40 Acres, Minus the Mule

Today is Monday.  It’s been 22 days since we left Gary’s house around 4 a.m., drove to SeaTac International, scored exit row seating for extended leg room (which matters a GREAT deal to a 6’5” former defensive tackle) boarded the plane and took off at 6:15 a.m. on November 23^rd, passed through NYC, arriving in Accra at 7:25 a.m. on the 24^th.   Wow!  Three days left and we had yet to achieve a major objective on our “to-do list”: secure land for Point Hope Village. 

    On Thanksgiving Day (which for some odd reason, doesn’t seem to really register here), the first Thursday we were here, we did go see a piece of property, about 10 minutes away from the camp, still in the Buduburam district.  It had been “sandblasted.” This means the top soil was bulldozed off, carted away and much of the underlying sand was also removed, used to make bricks for construction elsewhere.  Deep troughs in the land throughout the property indicated the water run-off in the rainy season would be significant.  Not appropriate for building residences, foster family homes, senior living quarters, a clinic, planting gardens and orchards, erecting schools and training centers, creating playgrounds and sports fields.

    Six days into this journey set the stage for today.  A short 30 minute trip with the clinic administrator to Till’s Beach, a nice, older beach resort/hotel on our first weekend in Ghana.  Antoine, the administrator and a nurse from France who is sponsored here through a Catholic mission group, told us about land on the way to the beach which seemed available and was full of greenery in the Gomoa-Fetteh area, unlike the desert-like look of most of the open land around the Buduburam district.  He drove us to the area and I was entranced.  Many of the settlements we passed through looked very similar to the camp—chickens, small goats and sheep wandering without keepers, children playing in dirt streets, small housing with assorted siding and roof materials—with just a little more space between houses, plus the road we drove on was paved asphalt and had electrical utility poles planted intermittently along the way.

Back to today, two weeks later.  We are returning to Till’s Beach to talk about a land purchase with the local chief in charge of the development of this area.  We are in the middle of the discussion.  Point Hope is represented by two Ghanaians and two Americans.  In the opposite corner we have 3 local tribal representatives: a vice-chief, also described as the rear guard chief, a lesser sub-chief and a linguist-translator (not practically necessary, as the chief speaks perfect English, but traditionally appropriate).

   As the discussion progresses, the chief (all chiefs are titled “Nana” in the local language, which makes me want to chuckle as you know I’m envisioning a gray-haired gramma every time I hear it—or a tall blonde mama, but that’s another story!), he begins to understand the scope of the plans we have to benefit his community, to care for the Ghanaian people as well as the Liberian refugees.  He decides that he should offer ten acres, gratis, as a blessing from him to us to show his appreciation and to have God’s blessing on what we do, as well.  The negotiations end with an additional 10 acres added, from monies we have already paid during the last five years, but for which we have never actually received land.  This chief didn’t have anything to do with that purchase, however, he feels he should make good on what another chief from his region began, but never saw through to completion.

   Are you following all of this?  We started out looking for 20 acres and ended up with 40!  Do we need that much land?  I’m thinking we must or else God wouldn’t have arranged for us to have it all! 

   We drive out to see the land and there is a large balboa tree with fruit hanging in its branches, topsoil galore and beauty all around, green hills rising!!  We are right next to property upon which a secondary school (high school) will be built, in fact, the bulldozers were moving in as we were leaving.  This means water and electricity will be laid at our doorstep, no extra cost to us.  The property search has already been done and filed, meaning the land has been legally cleared of any other claims, again, with no extra cost to us.  God is truly awesome! (Not watered down awesome like my favorite person, food, movie, song or book, but really and truly, Godly AWESOME, just like David and Solomon and so many of the prophets understood!!)

…fast forward through the next two days.  Tuesday: We meet the Elder Council at the personal residence of the Head Chief of the Fetteh Region, where both Buduburam and Gomoa-Fetteh districts are located.  In doing this we clear Point Hope from the previous land negotiations of previous years and agree again on our 40 acres purchase.  Wednesday: We meet at the Point Hope office at the camp, sign the Memorandum of Understanding for the land purchase, receive a copy of the cleared land search document [thank you Mr. Sakey], pay the first year’s installment (we have eleven years left to pay, if you want to start donating now!) , finish up some final negotiations for a short wall to be built around our property to mark it as ours, take pictures and, with a couple of hours to spare, Gerald and I have marked “DONE” on the “Secure land” objective!  True, we don’t have a mule to go with our 40 acres, but then, we never actually asked God for one or that would have happened, also!

