A Ghanaian Funeral

Earlier this week, Stephen asked us interns to sing at the funeral of a 20-year-old girl that had died. We unlikely bunch of interns all happen to be musically inclined, and when Stephen found out, he put us to the test. We sang in church the first Sunday, and he loved it so much that he sang the same song we sang for the past two meetings we have attended. We picked the hymn Each Life That Touches Ours For Good, a beautiful hymn, and I have to admit, it sounded really good the way we prepared it. Her father teaches Sunday school, so he is a big part of the branch here. The girl had been living in Ghana with her boyfriend when she suddenly died, and nobody is quite able to explain how she died.

Friday morning, we arose early to practice and get to the chapel on time. Margaret, Stephen’s wife, who has been helping her daughter with her baby, came up from Accra to attend the funeral. She cooked us a large, delicious breakfast of eggs, cream of wheat, and Milo. As we munched on our breakfast, there was a dull thud of loud music down the road. It had been ringing the night before as well, and Beverly reported that it was some kind of party. We guessed it was some house that we pass on the way to the church, so we were curious to see what the deal was.

As we walked by, we saw copious amounts of chairs set up all over the yard. They were mostly situated under simple canopies, and there was a funny canopy with a green background. We passed all of these on the trail, when Master Fufu, the man who took us all over in Accra who had also come up for the funeral, told us that he would be driving and could take us. The church is a 20-minute walk away, so we gratefully accepted his offer. We were then on the outskirts of the party, watching with curiosity.

Master Fufu explained to us what it was. It was the funeral. Everybody was dressed in black or red, their mourning colors. Hoards of people were in attendance, supporting the family. The six-foot tall stack of speakers and sub woofers pounded the African music that has no complexity.Though the music was simple, it seemed upbeat and happy, and many of the patrons of the funeral were dancing around the casket. We though, “How nice! They have a big celebration for their funerals.” Margaret, who would also be joining us in the car ride to the church, told us that they were sad and crying and drunk. The conflict of loud party music and dancing with morning and grieving was hard to notice until this one lady broke from the crowd and walked near us. She was wailing and crying, but still dancing to the music! It was so weird to watch her bawl and cry out to whomever she was yelling, but still walk around swinging her hips!  I decided that they physically mourn. The way we mourn is very emotional and spiritual, which affects our body, but they just let it all out in every way possible.

While they were dancing around and making strange motions at the casket, Margaret pointed out the most disturbing part of the funeral. We looked underneath the funny canopy with the green background and saw the dead girl dressed in white sitting in a chair! I guess she was just taking it all in….. She was dressed in white, her head cocked lifelessly to the side. We gave each other looks of horror as we realized how strange the party we were attending suddenly seemed.

Margaret said she wanted to stay a little bit longer, so we obrunis waited awkwardly at the weird viewing. We thought we would only stay for a few more minutes, but we ended up staying for an hour, eyeing the veiled girl “watching” her own party.

The upbeat sounding music thudded through the air, making it hard to think sometimes. Many people came around to shake our hands, which was a welcoming gesture. I did not want to get much farther into the festivities, but Garrett and Zandra walked in to get a closer look at the body. They said she definitely looked dead, her lively color gone and replaced with a ghastly gray. It probably was a good gesture on their part, but I didn’t want to look like the weirdo obruni (it happens anyway; I’m an obruni, and we are all weird to them).

The party was ending (it was past time for the funeral), and so we loaded the car and drove to the chapel. The body was hauled there by an ambulance, followed by a mass of mourning, drunk, wailing, dancing people. The funeral at the church was significantly subdued, all though the people outside of the chapel still wailed and made Elder Dalton’s talk hard to listen too (he is a couple missionary and is in the district presidency; they live just down the street from the Abu’s). Our song went very well, and the people really appreciate our simple talent.

We did not walk to the cemetery; it was very far, and we had a class to go to.  Our class went alright, even though we were slightly late and didn’t have a translator until 40-minutes past the time we were supposed to start. Our class size dropped from 73 to about 25, which is good we do not have to sift through so many people. During our walk back to the house, it started to rain, which felt very nice compared to the sweaty walk to Amonom (we ditched the taxi because he was charging too much for the ride).

