeding the hungry, prayer, sharing the gospel, etc.) we ignore.
Religious signs and sayings are everywhere in Accra. Taxi drivers display their faith. Signs on school buildings mention "blessings" and "glory." Businesses have names with theological and biblical terms in them.
The headmaster of one school we visited said that she was a member of a "powerful Charismatic church." This church is known throughout the country.
I have seen two churches with annual themes for 2010. One featured "The Year of Fruitfulness" with Psalm 1:3 as the year's verse and the other "Abundance." Themes of abundance and prosperity are very common in the preaching, teaching, and advertising of Christian churches here.
Only a few weeks ago the president of Ghana told the world that Ghana "is a Christian nation." He meant by this, I assume, that Christianity is the dominant religion of the country. The Ghanaian constituion guarantees religious liberty. No religion receives tax support here.
The president may have been prompted to make this remark because many Muslims are migrating south to Ghana and Accra in search of jobs. The Sahara Desert is growing. Their agricultural livelihoods are disappearing. They come to Ghana to work, to sell their products, and to send their money back home. This is true of many tribal groups including the Songhai with whom we are working. Boys 12 years of age have left their homes in Niger to live and work in Accra for months.
The growing presence of Islam is obvious and problematic for many Ghanaians. Christianity and Islam coexist in Africa but not always peacefully. Tribal laws and values are shaped by religious persuasion. Religious conversion may be--and often is--the end of family ties, friendships, business relations, and educational opportunities. We have discovered only one Christian among the thousands of Songhai who are new residents of Accra. And we have heard the personal testimony of Muslims who convert to Christianity at great personal and economic cost.
Even so, Ghana is a gerat mission field with many opportunities for presenting the gospel of Christ and building friendships across religious, denominational, and tribal boundaries. New immigrants have dreams of getting good jobs, going to school, and building new lives in the great urban sprawl that is Accra.
We are learning a little Zarma, the tribal language of the Songhai, as we are teaching them English. Loving Muslims means having a genuine desire to know them and to see their hearts and hopes. The love of Christ will open our hearts to them as they open their hearts to us.
Religious fervor, Christian and Muslim, will be part of the landscape here in Accra for the foreseeable future. The coexistence of these two powerful religions here is not just theoretical. It is the daily experience of life.
I am no expert on Islam. This is one of few opportunities in my lifetime to build friendships with Muslims and learn their ways. Those I have met have beautiful smiles and warm hearts. Their struggles are just like ours. If genuine love of neighbor prevails, then peace should also prevail and fear of one another should dissipate.
My church in Houston sponsored an Arab Christian church that met in our facility and interacted with us weekly. Fahed Karmoot was their pastor. I know that we cannot represent Christ well when we are intimidated, afraid, and ignorant of one another.
How Christianity and Islam relate to each other may determine more about the peace and prosperity of Accra--and the world--in the 21st century than any other factor. We who know Jesus Christ as Savior and Lord must lead the way in love and understanding--loving Muslims just like they are and checking ourselves daily for faithfulness to Christ in every word and deed. When Christian faith is warm-hearted and passionate and truly looks and sounds like Jesus, it is the most compelling force in the world.
Monday, July 12, 2010
A World Beyond Imagination
We walked today where few westerners have ever been--in the deep recesses of the market in Nima. These gracious and beautiful African people allowed us to trudge through their world in single file. We walked wide-eyed down narrow dirt paths that divide hundreds of small businesses into a giant maze of astonishing sights and sounds.
The unexpected we encountered at every step--a sawmill humming in the middle of the maze, a flour mill with white-powdered boys filling sacks, a pungent spice mill, a meat market with everything available raw or cooked, a vegetable market, and so much more all crowded and carved into the vacant urban land.
Our presence was strange to the many merchants who saw us. They seldom if ever see people like us walking those trails. Yet they greeted us with wide smiles, using their English and interacting as they could. We paused to talk along the way.
I bought a Muslim prayer mat hoping it will remind me to pray for these dear people. When the Muslim call to prayer sounds out through the maze, only a few people stop to pray. The vast majority go on with their work or discussions even those you would expect to observe the moment of prayer. Islam here, like Christianity in the USA, is often more cultural than it is devotional.
People were curious about us being Americans. Our nationality is not at all obvious to them. They think first we are European. Neither our dress nor our dialect necessarily give us away. When they learn we are American, we often hear "Obama!" His name is known widely here, and people are enthusiastic about him. Some wear t-shirts with his picture and hang Obama posters in their shops.
American music can be heard on street corners and in shops, even Lil Wayne. "New York" hats and Celtics t-shirts are fairly common. We have not picked up on any anti-American sentiment in Ghana though it may be here somewhere.