Have I mentioned how incredibly AWESOME our God is?! Hallelujah! Amen!!

Mama Abertha and Baby Michelle

I may have trouble finding the right words to express how deeply I am touched!  Just over three months ago I was at the medical clinic and saw a young mom, 16 years old, holding a starving child.  I talked about it then and showed you their picture (look at Day 2 under my first visit to Africa or Back to Africa, Vol. II, pictures tab). 

Abertha had been working the streets of Accra as a prostitute since she was around 15 years old.  She dropped out of junior high school and had no skills training, so she did what many young women do who are hungry and thirsty and feel they have no future and no options.   Then she became pregnant.  Here in this community, ending the pregnancy is not only NOT an option, it is not even thought of or considered.  So baby Michelle was born.  Abertha was living with her dad and step-mom, who had a little one-year-old girl.  For whatever reason, after Michelle was born, Abertha again decided to go back to the streets of Accra.  And for whatever reason, when Michelle was nine months old, Abertha decided to leave Michelle with a friend who was in the same line of “work”.  This friend took Michelle, but apparently didn’t feed her for 3 weeks.  Abertha came back, her step-mom heard about what had happened, saw the baby and brought them to the Buduburam clinic.

True, Michelle was nine months old, but she looked three months old at the most.  Abertha was 16, but looked 13 or 14.  It was heartbreaking!  When we left in August, we had heard Abertha had given up her baby for adoption and had returned to the streets.

Imagine my surprise when I returned and asked after Michelle, fearing that she might have died.  One of the Neighborhood Watch Team, a volunteer public safety officer for the camp, said she and her mom lived near him and he had been keeping an eye on them for us.  Beyan took me to see them.  I almost cried with joy!  Abertha was there, looking so much healthier and alive than she had when I first met her—she had life back in her eyes!  And Michelle?  I didn’t even recognize her!  I asked Abertha where the baby was and she gestured to a round-faced little girl who was practicing walking right in front of her, “There!”  So incredible! 

Michelle still has a ways to go, of course.  She is one year old (as of November 11^th), but she is still wearing size 3 months to 6 months clothing.  Abertha has been bringing Michelle to the Nutrition Center twice a week, getting food for her from the program Point Hope is a part of and getting her regular nutrition check-ups.  I asked Abertha what she was doing for herself.  She said she wanted to go back to school, but it was hard.  I asked her if she would go back and finish if we could get Michelle in the nutrition daycare center so both of them would be in a good place.  She nodded eagerly and we set up an appointment for her to take the baby in for a thorough evaluation to determine in which of two nutrition daycares (malnourished or severely-malnourished) Michelle should be placed.

In the meantime, Abertha’s father, Clay, hasn’t got a job, but does have six children, a wife and a grandbaby to help support.  Before the war drove him out of Liberia (when Abertha was 2 or 3), before they scattered and Abertha’s mother ran one way and he ran the other, so they became separated and he was never able to find her, before he came to be an unemployed refugee, he was a carpenter and interior designer.  I asked him if he was aware Point Hope had a carpenter school, where he could enroll, sharpen his skills, graduate with a recognized certificate, and find work.  He hadn’t heard, but was eager to sign up.  (I spoke with our instructor and he has agreed to accept Clay into the program, even though the new class began three months ago.)

This family is struggling, but they are together and that means a lot to them.  The younger children haven’t known anything but this refugee camp and hardship.  Not all of them are in school—they ran out of money to send the twelve year old, although two younger boys are still attending, as the fees were a little less. 

I marvel at the smiles on all the faces and I wonder how they manage to eke out enough food to sustain them all.  I wonder if Clay feels overwhelmed at times and if Abertha will apply herself to her studies, receive her certificate and continue on in the medical field like she dreams.  I wonder if Michelle’s belly-button-hernia (let’s face it, I’m not in the medical field) will go away on its own, or if she will need surgery later.  I don’t know, but I do know God loves them and has a plan for each of them and Point Hope can be His hands and feet right now.  I am honored to be the hands that were able to hold Michelle and tickle her while I laughed with her and marveled that she is still alive and that Point Hope has something to do with her miracle!

On the Road Again...