We passed the missionaries after the funeral, and they asked how the funeral went. They were as appalled and interested as we were, but the Elder from Nigeria said that even they don’t do that in his country, and that we will have bad dreams tonight. Although the experience was strange, the custom for death is interesting, and seeing the body was not traumatizing (just weird). I never thought I would participate in a funeral in Ghana, but when in Rome……

Stood Up

After the holiday on Monday, Beverly and I got up early to walk to Asunafo. We had to be there at 7, and it takes an hour to walk there, I got up at quarter to 6 and got ready. After days of sleeping in, it is kind of nice to get up extra early and get going.

The walk was pleasant. The sun was rising, covered by gray clouds that sprinkled on and off as we went. The temperature was perfect: cool enough to keep from sweating, but warm enough to not need a jacket.

We arrived at the health center built by some foundation from Cache Valley, the namesake of the center. Benjamin Dehoe, the collector for Asunafo, or Douglas was supposed to meet us, but we grew impatient and called Douglas to hurry. Finally, he arrived on his motorcycle, and we started a long morning of collections.

Douglas said today was different. He had just traveled to Accra to finish legalizing our organization, meaning we had another tool to use. The recipients who are past due on their loan could be sent to court if we deemed it necessary. It seems harsh at first. We white men come into their village to “help” only to eventually make them pay for the court proceedings. I felt a tinge of guilt after the first person we talked to argued and became upset. I was only slightly relieved by remembering it was something they had agreed to; it is really easy to miscommunicate here.

As we walked from recipient to recipient, Beverly and I kept chatting, and I realized that it does no good to excuse people from consequences. Parents have to enforce natural consequences to their children to teach them real life, even though it may be easy to protect them. We were enforcing the consequences, teaching a hard lesson about upholding promises and fulfilling contracts. It is not a lesson we intentionally teach, but it is a lesson that needs to be taught.

The value of what we teach and give goes beyond their business. In the context of the current discourse, the idea of keeping promises can easily be applied in any aspect of life.  We give them credit, a simple idea that blesses families and communities by economic expansion. Maybe the people are too immature for these ideas? I don’t think so. I see them work incredibly hard to sustain their families. Maybe they need more education? Even though many do not have the equivalent of a 4^th grade education, these ideas can still be taught and used correctly as proved by the village of Akokom.

Akokom received their loans about one year ago, and every pod paid their loans in time, meaning they received their interest rebate. Although I did not go, it was awesome to hear of the exciting story of being able to hand back cash to all the ladies who worked hard to get back their rebate.

The hard work we are doing, I believe, is to break the bad habits that obrunis have formed. As I have said before, every other white man that comes through the village has probably just given free handouts. The handouts are given again and again, which creates dependency and a terrible mindset of no accountability. What we are doing creates self-sufficiency and teaches responsibility, which requires more work then handouts, but makes individuals into contributors instead of takers.

We received more promises then payments, a usual occurrence, but we plan to make them keep the promises. We will visit Asunafo again next Tuesday to see how they have decided.

Merry-go-round at the Adelaide School

We had to hurry back from Asunafo so we could get to Amonom to teach the first-phase class. We luckily found a tro-tro (a 15-passenger van which drives around the villages for cheaper than taxis) back to Abomoso for lunch, then hurriedly taxied out to our villages for class. The poor taxi driver sucks at math, and he ended up giving us a free ride because of his lack of change (we would have fixed it but we didn’t realize it until later).

Garrett and I arrived at the Adelaide School (a school from the World Joy Foundation) and asked for Master Oporku (pronounced O-po-ku), who is one of our translators. We found him, and he informed us that Tuesday was the end of a two-week long celebration of the peoples’ forefathers. Most of the people would be praying and probably would not come to class. Because of that, he and Eva (the other translator) had planned trips to Abomosu and could not stay.

He felt bad that we had come because we tried to double-check with him earlier with a phone call. The connection had been bad or our phone sucks because we did not get that from the conversation. He kindly paid our bus ticket back to Abomosu, and we found ourselves with a couple of free hours. I tied up some loose ends with the accounting system we have and may or may not have taken a nap.

That evening, we met to have choir practice. Stephen asked Zandra to be the ward choir director, and this was our first meeting. Although the singing in church had not been top notch, I thought, probably because they are all black, that everybody was supposed to be at least decent singers. Nope. Not at all. We sang through a couple of warm-up hymns, realizing that the only people that could sing were the obrunis and Stephen. We tried just about everything we could think of to teach them how to sing but they couldn’t even match a given pitch. However, I believe that this choir is pretty special. As we were singing Be Still, My Soul, the Spirit strongly bore witness of the words of the song made special by the tone-deaf soprano section. The idea of a choir may be more special to the members than actually having a good choir. One of the guys that showed up (he actually could sing) was a non-member, so the choir, unknowingly to us, was a missionary tool. Zandra is doing a great job, and I think we all have the same attitude that the Abomosu Branch Choir is going to be a hit.

