Handfasting - Care for the Rope that holds you together.

This fall I was honored to officiate at a Wedding in Colorado in which a Handfasting was used.  Handfasting is a Celtic tradition in which the hands of both bride and groom are symbolically tied together.  At this wedding some of the grooms old climbing ropes used.  I liked how the couple introduced the idea as a how they would use a blend of some of his rock-climbing rope to bind their hands together.  This is meaningful because just as the rope had supported and preserved his life in the past, so will the marriage to this woman, his bride, support and preserve his life - and hers - in the future." 

There is a saying that “A cord of three strands is not quickly broken”, and I told the couple that about those ropes that would be used, and how they could be a metaphor for this new life they begin together, and spoke to the about what I thought these three strands would represent.

One stand would be the bride, another the groom, and the third the vows they are taking and that we have gathered to witness and bless. 

From an engineer’s perspective, ropes like these are highly overdesigned in that the safe working load is determined to be one fifth of the rope’s breaking strength.  So really you could by  on just one of these strands…right?  Then I asked the groom if he had ever trusted a climbing rope like that? 

The strength of a rope depends on its thickness, the thickness of the rope depends on it components and the components of this rope of marriage are the bride, the groom, and the vows they make to each other.

So what is the care and feeding of this rope?

According to REI, here are some simple guidelines:

Don’t step on your rope.  REI says that there is nothing that wears out your rope faster than stepping on it.  Besides possibly cutting the sheath on the rocks underfoot, stepping on the rope also grinds dirt and dust into the sheath and core, which increases unseen internal damage to the rope.

The same is true for marriage, I told them.  Don’t step on your marriage, don’t grind dirt into it; don’t walk all over your marriage and then expect it to protect you.  So don’t step on your rope.

Use a rope bag – a good rope bag keeps dust and dirt fro finding its way inside your rope.   Dirt impairs the strength, safety  and performance of your rope.

The same is true for marriage ­– You need to protect it, to have a place it can rest, away from work, away from the pressures of life, away from friends, and yes family.  Make time for just the two of you, doing something you both enjoy, and do it just because you enjoy doing it.  It doesn’t have to lead to anything, enjoying it is a good enough reason.   God knows you both in professions that are difficult and stressful enough on their own, protect your marriage.  So use a rope bag. 

Run your rope freely – Make sure your rope runs freely whenever possible.  There is nothing that will trash a rope like sharp edges or rough corners.  Let it hand free and encourage the twist to unwind with your hand.  

The same is true for marriage – Let your spouse be themselves, the person you fell in love with.  Give them permission to try new things, change, learn a new skill, and run free.  Don’t be overly controlling, allow them the freedom to be the person they are becoming.  Be patient and kind with them, support them in their successes. Some of which may eclipse yours, but don’t be envious, nor jealous but be supportive.  Let your home be a safe place to unwind. So let your rope run freely.

Avoid poor rappelling and belaying – Fast or jerky  rappelling, lowering and belaying can cause rope damage due to burning the sheath, as well as loss of control.   

The same is true for marriage – Avoid drama for drama’s sake.  Don’t intentionally jerk each other around.  In our house we try to follow the “no strife” rule, meaning we do not invite strife into our lives.  Imagine a door that is shut, and then imagine everything that is wrong with the world, or could go wrong, every type of evil is behind that door, and when you open that door, you are inviting strife it into your home,  and the worst part is knowing that you did it yourself, and once open, it doesn’t go back easily.

Mark the Middle, NOT – UIAA tests a few years ago showed that marking ropes with sharpies or felt-tipped pens can damage the rope; this even includes those markers sold specially for marking ropes. 

The same is true for marriage – Don’t mark up your marriage, don’t keep score, keep no record of wrongs.  You will have opportunity to practice this rule.  And each time you get to make decision..do I forgive,  do I learn to trust again, do I hope for a better tomorrow or long for a past that never was?  The decision is yours each time, and each time you keep score, or mark your rope, you weaken it.  Sometimes climbers mark the middle of their rope, and in marriage that leads to a 50:50 portioning of its responsibilities.  A friend of mine warned against that, explaining that every good marriages is based on the 60:40 rule.  That if you each contribute 60% to marriage, there will always be extra in times of need; and in your case, if you mark not the middle, but always make sure that you’ve let out 60%, your rope will never run out.  

Now…here is where the metaphor breaks down.  REI suggest that ropes must be replaced when damaged or when old.  And they give general guidelines, like after repeated falls, or every two years in traditional use, or 2-4 years in weekend use, or when damaged (by anything I mentioned earlier).