It’s 5:30 a.m.  I have been up since 4:17 a.m.  I am now in the backseat of a little Nissan (maybe) station wagon, cab number 153, windows open, fumes rolling in, loud, large truck horns honking, in stop (jerk) and go (jerk) traffic.  The sun is just starting to rise and the street vendors are already hard at work, hustling their rears off selling mentos, maps, milk, bread, washcloths, toys, water, anything and everything you might need, but are too busy to stop at a store to get.  Car-side delivery for 50 peswas or one Ghana cedi—about 35 to 70 cents in the U.S.  The balancing feat performed by some of these vendors—Pringle cans and other snacks piled three feet high on the tray precariously tilting on their heads—is amazing!

School boys and business men dressed for success await a van or a bus to deliver them to their daily routine.  Young girls (not as many as the boys) also headed to school, business women wearing heels and flats walk along the packed red dirt to undesignated bus stops for the next leg of their journeys.

Ladies in blue jumpsuits and orange vests are sweeping and raking trash at the side of the road, collecting it into what looks like 25 pound rice sacks and disposing of it at unknown locations.  I look at the paper and plastic and other garbage just past them and at first think. “What’s the point?” before I realize how much worse it would be without their efforts.  Every little bit really does count! (Have I mentioned you can send a dollar, one buck, into Point Hope through the end of the year to help us make a “Drop in the buck-it”??)

We are 30-35 minutes into the drive, headed into Accra to meet up with the National Director of Point Hope Ghana (Chris), who will then drive us to meet the Vice President of an international company.  He has agreed to meet with us for 30 minutes.  We will introduce Point Hope and explain our mission and vision and he will decide if they are willing to consider donating funds to help us build out the clinic to better serve the medical needs of all persons, Ghanaian or refugee, who live in the Buduburam district.  I’m a little nervous, honestly.  But we can do all things through Christ who gives us strength and this is God’s program, we’re just fortunate enough to be His hands and feet here.  With us, or without us, His work will be done, so I’d just as soon it was with us! 

Knowing this, I pray and write and ride, taking in the landmarks  (yep, I do see the solid-gold-mirror-windows-still-under- construction business building) on the way to the Fiesta Royale Hotel.  (Our cab driver had picked us up and pulled onto the main highway before he informed us that he wasn’t sure where the Fiesta was and could we help him out!  Who knew that going to the shopping mall last week, when we passed the Fiesta, would help us—strangers in a strange land—direct a native to a local hotel? See, Gerald, I knew that mall trip was worth it!)

At 6:30 a.m. we arrive at the hotel.  Safe and sound.  Our meeting isn’t until 9:30 a.m.  We go have breakfast (which includes BREWED coffee, not instant, which you can only truly appreciate after drinking Nescafe for two weeks straight!), Chris meets us, we talk, we drive, we pray, we arrive. 

At 10:45 a.m., we leave.  I still don’t know God’s plan.  But we were given an hour and we were well received by an American named Jeff who told us we were doing good things, not just bettering the lives of an indigenous people, but also the lives of those who had been displaced in a foreign land.  Actually his exact words were, “You are doing God’s work.”  Now, you know we agreed!  From this point?  He’s going to talk to his people and we’ll keep talking to Ours. 

No Way Out!

Locked in a toilet stall—the kind that has a full size door, walls to the floor and six inches of clearance at the top between the ceiling and the walls, a three foot by four foot box.  No way out.  I contemplated climbing up to the top to see if I could squeeze through, but I pictured myself eight feet above the floor, about six feet above the commode, stuck between a rock and a hard place (or the tiled wall and the ceiling), feet dangling, lungs compressed, being cut free using the “jaws of life”…and decided against it.  So I banged on the door, shouted out for anyone to pay attention, sat down, and…waited.

I was tired.  It was Saturday evening, after a long, hot, busy week.  We had been to a nice beach about 20 minutes from the camp for lunch with the clinic administrator and spent a couple of hours relaxing in the shade of the “beachtable” umbrella.  By the time we returned to the hotel, close to dinner time, I was ready to skip the meal and hit the bed!  But we had invited the chief of the Neighborhood Watch Team from the camp to bring his wife and come to dinner, so I sat down in the hotel restaurant, ordered dinner and tried to engage in conversation between stifled yawns.  I decided to go to the washroom, somewhat to answer the call of nature and a lot to see if a short walk would wake me up!