Taking pictures is problematic. The camera takes you out of the flow of humanity and objectives the people you are seeking to befriend. One team member was pelted with peppers when she innocently snapped a picture in a marketplace. Some are excited to be photographed but other are wary and even angry when they see the camera. We have often left them hidden when we longed to capture on film those giant snails or that boy dusted with flour or that enormous pile of citrus beside the road or the man at the grinder covered with spice. We ask permission before we snap, but even then onlookers may object.
We continue to pray for avenues of continuing engagement with the Songhai people. Our objectives would be to 1) befriend them, 2) help them in appropriate ways, and 3) introduce them to Jesus, our Savior and Lord.
Poverty and deprivation look similar to me whether in Latin America, Asia, or Africa. People whom Jesus loves need medical attention, education, and jobs. We want to be wise in our relationships with the Songhai. We are beginning to feel as a team that this may be God's calling for us. No other Christian church, as far as we know, is reaching out to the migrant population of Songhai in Accra. They are largely invisible even to the locals, but we have met and seen hundreds of Songhai here.
We are about to leave to visit with the onion boys. Their ages range from 12 to 26. They sell onions by the side of the road. We look forward to talking with them again and learning more about Zarma. Maybe they will learn a little English--and a little more about Jesus--from us today.
The unexpected we encountered at every step--a sawmill humming in the middle of the maze, a flour mill with white-powdered boys filling sacks, a pungent spice mill, a meat market with everything available raw or cooked, a vegetable market, and so much more all crowded and carved into the vacant urban land.
Our presence was strange to the many merchants who saw us. They seldom if ever see people like us walking those trails. Yet they greeted us with wide smiles, using their English and interacting as they could. We paused to talk along the way.
I bought a Muslim prayer mat hoping it will remind me to pray for these dear people. When the Muslim call to prayer sounds out through the maze, only a few people stop to pray. The vast majority go on with their work or discussions even those you would expect to observe the moment of prayer. Islam here, like Christianity in the USA, is often more cultural than it is devotional.
People were curious about us being Americans. Our nationality is not at all obvious to them. They think first we are European. Neither our dress nor our dialect necessarily give us away. When they learn we are American, we often hear "Obama!" His name is known widely here, and people are enthusiastic about him. Some wear t-shirts with his picture and hang Obama posters in their shops.
American music can be heard on street corners and in shops, even Lil Wayne. "New York" hats and Celtics t-shirts are fairly common. We have not picked up on any anti-American sentiment in Ghana though it may be here somewhere.
Taking pictures is problematic. The camera takes you out of the flow of humanity and objectives the people you are seeking to befriend. One team member was pelted with peppers when she innocently snapped a picture in a marketplace. Some are excited to be photographed but other are wary and even angry when they see the camera. We have often left them hidden when we longed to capture on film those giant snails or that boy dusted with flour or that enormous pile of citrus beside the road or the man at the grinder covered with spice. We ask permission before we snap, but even then onlookers may object.
We continue to pray for avenues of continuing engagement with the Songhai people. Our objectives would be to 1) befriend them, 2) help them in appropriate ways, and 3) introduce them to Jesus, our Savior and Lord.
Poverty and deprivation look similar to me whether in Latin America, Asia, or Africa. People whom Jesus loves need medical attention, education, and jobs. We want to be wise in our relationships with the Songhai. We are beginning to feel as a team that this may be God's calling for us. No other Christian church, as far as we know, is reaching out to the migrant population of Songhai in Accra. They are largely invisible even to the locals, but we have met and seen hundreds of Songhai here.
We are about to leave to visit with the onion boys. Their ages range from 12 to 26. They sell onions by the side of the road. We look forward to talking with them again and learning more about Zarma. Maybe they will learn a little English--and a little more about Jesus--from us today.
Sounds of an African Dawn
I woke up early this morning to a thousand birds singing near and far, high and low. The foreground featured half a dozen different chirps coming from the backyard. Just beyond them were half a dozen choruses ranging left to right. And back further still was a mat of song with individual sounds barely perceptible.
Some fowl cruising high above added his lonely cry to the roosters waking up. I whispered a prayer for this new day in Africa.
The ceiling fan beat out its rhythm as I pulled back the sheet. The staff of the mission house were already stirring in the kitchen and backyard. It is a leisurely morning. No one seems to be in a hurry. African time is not a commodity to sell but an experience to savor.
This culture has a rich texture full of bright colors and soul music. Yesterday at church the music leader sang a song in their native Twi language, and the congregation responded antiphonally with feeling and power. They were caught up in their music, their worship, and it was inspiring.