On Wednesday, just like every Wednesday, Beverly and Allan teach in Akokom at two, and Garrent and I teach in Abomosu at six. We have brought the third phase course back to these villages to have second-time recipients.  From the morning until teaching time, I worked on my resume so I can fine-tune it for my actuary intern applications. I critiqued it for hours. Annoying, yet necessary. I shortly looked over the lessons to teach, which were about keeping records and creating customer loyalty. We arrived at the church just in time for class to start only to find that nobody was there to attend the class. We waited ten minutes outside when our first student showed: Mama B. I don’t know if I have mentioned her, but she is our cook. She is so nice and really funny, so we were excited to have her in our class. It took another couple minutes for more to show, and in all, only four students came to class. We figured the word had not been spread to everybody, so we postponed class until Saturday hoping the word would spread by then.

Stephen has a little Rhino that he used to put-puts around, and he gave us a ride home from the church. His generosity is great, and you can tell by the peoples’ respect for him that many admire his goodness. We are very fortunate to be able to work in Ghana under the conditions we do, and it is mainly because Stephen let us into his network. 

Garrett, Allan, myself, and Beverly

First Teaching Day

My first teaching­ day was awesome. We have been trying to figure out our places here in Abomoso, so the days before had been slow and we may or may not have even left the house (it also helped that Douglas had to go to Accra, so he wasn’t around either). We all looked forward to Friday, where Beverly and Allan would teach in Nkurakan, and Garrett and I would teach in Amonom.

Douglas told us that considering the size of the meeting in Nkurakan, the class would be 20-30 students. The meeting we had in Amonom was smaller, and although we wanted everybody to know, the elders of the village had kept the class quiet so only their family could get a loan. We quickly changed that, hoping that no damage had come to the class size.

I hopped on Douglas’ motorbike while the others took a taxi. The order of the cities going west is Abomosu, Sankubenase, then Nkurakan. In Nkurakan, you take a left off of the main road which takes you to Amonom, Akokom, Akwadum, then back to the main road in Ekorso north of Abomosu (try and keep that straight!). We were first to arrive in Nkurakan, so we drove to the school where the other two would be teaching to set things up. Douglas asked one of the school teachers to translate for us. He agreed, which freed Douglas to help us in Amonom.

We journeyed not far down the road to Amonom to the school house there to find Garrett and Zandra waiting. It looked as though the school had just expanded with several new classrooms, and we were to teach in a new one. A side note, Stephen, Sr., has graciously built schools all over the area with his organization World Joy. There isn’t a village here that doesn’t have a yellow schoolhouse with a large globe painted under “World” and between “J” and “y”.

Douglas expected our class to be about 30 people, but I assumed it would be smaller. People started to trickle in, knowing that seeing the obrunis meant that it was getting close to the time. Garrett wisely started taking everybody’s names for role, and just when he started, a huge line formed behind him that never seemed to get smaller as Garrett penned names. Finally, after delaying a bit because of the amount of people piling in the classroom, we started the class.

I looked over the room excitedly, looking at all of the dark, expecting faces. Every desk was filled, the back wall was covered, and even the glassless windows were used as seats. We counted the role and found that 73 people had shown up! It was incredibly thrilling!

The lesson went very well. Maybe it dragged on a bit; I can imagine that a desk designed for small children isn’t very comfortable for adults. But I think we made a good impression with them all. Garrett and I would take turns teaching predetermined sections, all the while Douglas would translate our words into Twi (pronounced Twri (say it quickly)).

We taught the overview of our program, what we do and how we do it, as well as some of the beginnings of the program. We spoke of Muhammad Yunus, author of Banker to the Poor, which inspired the idea for the program (I think). The book is the reason I came here, too. It is a great read, and I suggest it highly. We also talked about brainstorming, although I don’t think it translated very well. Our lessons are supposed to be one to two hours, and we finished in 90 minutes.

The coolest part was when we were asking for feedback. We wanted to see what people’s ultimate goals were, so we asked and asked until we got to the point. Several wanted to build houses. Many wanted just to pay for school fees. I loved how much of the class was very into it. As I was listening to their responses, I found myself getting closer and closer to the front row of students because I was so intent on hearing their response, even if it was in a language I can’t speak.