But unlike rope, your marriage has the ability to regenerate, to recover, to repair damage and to be made new.  All you have to do is care for it, keep the vows you made, and protect the love you have for each other. 

Your rope can climb mountains, it can move mountains, it can do all things and through it, all things are possible.

Today you both are putting your hands to this rope called marriage and being here today you are putting your faith in love of the person who holds the other end of the rope for you. 

Being here today you are giving hope to your shared future, so if you care for this rope, and it will take care of you both, and never run out.

Lebh Shomea: Lessons Learned.

Lebh Shomea: Lessons Learned.

So maybe lessons learned is too definitive. Lessons in the process of being learned might fit better because I seem to come back around to these lessons like seasons of the year. Again I learn or relearn is that I am doing too much that doesn’t matter, last or make a difference.

Inside the Sacred Heart Chapel

One day in community silent prayers I was convicted by something I read in the Gospel of John. Each day at 5pm people gather in the Sacred Heart Chapel and sit in silence until the dinner bell rings. Hunger leads to more effective prayer. I was meditating on what Jesus said about being bread of life, he cautions me not to work for food that spoils, but for the food that endures to eternal life. This hits home because I like to cook so much, even knowing that this effort is just for this meal; I like to play music with other musicians, knowing the songs do end, concerts do conclude; and so much of the weekly work I do for the church goes in the recycling bin because we done with it, its all food that spoils.

The Dinner Bell

Except for the relationships – the people at the dinner table, the musicians in the band, those who gather to worship, these are the relationships nurtured. It seems to me that it can’t all be food that endures to eternal life, there must also be some food that spoils, that is the tyranny of the urgent.

We have some coffee mugs from my first church, ones so old that now there is just faint reminder of their design. We were so proud of these mugs when they came out, and we worked so hard to get the design right. Those were the early days of that church when we really didn’t know who we were, or what we were becoming, and so much effort went into coffee mugs, webpages, bulletins, publications, none of which survive to this day.

What survived are the relationships, and yet what I spend the majority of my time on was the stuff that didn’t; didn’t last, matter, or make a difference.

It is like I have placed the importance on the coffee mug, but what really matters is what goes in it… the coffee. We need both, without the coffee its just a mug, and without mug, we don’t get the coffee. There is a balance between the mug, how it feels in the hand, and against the lips, together they complements the experience of drinking coffee, but in the end, it is the coffee, not the mug that is its reason for being. At Lebh Shomea instant is the only coffee available, so maybe I’m just jonesing for a real cup o’ joe.

Dining Room

I think this coffee-mug metaphor fits well with what I have come to understand this time as the mission of the church (that is why we do what we do):

Make Disciples
Disciple Believers
Wash more Feet

Understanding that to …
Make Disciples means to introduce Jesus to people in a positive way by who we are, and what we do with the end goal being of God becoming real to those whom we have introduced to Jesus to. But it does not end with the making disciples.

Disciple Believers means that we provide opportunities and the expectation that people will grow in their faith and understanding of the faith practices by connecting them to other believers. Together, communities are formed that gather for prayer and to study the Bible. I struggle with using the word believers, as if I am limiting it, confessionally, to professing Christians. I guess what I mean is that the leaders of the community would be believers, so that its focus always remains God-centered. Churches and Small Groups have a tendency to become self absorbed, inwardly focused and so the third component and so they need opportunities to look outside themselves.

Wooden Cross at the Cowboy Cemetery

Wash Feet or Wash More Feet means that there are opportunities and an expectation that the church will to serve others inside and outside its community, in either service or mission. Defining mission as something we do for non-believers (as the hands and feet of Christ), and service as something we do for believers (as their community of faith). I’m not sure if the word more is needed, but it does place the expectation that the church will ever increase its efforts in serving others.

By attending to all three (Make Disciples, Disciple Believers, Wash more Feet) God’s church helps people work out their own salvation. Salvation, I’ve seen in my readings this week, means more than just a single salvific or justifying moment that awakens our faith (and “saves” us). Salvation means becoming whole, and sanctification is that process or journey to which all believers are called to, one that leads toward their wholeness. Faith is but one component that journey, and seeking wholeness includes a faith that seeks understanding, that connects to a community, that putting their faith into action, that lives to make a difference, a difference that matters, and whose efforts ultimately last beyond themselves.