There were two doors to choose from, I went to the right.  It was a little hard to secure, but I pulled the door tightly, turned the slightly sticky lock and…finished what you go to the woman’s room for.  I thought about staying there just long enough to squeeze in a little nap, but realized our guests might notice my absence after awhile, so my hand went to the lock and turned it to the left…it not only didn’t unlock, but just kept turning.  Which brings me back to waiting…someone finally showed up, I explained the problem and the man told me to turn the lock to the left.  I explained I had, I even tried again…the knob came off in my hand.  After he insisted I try again, I tossed the knob over the top of the wall (secretly hoping it would bounce off the top of his head!) and asked him to get me out. 

After about 45 minutes,  I was released through the magic of a crowbar.  The rest of the evening didn’t go well.  I was freaked out.  Understating it,  I was also not well behaved—I marched out to the dining room, told my husband he could have come to find me (forget the fact that he was hosting and trying to get the bill, which is never a quick process), said good night to the couple, and ran (almost literally) to our room, only to discover I didn’t have the key.  The night finally ended, I got sleep, and life looked better the next day.

One week later.  Got away to the coast for a holiday weekend with our National Director and his very nice family.  Just got our bearings, I’m sprawled out on the top of the bedcovers for a quick nap.  This time Gerald is turning the key to the left and the key just keeps turning.  Locked in our second-story room, security bars on the windows…bigger space, very nice, large bed to lie on, husband with me in the room this time…still locked in, no way out. Fortunately, we had requested a laundry pick up and the attendant came within a few minutes of our discovery.   Within five minutes he was back with a key and…we were free!

At Buduburam district, just outside of Ghana’s capital city, Accra—the dirt roadway to the camp is just wide enough for two vehicles to pass semi-safely; men and women come and go, walking down the road to leave the camp, walking up the road to come back to the camp.  There are some people who leave to go to school, to shop, to barter for goods and services to bring back to camp, but many people never leave.  They might as well be locked in, with no way out.  Even those who leave for an hour or a day still come back to their residences in the camp, uncertain of their future.  There are families who are food insecure, housing insecure, jobs insecure, education insecure, and medical aid insecure.   Many have a homeland in Liberia, but it is no longer home; there is nothing to go back to and there are debates about how safe it would be for them to even attempt it.

Delilah came here about five years ago and felt her heart break into a million little pieces.  Point Hope was born and started forging keys.  Aside from bring the fresh water to the camp for a few peswas (think American pennies) a gallon, something unheard of for the previous 16 years of the camp’s existence, Point Hope also provides medical care and nutrition to the vulnerable, school tuition for children (which includes young men and women in their early 20’s), and skills training for men and women.  We provided doctors and nurses to work at the clinic and a nutrition-based day care center.  We support the Neighborhood Watch Team, the volunteer public safety department for the camp.  Point Hope partners at the camp encompass branches of the Ghanaian government, including the social welfare agency and the domestic abuse and critical response team staff and the Catholic Archdiocese and its affiliates.   

We have been here for 14 days and we are trying to figure out how much more we cram into our remaining nine days.  There is so much to do.  It is not a matter of only forging the keys, we must find the doors into which the keys fit and then try a variety of keys to determine which will be the one to successfully open the lock, WD-40 the hinges so the door will even move, and encourage those who have been living in utter darkness to bravely shield their eyes and come out into the sunlight of a sustainable, productive future.   Sometimes I think finding a crowbar would be easier, more expedient!  But quickest isn’t always the best, is it? I hear the voice of my dad as he tells me, for at least the hundred-thousandth time, “Any job worth doing is worth doing well.”  He’s right. 

God is heating up the forge, fashioning keys and pointing to doors.   Our job is simply to be faithful in the delivery of the keys.  In the meantime, hey, Delilah!  Can you loan me the magic glue that puts a million little pieces of a heart back together?

Save Our Souls

Is there a bigger smile anywhere than on the face of a small child who sees a picture of his or her self on the screen of a digital camera, especially for the first time??

Save Our Souls Day Care is more than just a name, it is words in action.  While the dedicated women working here are interested in saving souls, they also recognize the importance of feeding the body.  These children are malnourished, some mildly, some moderately, some severely.  The phrase used for a child and family in this situation is, “food insecure.”  So every day, parents bring their children here and leave them in the capable, caring hands of these teachers while they go receive training, look for work, and scrounge for food. The children will be fed four times a day through this program; the last meal is packed into a take-home container to be consumed for dinner.  Point Hope has partnered with another organization, “Feed My Starving Children”, working together to provide these meals.