Teaching was so satisfying! The lesson developed well, especially with Douglas, who is very familiar with the program, as translator, and we finished with everybody excited to come back. Unfortunately, we do not have the funds to get everybody a loan. Many of the class will drop out, at least according to history, and we will probably end up with a smaller class of only 20-30. From there, we will perform due diligence on their loans, figuring the viability of the loan and calculating the trustworthiness of the potential recipients. We may fund only a small group of ten people, but with 70 to choose from, theoretically, we hopefully will get the best of the best.

On the way back to Abomosu, I must state I am a bartering fool. I got the taxi to get us there with only five cedis instead of seven. Bam, suckers!

On our walk back to Stephen’s house, we stopped at Elder and Sister Dalton’s place, which is on the way. Sister Dalton was home, and she gave us chocolate chip banana muffins and banana bread. Oh, how glorious it is to have American food! Not that it is specific to the States, but it is something familiar and sweet! A man came to the porch and starting to as us obronis for money for his ill son. We can’t tell his intentions, but this is exactly why what other good-intended people have done historically is bad for the people. The people here associate white people (obronis) with gifts or free things. People come and give food, money, medical care, etc. for free, which creates a dependency on such free lunches. We receive so much attention everywhere we go, and with such kindness, because they want to get the free money from the obrunis. Sister Dalton said that missionaries do not have money to give, but she will send a prayer (Imagine if the humanitarian program was intertwined with the missionary program. Disasterous!). We said that our program must be bought into; you have to pay interest (48% annually, I might add) to purchase the loan. Our business loans help people become self-dependent, not reliant on outside sources that may fade out over time (usually white men do not stay for more than a vacation). And it is working, by the way. I have seen it with my own eyes and heard it with my own ears from the mouths of recipients. It really is amazing!

*Gets off soap box*

At the Abu's house

When we arrived at Stephen’s house, we had already discussed the day’s events: Bev and Allan only had 18 students! The taxi from Abomosu almost hit a girl who was crossing the road. Zandra got bored and hot at the lesson, even with the charge of taking pictures. Douglas pulled up on his bike not long after; he bought us chalk for the chalkboard! (Even though most of the people are illiterate, I like to use the board.) Just as we sat down inside, the power went out. Stephen came in and told us that a powerful storm was coming, so he hurried to get ready to leave on his Rhino for church meetings. Just as Stephen stepped out the door, the heavens opened and let out waves and waves of rain. The droplets danced on the tin roof, creating a deafening roar inside the house. I loved it, and I am sure that the obobibis (black people) were annoyed at our excitement because, heck, its rain! It slowly darkened, and we sat for dinner amidst an electric lantern, illuminating the delicious curry and chicken (Meat! Blessed meat!).

After dinner, Stephen talked about his life, which is so fascinating. I half payed attention because I was working on a paint-doku puzzle my mother gave me. By eighth o’clock, I was nodding off and headed for bed. Lightning had started to strike by then, flashing in the windows and sending thunder roaring through the sky. The lightning struck so close to the house several times, the crack sounding almost instantaneously after the flash. I found it soothing and thrilling at the same time.

The canoe river crossing; the river rose significantly after the huge storm

This pattern occurred the whole night: rain murmuring on the roof, crescendo-ing then fading; flashes far, then near; thunder rumbling distantly, then right outside our window. I woke up several times to soul-shaking thunder. Oh, the spectacle! I can hardly complain, even though I was sleeping, because the show was awesome.

Saturday was a lazy day. Power was not restored until two in the afternoon, but wise Stephen Abu has many large windows to let in natural light. I worked a little to condense information so we can use it to catch up collections.

As I finish, I want to council those that are home: love football while you can. I sit here, longing to watch my Aggies play, wanting to participate in the Holy War, dying to just watch a play! ENJOY FOOTBALL WHILE YOU CAN! YOU MAY END UP IN A COUNTRY WITH SLOW INTERNET AND NO FOOTBALL PROGRAMMING. LOVE IT WHILE YOU HAVE IT!

*Gets off soap box again*

My First Week in Ghana

I have said this to everybody that has asked: “Ghana is different than America.” I expected it to be different, but I could have never imagined how it really is.