Sunset from the Tower of The Big House

Lebh Shomea: Listening

Lebh Shomea: Listening

The first thing I realize is how cluttered my life has become, our house, my office, my calendar, my thoughts. The rule of the house Lebh Shomea suggests that we keep our rooms uncluttered, in line with the beauty and stark simplicity of the place. In the silence, great conversations are held in as I alternate books, a chapter of Love Wins,(Rob Bell-2011) then a chapter of Healing Everywhere, (John Banks-1966); read in one setting without distraction or interruption. And then the conversations begin as I listen to these two authors separated by 45 years. Both speak to this concept of salvation, but in much broader terms than we in the church do. Rather than a single salvific moment that awakens our faith (and saves us), salvation could mean wholeness, a process or journey that leads toward wholeness, in which our faith is just a component.

Lebh Shomea is a place where concepts gain clarity. It is the place when I was serving my first church that the guiding principals of

Grow the Kingdom
Become more Christ-like

were realized. It was like God was saying “Steve, I know you’re not the brightest bulb in the box, and so I’m going to make it real simple for you, just have your church do these two things: Grow the Kingdom and become more Christ-like.” I brought this idea back to the church staff and leaders and asked them, so what do you think? I spoke with my mentors asking them if they could see any problem with these twin ideals. After a few years the church warmed up to these guiding principals and the idea took root, and remains today.

Its also this place where the silence of 2004 taught me the proper ordering of life,

God,
Family
and Everything else.

I council young soon-to-be-marrieds on this rule, that everything else is anything else that isn’t God and Family, so its your job, career, truck, guitar, previous life… and if you change this ordering and put anything else above God and Family, you are choosing to make it difficult for God to bless your lives together. Priorities.

The silence brings on an evaluative or contemplation of what one has done with their life, especially in the realization that the time I have left on this earth is less than the time I have already lived. It becomes natural to wonder what difference have I really made? The computer games I wrote after college only lasted a few years, the research I did at after that, who knows, there is some of my imbedded systems code running around on our fleet of subs, and then all the long hours spent serving the church. What have I to show for it? It’s vanity of vanities, as the author of Ecclesiastes (chapter 1) wrote. More and more I realize the only things that last are the relationships I’ve built with people, or as my supervising pastor used to say “Its all about relationships, Steve”. But relationships are hard to quantify, and they take time, and there is noting to point to or admire, and say job well done until the time to nurture them has long passed.

It is also the place that I began to understand the true mission of the church, at least as I see it. Now I know we say the mission of the United Methodist Church is to

Make disciples of Jesus Christ for the transformation of the world,

where disciple is used as a noun, and we measure those nouns by counting the number of people who made a first-time confession of faith, or are baptized. So one measure of our effectiveness in this mission statement might be to divide the number of new disciples by our annual budget, and it comes out to something close to $50,000/disciple  made (using 2009 figures, the grand total paid was $103,378,852, and in that same year 2099 professions of faith were recorded). I know that is crude, but if making disciples is our mission, then someone needs to say…we are not very efficient at it.

We need a broader definition of what disciple means. Instead of making disciples, the church could disciple people, using the word as a verb. Instead of the single event of making a disciple, it becomes a process where we disciple people; understood as a process, a journey toward wholeness. And so what I heard in the silence of 2005 was that the mission of the church (that is why we do what we do) could be:

Connect people to God
Connect people to those around them
Connect people to the lives they were created to live.

In other words, to help individual people connect to the divine, to be in community, to work towards living more fulfilling lives. Individually and collectively, we work toward this mission by attending worship, by being active in a Small Group, and by serving in some way that helps another person. Its not a radio button, or multiple choice, its all three, and when we understand and set the expectation that people in this tribe are on a shared journey that is always leading us to connect with God, to the people around us, and the lives God created us to live. Only by attending to all three do we seek the wholeness that is our salvation. But it’s a hard sell and few have caught this vision for the mission for the church. Maybe the connecting language doesn’t pay enough homage to the traditional mission of the institutional Methodist church, the whole make disciples thing. So this year the silence of 2011 brought me a refinement:

Make Disciples,
Disciple People,
Wash more Feet.

If we the church could just do those three things, maybe God would bless our efforts.

Next: Lessons Learned.

Lebh Shomea House of Prayer: Introduction

[The Big House]

Lebh Shomea House of Prayer: Introduction

It’s been a lifetime since my last visit to Lebh Shomea. When I was here last (November 2005), I received a txt from Suzanne, that we might be moving to Africa. Suzanne had just passed the first stage of three in the Fulbright process. Here it is five years, six months later and it is good to be back.