The pastor wore a full length robe with a gold and black pattern. His congregation dressed just as brightly.
The pace and pulse of Africa will get you thinking. Maybe rushing through life in grays and khakis is the low road. Heaven might look and sound more like this colorful rhythm.
Today we try to help the "onion boys" with their English and get to know the Songhai in the communities where they are majority population. The onion boys are Songhai who market onions by the side of the road. The Songhai are descendants of a once-dominant tribe that built an extensive empire across West Africa. Now they are displaced and generally impoverished. The expanding Sahara has devoured their traditional livelihood, and the urban centers have not been an easy adaptation.
We met a Songhai youth yesterday who, after years of cultivation in Niger, trusted Christ. He is the only Christian Songhai we know among the thousands who live here.
The coffee is brewing and breakfast is about to be served. Better move on with the morning!
Some fowl cruising high above added his lonely cry to the roosters waking up. I whispered a prayer for this new day in Africa.
The ceiling fan beat out its rhythm as I pulled back the sheet. The staff of the mission house were already stirring in the kitchen and backyard. It is a leisurely morning. No one seems to be in a hurry. African time is not a commodity to sell but an experience to savor.
This culture has a rich texture full of bright colors and soul music. Yesterday at church the music leader sang a song in their native Twi language, and the congregation responded antiphonally with feeling and power. They were caught up in their music, their worship, and it was inspiring.
The pastor wore a full length robe with a gold and black pattern. His congregation dressed just as brightly.
The pace and pulse of Africa will get you thinking. Maybe rushing through life in grays and khakis is the low road. Heaven might look and sound more like this colorful rhythm.
Today we try to help the "onion boys" with their English and get to know the Songhai in the communities where they are majority population. The onion boys are Songhai who market onions by the side of the road. The Songhai are descendants of a once-dominant tribe that built an extensive empire across West Africa. Now they are displaced and generally impoverished. The expanding Sahara has devoured their traditional livelihood, and the urban centers have not been an easy adaptation.
We met a Songhai youth yesterday who, after years of cultivation in Niger, trusted Christ. He is the only Christian Songhai we know among the thousands who live here.
The coffee is brewing and breakfast is about to be served. Better move on with the morning!
Saturday, July 10, 2010
First Day in Accra
Ghana is a linguistic blizzard. Maybe monsoon is a better word since we are only 5 degrees north of the equator. I have met a hundred Africans already, and they all speak at least four languages, even those who cannot read one.
All of western Africa seems represented here in Accra to some degree or other. Mustapha is a Beasa man and is one of our guides for the week. His 19-month-old son, Moses, can already get around in four languages. He speaks with all four laced together in one communication stream. One of his languages his own father does not know. Moses is learning it from his friend next door who is from a different tribe.
Tribal descent is vital to true understanding and truly confusing for a foreigner. If somebody hadn't told me, "That's a Songhai," I would have had no idea. Tribal markings help only if you know what you're looking for.
The live, giant snails, dried fish and a basket full of cow's feet were highlights of our trip through the Makola Market this afternoon. People were everywhere, generally sweet and polite, and we were wide-eyed white people more curious to everyone else than the agricultural anomalies impressing us.
Accra has 3 million people in it. I believe we passed them all at least once. This city is in motion. The sounds and smells are arresting. Construction is everywhere. A cubic foot of open sidewalk is an entrepreneurial opportunity. Taxis and tro-tros jam the roads. Drivers ride their horns while chatting with passing motorcyclists.
This is day one, and already Africa is overwhelming me!
For an interesting (yawn) story about our day, check out Anna's blog.
All of western Africa seems represented here in Accra to some degree or other. Mustapha is a Beasa man and is one of our guides for the week. His 19-month-old son, Moses, can already get around in four languages. He speaks with all four laced together in one communication stream. One of his languages his own father does not know. Moses is learning it from his friend next door who is from a different tribe.
Tribal descent is vital to true understanding and truly confusing for a foreigner. If somebody hadn't told me, "That's a Songhai," I would have had no idea. Tribal markings help only if you know what you're looking for.
The live, giant snails, dried fish and a basket full of cow's feet were highlights of our trip through the Makola Market this afternoon. People were everywhere, generally sweet and polite, and we were wide-eyed white people more curious to everyone else than the agricultural anomalies impressing us.
Accra has 3 million people in it. I believe we passed them all at least once. This city is in motion. The sounds and smells are arresting. Construction is everywhere. A cubic foot of open sidewalk is an entrepreneurial opportunity. Taxis and tro-tros jam the roads. Drivers ride their horns while chatting with passing motorcyclists.
This is day one, and already Africa is overwhelming me!