Because of a badly timed nap, I missed getting on the same flight as the rest of the crew. I paid more for my ticket, but I only had one layover; they had three. The trip from JFK to Accra was about ten hours long, but it felt twice as long because my travel buddy stole my window seat and the guy in front of me leaned back in his seat. I didn’t catch my first glimpse of Africa until we were starting to descend: it was cloudy, and one could only get periodic glances between billows.

 

Outside Abomosu

You could feel the humidity right as you got off the plane. Immigration and customs were incredibly less official than they were when I traveled to Chile and Peru: my bags didn’t even get opened! But they did take everybody’s fingerprints. We were picked up by Master Fufu, the adoptive son of Stephen Abu, Sr., who we are staying with. Master Fufu (I don’t actually remember his real name) works for Stephen Abu, Jr., who owns a tour company in Ghana. Fufu drove us to Jr.’s office, where we spent several days before we travelled inland.

Accra was what I had prepared myself for. It reminded me of Peru: there were street vendors down every street in town, taxis honked every time they drove by, and the shops and restaurants were informal except if you went to the nicer places and paid more. We originally were only going to spend one day in Accra before we left, but because Stephen, Sr. was speaking at a mission conference near Accra, we stayed for three nights so we could meet Stephen and bring him back with us.

I went crazy in Accra. We slept much to catch up with our lack of sleep on the plane and to adjust to the time change. Otherwise, we stayed in Stephen, Jr.’s office, which Allan pointed out was more like a compound. We were walled in on every side, and razor wire lined the tops of the walls. A security guard was present every day and every night as well, and, at night, the office was boarded shut. We did not have much to do, so we just chilled in the office most of the day. We had Wi-Fi, which was heaven sent, but to stay sane, we would go out to eat and occasionally stroll to the mall.

We met Douglas at the office, who is the main coordinator for the SEED program. He lives in Akwadum, a small village outside of Abomosu, where we are working. He trekked out to Accra to meet us and to do some business. Beverly and I went with Douglas to purchase a printer, which actually took most of one day, and we got to see other parts of Accra from a taxi window. We discovered that the office is in a nicer part of Accra; everywhere we went, the city seemed to get dirtier and poorer. Seeing the difference made me grateful to be where we were.

We landed on Tuesday, and Friday we left for Abomosu. One of Stephen, Jr.’s drivers took us. We picked up Stephen, Sr. along the way and traveled the long, bumpy road to our destination.

Bumpy is an understatement. The road had more potholes than people in Ghana, and it would switch from paved to dirt, paved to dirt. There are no lines painted on the road; nobody would follow them. Cars and buses weaved in and out of traffic, passing each other and avoiding the especially deep holes. I was crammed into the back seat next to the luggage, so I tried to sleep for most of the journey. When I wasn’t sleeping, I played with my new camera to figure out all the settings. I couldn’t hear much of the conversation, so I watched the palms and ivy pass by covered with the dust of each passing vehicle.

We went through a series of villages, then suddenly arrived to the correct one. We turned off the main road and found ourselves at the home of Stephen, Sr. The home is modest compared to the homes in the States, but here, it really is a mansion. The white stucco and tin roof doesn’t contrast with the homes around it, keeping down the house’s pride. The interior, although inferior to houses I’m used to (maybe not my parent’s house haha), is immaculate. There is electricity, fans, and A/C units in every bedroom. There are kitchen appliances, running toilets, a TV, and furniture. Now that I have seen some of the other houses around, I am grateful we have a place like Stephen’s to live.

I am grateful for those things now, but I was not ready for life in Abomosu. Walking around the city and being an eyewitness to the lifestyle was eye opening. I share a bedroom with Allan, who left his wife in the States. Our bedroom only had two beds and a small desk, and I definitely was expecting at least a closet rod to hand my white shirts. My was so uncomfortable, causing me back pains and lost sleep, but how do you say that to somebody who is just happy to have a mattress?

Luckily, I had a quick adjustment to the culture, and I found that if I flipped my mattress, it was much more supportive and comfortable. We did not start working right away. We had Saturday all to our selves, and Sunday we attended the branch here. The chapel is a 30-minute walk away, but the missionary couple that lives a few doors down from Stephen gave us a ride that morning. Stephen is the branch president for Abomosu, so he asked us to introduce ourselves and, because he found out we were all musically inclined, to perform a musical number (they never have musical numbers). I played the organ, meaning I played the keyboard with the organ setting as long as the electricity stayed on. Most of the time, the people spoke in Twi, the native tongue, so we couldn’t catch what points were made, although we did know the jist.