Lebh Shomea House of Prayer is a “House,” a “Community.” and a “School” of Prayer, a place of silence and solitude I have come to before.

Day begins at 6:30am when the bell rings awakening you for the daily celebration of Eucharist, followed by breakfast, lunch, silent prayers, and dinner. All in silence except for the spoken prayers that began the day.

The silence begins to work on me as soon as I arrive shifting from whatever panic brought me here, to the peace the place eventually brings. The name Lebh Shomea is Hebrew for listening heart. Each day sees guests arriving as humans beings on a spiritual journey, leaving days, weeks as into spiritual beings on a human journey.

Little changes in this place, especially in the breakfast and dinner menus, which are very simple. The Lunch, which is the main meal of the day, is always interesting cooked from what the ranch produces, and with the ranch hands and staff joining us, so lots of new faces.

By day two the silence is settling in, and by the fourth, complete conversations are had with nary a spoken word. What would the silence be like for those who come longer than a week, a month, a year, or a lifetime? For me 9 days will be enough, though I am intrigued by a longer 40 day wilderness experience.

[my room on the third floor of the Big House]

What - you’re not happy to see us?”

On Sunday the silence breaks between noon and 1pm when speakng is allowed at Lunch. Conversation is lively as we quickly learn the names of the friends we only know as faces from sharing worship and meals. Then a quick trip to the “beach” is organized for the afternoon. Beach is a generous term, but it is a welcome change from the silence of the Big House and there is more time to ponder, so what brought you to Lebh Shomea. And then Sunday afternoon comes, the enforced silence returns, and I miss the companionship. It think of Eat, Pray, Love (the book, not the movie), when everything is going well for Liz in Italy and then depression and loneliness …

They come upon me all silent and menacing like Pinkerton Detectives, and they flank me – Depression on my left, Loneliness on my right. They don’t need to show me their badges. I know these guys very well. We’ve been playing a cat-and-mouse game for years now. Though I admit that I am surprised to meet them in this elegant Italian garden at dusk. This is no place they belong.

I say to them, “how did you find me here? Who told you I had come to Rome?”

Depression, always the wise guy, says, “what – you’re not happy to see us?”

I am lonely after the day’s festivities, I had worked so hard to quiet my soul, to let my spirit catch up with my body, and now a bit depressed I have to do it all over again. But its part of the experience I’ve come to expect. One of the others who has been coming here off and on for 30 years says “there is only one rule to this place, keep you mouth shut…do that long enough and all sorts of stuff comes up you need to deal with.”

[The Beach]

I came knowing what I had to deal with: I needed to find my way back to the happy little associate pastor place. You see my lead pastor had taken an eleven week leave of absence, and left me in charge all through Lent and the five weeks proceeding it. Being in charge, I unpacked a whole box of lead pastor tools that wouldn’t work so well if he returned from leave. He did, and as part of our negotiations before he left, he drove me to the Greyhound station this stay at Lebh Shomea. The plan was to wipe down my lead pastor tools, and pack them away. As my previous senior pastor told me, “Steve, a Church can have only one pastor,” but that God St. Philip’s isn’t that kind of church.

So during my days here I’ve studied Rob Bell’s amazing new book Love Wins, involved myself in a lengthy Bible study on healing, reading books on Sabbath, healing, The Gospel of Thomas (which I’ve read every time I’ve come here), learning to pray in the Celtic Iona tradition. I thought about changes I want to make in my ministry and practice of life and took long walks and a ridiculous number of pictures.

Up Next: Listening…

Check it for Good

Check it for Good

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This is the final sermon in the series "Lost Luggage" - how sometimes losing your baggage can be a good thing. Given at St. Philip's United Methodist Church, Round Rock, Texas on 06-March-2011 at the Traditional Liturgy Worship Service in the Historic Turnersville Chapel.

Text: John 5:1-9

Music by The Chancel Choir, directed by Ms. Pat Butler


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We Go to Togo, part 2

Germany-Togo Monument in Togoville

Sometimes I think we place too much importance on safety.  That too much adventure is sacrificed on the altar safety.  Even making such a statement reveals an American bias, that safety is our choice, where as in most of the world it never has a choice.  I just know I feel more alive than I have in years, and that our life is an adventure worth living.  

child's drawing on a home compound wall

What I notice about Togoville is that the people do not seem happy.  I don’t know if this speaks to the rest of the country, but here the children do not smile or laugh. If we see them they are not playing but have a frightened, beaten down look about them.  Driving back from to Lome, I see only Catholic church buildings, and they are large, imposing empty structures.  I don’t see the Pentecostal home churches, nor the Presby or Methodist schools which are so prevalent in Ghana. There is no doubt that there is a Catholic presence in this part of Togo, but I don’t see evidence of much other religious influences other than the occasional mosque.   I long to travel north, to see how that part of the country differs. 

