The Picture Project

I've just returned from 9 days up at Lake Bosumtwe with a mission team from Alabama's St. Thomas Episcopal Church in Birmingham, and First United Methodist Church in Sylacauga, led by Father Stephen McWhorter. It was an interesting mission trip, perhaps not the one they had planned for, but certainly the one God wanted (to read Andrew's thoughts [click here]). On the afternoon of the last day, we tried something I'm calling The Picture Project. I had hoped to do it the first afternoon, but as so often happens in Ghana, events conspired to prevent us. So now its Friday afternoon and either now or next time or never.

The idea came after last year's mission trip [read about it Blog1, Blog2] when so many pictures were snapped of the people who came to the free clinic. As we were planning this year's trip, I asked Andrew to have the team bring 50 or so prints of those pictures so we could give them out to the people in the village. I am pretty sure I was the only one who got the significance of what we were planning to do, but folks went along with me anyway.

So on Friday afternoon, Jody, Cherry, and Sidne joined me on a stroll into the village, where we showed the pictures to one of the shop owners, and asked "Do you know any of these people?" and then "Can you take us to them?"

[shop owners with pictures]

Turns out only five of the pictures were from that village but still the experience of handing out those five pictures was nothing short of wonderful. Understand that by and large people here do not have pictures of themselves. Our previous guard Daniel once showed me his whole collection, about six pictures in all, dating from when he was in the Ghanaian Army, to the different jobs he has had, to one of his family taken long ago. I added several to his collection, and he was most appreciative. So when we brought these pictures to the village, and found the people in them, it was great fun to watch them study the pictures and smile.

Here is what it looked like, both the picture we gave out, and then them posing with the picture.

[Lady –by Margaret 2/07]

[Lady holding the picture 5/08]
[elders by Margaret 2/07]

[elder holding the picture 5/08]

[old ladies by Margaret 2/07]

[old lady being given the picture by Sidne]

[old lady with picture of old ladies]

[Jody & Cherry take a picture of the kids]

[…then shows them the picture…they all cheered!]

[then snaps his picture with them]

[daughter by Steve 2/07]

[proud father by Jody 5/07]

[two girls by Steve 2/07]

[mother of two girls & shop owner 5/08]

Final Thoughts – It was a good feeling I had walking up the hill after handing out pictures in the village. There is something about it that felt so right: meeting people where they were, and giving them something they need. It wasn't like when I went on a Mission Trip to Belize, and felt like the Great White Father, handing out junk as trinkets that was just not appropriate, that and the guilt of knowing they were most likely made by Chinese prisoners or child labor. Oh, they were gracious enough, but I could tell, they were just being nice. They did not need or want our junk.

But this time, people were excited about what we gave them and it was good for us to get out of the clinic area, and be with people where they lived, or waiting for them in the courtyard (which serves functionally as a living room) and of course seeing the look on their face as they stared into the eyes of the photo wondering is that me?

You see I am not a doctor, or nurse, I can't do dental work, or manage large construction projects, I can't dig a bore hole (well) or learn languages easily, so on most mission trips I don't feel very useful. Sure, I can smile, play guitar, take pictures, and pastor people, but these are not the things that by and large needed in the developing world. My skill set is much more attuned to the already developed world, so at the end of the day on a mission trip, I don't often have that feeling of accomplishment that I sense that others do. I often wonder: What did I really do today that made a difference?

[Cherry headloading YaYa's load]

So I guess what I liked about The Picture Project, was the feeling of doing something good and connecting with the people of Amakom. This picture of Cherry about says it all, and couldn't have happened if we had not gone to the village. It is said that the three components of a good mission trip are connecting with God, connecting with the people you came with, and connecting with the people you came to serve. We had done well on the first two, and that last Friday afternoon we got to do third. It was a good trip.

[Beck with all his new found friends]
(who followed us back to the clinic)

Kumasi with Anna - Adinkra

One of the interesting things about the different accounts of the life of Jesus as preserved in our New Testament, is the ordering of the events. Mark & Matthew pretty much agree, John is just way different, and Luke has the same events as Mark & Matthew, just a different travel itinerary. The Kumasi blogs are written from the Luken tradition, or as my dear former pastor David Gilliam used to say about the Bible, "I'm not sure it happened that way, but I know its all true!"

Visiting the "Adinkra Village"

The next day Anna and I visited Ntonso, one of the main Adinkra villages just north of Kumasi, and very near Ankaase, where we had spent the night with Cam & Anne Gongwer [http://buchele.blogspot.com/2008/04/kumasi-kente.html] Osei, our Kente Village guide, had lined up a guide for Ntonso, a friend of his who was trying to replicate the village tour of Adanwomase, but has, in my opinion, a long way to go. At the end of the tour I tried to buy two yards of Adinkra cloth to have a funeral shirt made and the artist wanted $60, that’s $30 a yard. I could buy a whole piece (that’s 12 yards) for $70. I offered him $10 (twice the going rate), and he got offended (something I’ve not seen a Ghanaian do before in the bargaining process). Usually, when a seller quotes a ridiculously high price, and I counter with an equally ridiculous low price, we all laugh, and then inch (or should I say centimeter) toward something reasonable. But not this guy, which is why I didn’t come away with any Adinkra cloth, something I really wanted to do, even though I know Suzanne would (quite rightly) ask, “What are you going to do with that?!” So I guess I should be thankful, but…

I grew up with a dark blue Adinkra cloth that was used at one time or another as a bed spread, table cloth, or chair cover. I carried it around through college and its afterlife as a reminder of Ghana and today, wish I knew what happened to it. I suspect it didn’t survive a washing after it started to smell musty, and got washed. Adinkra cloth is never to be washed.
Years ago, Adinkra cloth was only to be worn at funerals, but today, its symbols are all over Ghana, but the black on black cloth is still reserved for funerals.