Sunset from Stephen's house

The foods here are not various. We have already had every meal at least twice, and it hasn’t been a week. For breakfast, it is porridge, eggs, and toast or Milo (a chocolate energy drink) and toast. Otherwise, it is red red (plantains and beans), curry and rice, ramen casserole, or jeloff (rice stuff). We had peanut soup with rice balls and chicken once (meat is a rarity), and we hardly have veggies. Fruit is abundant, though. Pawpaws (papayas) are in season, and oranges are starting to be. The oranges have a thick rind, and are actually green. We have had blood oranges too, but they weren’t sweet yet. Stephen says the oranges will just get sweeter as the season develops, and we will have a taste of pineapple before we leave.

Mosque in Asunafo

Monday was our first real working day. We were to meet Douglas in Ekorso (pronounced Acoso), and we took a taxi out there. We spent the morning visiting past loan recipients, and the visits hit home for me. These people couldn’t afford to start a business, but through the SEED program, they can now work. They can increase their capacity to create so they can sell more. They now have more opportunities or improved working conditions. I am very excited to deeply immerse myself in the work.

We walked back to Abomosu, which took about an hour. After lunch, we walked to Asunafo to meet more recipients. The recipients all report to the loan collector, and the collectors have introduced us to the recipients. Douglas and the collectors have been our connection to the ways of Ghana, taking us through the culture and helping us communicate with the people. The collector in Asunafo is the branch president for the city, so we also have a religious connection with some of the people.

Monday was a long day, but Tuesday was even longer. We taxied to Nkurakan (pronounced N-cra-kain) to have a meeting with the people there. We met in a shack-like Pentecostal church, where we sat in front of the residents and answered any questions they have. The program is familiar to most people, because the project started two years ago. Beverly and Allan will teach the classes there, but Garrett and I have to travel through Nkurakan to get to the village where we will teach, Amonom.

After our meeting there, we rushed to Amonom for another meeting. We met with the Elders of the village, who were slightly skeptical of our program at first, but soon welcomed us. The meeting here felt more formal than the previous meeting, but it was run similarly. After we introduced ourselves, the Elders introduced themselves, and Douglas spoke to the congregation, in Twi, about our program. After, the floor was opened for questions, and we arranged class times. The meeting was adjourned, and we trekked farther down the road to Akokom for more collections and to meet more people.

Asunafo

Most of the people we met in Akokom had already paid off their loan and will be attending the second time funding class. Beverly and Alan will run those classes, and Garrett and I will host another city for second time funding. The people were especially nice here, and the collector, Issac, gave us some sugar cane to try. It was so delicious! He shaved the cane right in front of us, hacked off a piece with his machete, and gave it to us to suck on. You don’t eat sugar cane; you just chew and savor the sweet juice that comes out, then spit out the rest. After the juice is sucked out, it feels like you are chewing on wood, but it never has a bad flavor. He gave us the shaft of sugar cane so we can finish it later.

Ama, a loan recipient from Akakom

We were late for lunch (when we are late, the food just sits on our little table until we arrive to eat). Our break time was cut short when David, the collector for Sankubenase (pronounced San-cu-ben-a-si) knocked on our door to have us go with him. We taxied to the closest town to Abomosu to meet the Sankubenase recipients. Most of them were new, because they just had classes this last summer. Also, Sankubenase has a chapel, but those are the only three in the area (Abomosu, Asunafo, and Sankubenase).

There are only a few things I really don’t like so far. First, everywhere we go, we hear, “Obroni, Obroni,” which means white man. The children call out to us because white men mean free things. We cannot go outside with out hearing it over and over and over. We are here, partly, to change that mindset of free things. We want to encourage work and self-sufficiency, not handouts and reliance on foreigners. The other thing I hate is the shower. The water is freaking cold, there is no pressure, and it is not relaxing one bit. The shower is a hand-held fixture, so I quickly get wet, turn off the water, wash up, quickly rinse off, and I am finished with in three minutes. At home, the shower is a sanctuary, but now, its just a dreaded ritual. I will admit, the times when I am hot and sweaty make the cold shower fine.

I am starting to love it though. It is coming slowly, but the more that I work, the more I get excited and feel dedicated to the program. I keep thinking of the end: it will be snowy and freezing when I get back! And it seems so far away! But I will put my head down and keep trucking!                                                                                              

Issac (middle) and children from Akokom