Downtown Lome, see all the moto-bike taxis

We stay in Lome for the rest of our trip, and it is wonderful, fun, and very tasty.  I wish Suzanne and I had discovered this when we lived in Ghana.  It would have been a nice and inexpensive week-end away.  The food in Lome is spectacular.  We see museums, visit art stores, hear music, eat delicious more French inspired food and buy Togolese cloth and clothes.  The art we see look much like the art in Ghana, only older and higher quality.  There are historic pieces I wish I could buy and much colonial era furniture that I dream about outfitting a house with. 

On our last night we come out from the restaurant and its raining.  It took us an hour to walk to this place, and now that it is getting dark, and the tour books sternly warn you not to walk at night; we look for a Taxi.

Now Lome has taxis but mostly its moto-bikes which serve as single person taxis that you see one driver, and one rider zipping around the city.  There is a thriving small business selling petro out of green bottles by the side of the road on small tables.  A moto-bike can fill its tank anywhere.

Petro for sale, by the litre 

If we were one, then I would catch one of the moto-bikes, but the last thing I want is to put my 15-year-old blond longhaired daughter on one and watch her buzz away out of my protection.  We wait, we try to flag a taxi and the rain really comes.  We start walking, and then a young man pulls in front of us on a moto-bike, motions for us to hop on.  I make the number 2 with my fingers and motion to both of us.  He nods, and motions with his head for both of us to get on. 

“Mom would never allow us to do this,” Anna says as we pull away.

“But Mom’s not here right now, is she?” I say.  People are cheering the man on, like either to say good for you, or maybe its against the law to carry two, but be brave. 

The driver is cautious, but still it is raining, the streets are slick, we are three people on a two wheeled machine, and I’m thinking, so where did I put that medical emergency evacuation card?  And then when I remember, and just how am I going to explain this to Mrs. Buchele? 

Now imagine Anna & Steve on back of moto-bike, and its after dark, and raining.

We direct him as best we can to the hotel which he doesn’t know, and of course, we don’t know Lome,  and when we get within a few block of where we think the hotel is, that is the streets have turned to sand, we motion for him to stop, getting off laughing, relieved, excited , and glad to be on solid ground again.  I give the guy twice what it should be and we’re all happy.  He rides away and the street seems to cheer with him. 

“WOW, that was fun,” Anna said, later posting a more descriptive account on Facebook. 

The hotel we stayed in had hot water, air conditioning, WiFi, and they took VISA, which sort of is the answer to the question: name four things we haven’t seen since the US.  It also happened to house one of the highly-rated French restaurants which we enjoyed lunch and breakfast at, especially the coffee. 

I think if we had not had such a bad experience in Togoville, we would have toured more, visiting the famous voodoo and fetish markets, but being pretty badly spooked, we stuck to what we could do well. 

In general we experienced the people of Lome to be good caring people, and their hospitality factor was as welcoming as the Ghanaians. 

Downtown Lome is home to another cathedral, and market places, and these push-carts that sell coffee and tea (with lime & sugar).  Their product is good, I only wish we had discovered it earlier.

Coffee & Tea by cart.

Then it’s a four hour ride back to Accra via TroTro, and when we get there, I have a hankering for some Ghanaian fried chicken and rice street food.  It is good to be back.  

Tasty Ghanaian Fried Rice & Chicken

We Go to Togo, part 1

After Suzanne left to return to the states, Anna and I took a few days to visit Togo. 

Good-bye pictures with Natalie before Suzanne leaves 

The Togolese Republic, or Togo is the French speaking sliver of a country to the east of Ghana, accessible through the border town Aflao, where we spent the night after taking the TroTro from Tema.  What is it about border towns that make them such armpits, that seem to attract the worst in people?  We arrive near and the town is frantic busy with people grabbing at us everywhere.  Money changers, taxi drivers, scouts.