The younger children play with each other, walking, running, laughing, giggling—you know, just being infants and toddlers! The older children are also playing on the playground, but they have schooling and learning to do inside.  They politely greet visitors to their classroom with a song and many smiles.  Hands go out to touch and shake, small voices say, “welcome,” and whisper, “hi,” as shy grins, twinkling eyes and laughter light up the beauty of their faces.  Isn’t God amazing, creating such stunning art and placing it in the form of a child? Isn’t God extremely trusting that such delicate creation is placed in the care of fallible human beings?

So back to the pics!  I was actually at the nutrition center school for a meeting with the medical clinic stakeholders (we were making use of a meeting room available there).  While waiting for everyone to arrive, I got my camera and went outside to the playground.  No matter where you are on the globe, the moment a camera is in sight, children are enchanted and drawn like the Pied Piper is playing their tune!  Of course, the children of West Africa are no different, so over they came with smiles wide, shoving and pushing (we are talking about kids, here!) to jockey up to the front of the crowd.  I assured them they would all get in the picture and told the big sister to apologize to the little brother for punching him in the stomach to get him out of “her” shot.  What fun! What pictures! What memories! For them and for me!  We laughed as they looked at themselves and their friends.  The view screen was soon smudged with little fingerprints as they reached out to touch the images, not understanding how the magic worked, just enjoying the fact that it did!

The disciples of Jesus tried to stop parents from bringing their children to Him (Mark 10:13-16; Luke 18:15-17).  Can you see the children, shyly smiling, giggling, laughing aloud, pushing, shoving, reaching their hands out to touch Him?  Imagine those little fingerprints smudging dirt on the Lord’s garments! Jesus tenderly, lovingly looked at the children gathered around Him.  Then He looked at the men who traveled with Him and shook His head.  Jesus told His followers to stop being jerks and to allow all the children to come see Him.  He told them these children were the essence of the kingdom of God.  Unless these grown men were as willing as a child to accept, trust, hold in awe and wonder, believe, and love Him, they were not going to enter His kingdom. 

His message is the same for us today, it hasn’t changed, He hasn’t changed, and, Thank God, children haven’t changed!  I may not fully understand how His grace works, I’m just grateful and enjoying the fact that it does!

The Lightness of Being...in Meetings All Week!

We had a busy week of meetings, conferring with all of the “stakeholders” in the medical clinic at Buduburam, checking in with the Nutrition Program Director and the counselors working there, visiting the sites for all of the additional programs with which Point Hope is involved, including the day care, the garden, the poultry farm, the Woman Empowerment skills training center, and Save Our Souls nutrition center and school.

There are many decisions to be made here.  With the United Nations withdrawing from the camp, turning their projects over to local NGO’s, halting some feeding programs and gradually easing out of the responsibilities they have had here for the Liberian refugees, there is potential for a large hole in the camp’s general  health and welfare, not to mention the infrastructure of camp life, as many interdependent programs will be affected by this change.

I know, none of this sounds wildly exciting, does it?  I mean, it is more tangible to show pictures of babies and speak about hungry children and talk about the destitution of the camp.  That is all still here, although I am very happy to report the empty Children’s Ward I saw at the clinic!   Not one starving, malnourished child in the clinic receiving emergency care!  Many malnourished children at the Nutrition Center, many children receiving food and not still not gaining weight, largely due to sanitation and education issues.   

So, instead of being able to connect with the people and play with the children, we got to meet with the care providers and the men and women behind the scenes that are on the ground here daily.  They work in heat and discomfort and some harsh conditions to help the Liberian refugees here at Camp Buduburam and to give the same unconditional care to the local Ghanaian people who live in this district, many who are in the same situation as the refugees in the camp…hungry, malnourished, in need of medical care and hard-pressed for sustainable employment.  In these meetings, there are representatives of many backgrounds: doctors, nurses, administrators, Catholics, Protestants, caregivers, nutritional counselors, social workers.  Also many countries are represented, including Ghana, Liberia, France, Columbia, and the U.S. 

What an honor it was for me to meet and pray and discuss the future with these fine folk!! I know I have many more meetings to come, discussions to have, decisions to make; I know this isn’t as fun and relaxing as knitting and laughing with the ladies I met on the last trip, but call me crazy, we are having a GREAT time!