For an interesting (yawn) story about our day, check out Anna's blog.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Wineskin in the Smoke
“I am like a wineskin in the smoke,” wrote the Psalmist in Psalm 119:83. The metaphor takes my mind back to the high Andes Mountains in northern Peru nearly 20 years ago, to a cemetery of Incan warriors and a little man in that cemetery who had a tiny pot to sell.
He told us that he found the pot while digging around in those open graves. The huge pyramid-shaped stones that once covered the graves and been blasted apart by grave robbers. All the gold was stolen. But stirring with a stick in one crypt, he hit something, he said, and it turned out to be the little pot.
It had been sitting in this house for a long time, he told us, but he would sell it to us. I took it in my hand and handed him the money. The pot smelled like smoke and was tarnished with soot.
“What happened to this pot?” I asked Larry Johnson, the missionary. He told me that the Quechua Indians did not build chimneys or smokestacks in their homes. The smoke curls up from the perpetual fire used for cooking and heat, rises to the ceiling, and creeps around the top of the room until it finds a crevasse or crack through which to escape. In doing so, the odor of smoke permeates their clothing and blankets, and the soot coats everything.
A Bedouin tent in the Middle East does not have a chimney. As with the little Quechua houses, the smoke from their fires curls around the tent until it makes its way out.
A wineskin is a bottle made of leather. The leather needs to be dried when it is new, but continual drying will ruin it. A wineskin in a Bedouin tent, hanging on a line, would be coated with soot and partially dried and cooked by the smoke. It would eventually be dried and cracked, tested and damaged by heat and smoke. The metaphor calls to mind a tent rather than a palace, and indicates a nomadic life, maybe even the life of a fugitive.
Think of King David no longer in the palace but on the run from his enemies, hiding in the hills, living in tents. This psalm points to the contrast between good times and bad, between the palace and the tent, between sitting on the throne and running from those who want to kill you. It is a variation on the theme of life’s extremities.
The psalmist was in a very difficult part of life’s journey, and the difficulty had lasted for a very long time. He was worn out, confused, and crying out for help.
Despite his trying circumstances he confessed again, “I have put my hope in your word” (Psalm 119:81). Threaded throughout this psalm are the polarities of painful despair and irresistible hope. This hope that has survived such pain and trials is anchored by the word of God that does not change with changing seasons. When your hope is anchored in God’s word, you are spiritually and emotionally prepared for life’s surprises.
And you weather the trials, no matter how severe, because you know that God is honest and faithful and always keeps his word.
He told us that he found the pot while digging around in those open graves. The huge pyramid-shaped stones that once covered the graves and been blasted apart by grave robbers. All the gold was stolen. But stirring with a stick in one crypt, he hit something, he said, and it turned out to be the little pot.
It had been sitting in this house for a long time, he told us, but he would sell it to us. I took it in my hand and handed him the money. The pot smelled like smoke and was tarnished with soot.
“What happened to this pot?” I asked Larry Johnson, the missionary. He told me that the Quechua Indians did not build chimneys or smokestacks in their homes. The smoke curls up from the perpetual fire used for cooking and heat, rises to the ceiling, and creeps around the top of the room until it finds a crevasse or crack through which to escape. In doing so, the odor of smoke permeates their clothing and blankets, and the soot coats everything.
A Bedouin tent in the Middle East does not have a chimney. As with the little Quechua houses, the smoke from their fires curls around the tent until it makes its way out.
A wineskin is a bottle made of leather. The leather needs to be dried when it is new, but continual drying will ruin it. A wineskin in a Bedouin tent, hanging on a line, would be coated with soot and partially dried and cooked by the smoke. It would eventually be dried and cracked, tested and damaged by heat and smoke. The metaphor calls to mind a tent rather than a palace, and indicates a nomadic life, maybe even the life of a fugitive.
Think of King David no longer in the palace but on the run from his enemies, hiding in the hills, living in tents. This psalm points to the contrast between good times and bad, between the palace and the tent, between sitting on the throne and running from those who want to kill you. It is a variation on the theme of life’s extremities.
The psalmist was in a very difficult part of life’s journey, and the difficulty had lasted for a very long time. He was worn out, confused, and crying out for help.
Despite his trying circumstances he confessed again, “I have put my hope in your word” (Psalm 119:81). Threaded throughout this psalm are the polarities of painful despair and irresistible hope. This hope that has survived such pain and trials is anchored by the word of God that does not change with changing seasons. When your hope is anchored in God’s word, you are spiritually and emotionally prepared for life’s surprises.
And you weather the trials, no matter how severe, because you know that God is honest and faithful and always keeps his word.
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