The first hotel we try is an upscale (for Aflao) hotel that we decided would be nice, but not exactly what we are looking for.  The next hotel turns out to be the kind you rent by the hour, and the men at “reception,”, turned us away suggesting we try to Thanks Hotel.  Thanks Hotel is the kind of place that was once really nice, thoughtfully designed and still maintained, to some extent, but the staff working there, obviously the manager was away.  Maybe they are used to having a different kind of clientele, ones from the micro-culture of NGOs that our friend Natalie writes about [click here], but we found it difficult to get change from our bill even when the restaurant was full and everyone else seemed to be receiving change.  It also had a funny set of notice to lodgers, including: 

TO AVOID EMBARRASSMENT, CUSTOMERS ARE ADVISED TO MAINTAIN SANITY IN AND OUT OF HOTEL ROOMS

As soon as we crossed the border the food changed, most noticeably the bread.  In Ghana the bread selection is T Bread, Sweet Bread, or Brown Bread each which have a unique to Ghana taste and pretty universal availability throughout Ghana.  Ten feet across the border and all we see are crusty baguettes. They are wonderful.

Togo, a former French Colony, and before WWI, German colony, was once known as the Pearl of West Africa.  In its capital Lome,  we see its former beauty in pristine (but empty) beaches, sweeping boulevards, and crumbling colonial infrastructure. 

This trip we have become much more adventurous in our trying of street food; Anna and I have eaten more these four weeks in Ghana than we did as a family for two years.  In Lome the new street food we tried was called JonBo, or so said the rasta man who cleared a place for us to sit.

JonBo – a deep fried sausage in a french roll topped with grilled onions and tomatoes.

A Visit to Togoville

We visited the old capital Togoville, on the northern side of Lake Togo.  Accessible by Taxi (2 hours) or by prough (20 minutes).  In 1884 Togoville's chief signed a treaty with Germany giving them ownership over the present day Togo (and part of modern day Ghana) in return for her protection.   Some years later, the Germans built a magnificent cathedral.  

In the 1970s, the Blessed Virgin was reportedly seen on Lake Togo, an event that attracted a visit from Pope John Paul II in the 1985.  We looked for Mary, but all we saw was the rain as we crossed the lake.  Look at brave Anna watching the boat being bailed out before we get in it. 

The German Cathedral, as seen from the boat.

The German Cathedral, outside with bell tower.

Inside the Cathedral 

Notice the Lion and Eagle at the top of the stained glass window.

These Bishop's seats reminded me of Ashanti Stools

The Viewing Platform built for Pope John Paul II

Shrine to the Virgin Mary

Togoville Town Tour

Well dug by the German's in 1910

Steps to a compound

Fetish, notice the offering on RHS of picture in baskets. 

Fetish Trees, LHS is the male. 

Fetish to the Fetish Trees

I guess our visit to Togoville really soured us to exploring any more of Togo.  It was a dreadful place where everyone’s focus seemed on ripping us off.  When the boat landed, they wanted to charge us 20 Euro each to tour the town.  Both in Ghana and Togo, people assumed we were German.  $46 to tour the town, I said, “lets get back in the boat.”  “Oh no, my friend. You stay.”  Some tense moments followed, “Your price is too much, I will not pay,” I say. “Lets go.”   It was misting outside, and soon the real rain would follow.  I’m thinking about the boat ride back, the waves, and this town which feels so unsafe to me.  I don’t know how you are, but when I get in unsafe places, or ones that feel unsafe, the fun, easy going Mr. Steve goes away, and the pain in the __________, ugly Steve comes out.  

Anna hates that person, and so I’ve got these hustlers keen on ripping the very last CFA from our pockets, I got the rain, and soon it will be an out and out downpour, we’re in a town far away, one we don’t speak the language of, I’ve got the 15 year old I’m trying to protect, who is doing her best to turn this situation around by being positive and upbeat, and these guys who set of the same alarm bells as a mugger.  I can’t see a way out of the situation, so I take a path of least resistance.

We take the town tour, but I only tip the guy, and really seemingly everyone else in the town, just to get out of that place.  If you are reading this blog and think that Togoville sounds like a fun place to go, think again.  It is an awful, terrible, evil place. 

On our way back, Anna and I process what went so terribly wrong, contrasting it with Ghana.  We’re also looking to exchange more money since this little trip cleans us out.  In Accra, there are those who very good naturedly try to separate you from your Cedis, but they do so in a more or less fun way, so even if it does happen, you don’t feel so bad about it.  But the further you get from Accra, the cheaper prices are and more easy-going people and prices seem to be.  Our Togo experience was just the opposite, the further we get from Lome, the more it felt like extortion, where the price we pay is for our safety.