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?