[Funeral Clothes – picture by MB]

The process is an ancient one, passed down from one generation to the next, one that still uses the traditional materials of root and bark from two different trees. First the cloth is made black in a several step process using dye made from the roots of the Kuntunkuni tree, which is comes from Northern Ghana. For the symbols, its a black and shiny, thick dye, that is made from the bark of the Badie tree. First the bark is separated, then boiled, pounded, then boiled, strained, then boiled, and boiled again until it its a thick syrup, which they call medicine or adinkra aduru.

[Badie Tree bark for the dye stamp]

[boiling pots] - notice the non-traditional engine blocks, or brocks as they are called here. [Anna helps pounding it]
[each pots reduces it, until it’s a a thick syrup]
After the medicine or adinkra aduru cools, Adinkra stamps are dipped in the thick, syrupy dye and either stamped on the cloth, or silk screened on to it and left to dry in the sun.
[box of Adinkra symbols stamps]
[close-up of the stamp, NYAME BIRIBI WO SORO - "God is in the heavens," which is symbol of hope and a reminder that God's dwelling place is in the heaven, where he can listen to all prayers.

[silk screening symbols]

[black on black cloth drying in the sun]

Though stamping is the more traditional of the process’, I’m seeing the product of silk screening more and more, and the dyes are now a days other colors, like brown.

For more information on the meaning of Adinkra Symbols, [click here], or for a fun kid activity follow this link to Oxfam.

The Irish are Coming!

Last week we hosted an advance team from Northern Ireland who came to get the lay of the Lake Bosemtwe before a much larger team comes in July. This team was James, Alex and Rachael. Now I had met Rachael last August about our 3rd week in Ghana at the tail end of her seven week stay. It was Rachael’s Aunt who started the clinic at the Lake Bosumtwe in the 70s, and James, who is Rachael’s Dad, and had visited the clinic some 30 years ago.

The plan was for them to arrive on Thursday night and then drive up to the lake the next day, except that Rachael “ate something” at a Boxing Day Celebration, and became violently ill 9 hours after arriving in Ghana. So did 12 of her kinfolk back in Northern Ireland.

And then the excitement started. Rachael had been camped out in the upstairs bathroom all morning, but then came down to sit with those who could hold food down when suddenly water came gushing down the stairs from the bathroom. Lots of water. The tub had been leaking for months, but never like this. I’d told the landlord about the leak, and now for some strange reason just happened to show up that day, and thus began the cascade of plumbing failures.

The story really begins in October 2006, when the ball float on our pressure tank “got spoiled”. Understand that water pressure in Accra is myth, sort of like fiscal responsibility in the Federal government. To compensate, most houses have a pressurizing tank located above the house, usually on a tower, think of each house having its own private water tower. Inside the tank is a ball float cut off valve (just like the one in your toilet) that cuts off the pump from over filling the tank, except in the case when it gets cracked, and can’t float. So when the tank is full, water comes pouring out of the tank. Imagine this happening 2-3 times a week, water running down the uprights of a three story tower with a large, full tank on it. The footings get soft, it begins to lean. We call it the leaning tower of water. I mention this to the landlord most times I see him. There have been a number of plumbers out to look at the problem, most cases the solution is to replace a certain section of pipe with two elbow joints on it. I’m not kidding that section has been replaced 11 times since we’ve been here—but not the ball float.

So I’m outside showing the landlord where water has been leaking outside the bathroom and again mention the tank, but add that it looks like he will be remodeling our kitchen soon, as the leaning tower of water is poised to land on kitchen when it falls. So he calls his plumbers and surprise the replace a section of pipe near the two elbows and as a bonus, add a booster pump to whole mess. Now we have fantastic water pressure, which blows out some of the weaker joints, and guess what…water still over flows the pressure tank because the BALL FLOAT is CRACKED, but now it overflows at hyper speed. Next time I see the Landlord, I explain the problem, but now the tower is so leaning that his boys won’t climb it to look inside. When we come back after New Years week-end, the tower has been replaced and the tank is sitting on the ground. I look inside and guess what I see… a cracked ball float. There is a lot of detail missing like being without water, things stolen or ruined, workmen in the house day after day, cementing and tiling the tub back in place without testing that the repairs worked…they did, but spoiled the water heater.

[cracked ball float]

So all this is happening while the Irish are here, or up at the Lake, but getting back to the story. James and Alex waited around all morning hoping Rachael had emptied her last so they could all leave to the Lake, but soon after they left, it wasn’t five minutes before they were back, dropped her off. Thirty minutes later we were at the hospital. “You don’t have to stay,” Rachael kept telling me, “I will be fine.” I knew that, but I kept thinking of Grace (our daughter at boarding school in Japan), how if she were this sick, I would hope there would be someone to care for here there. Grace and I stayed the day, Suzanne the night, and then I was back there again to help her check out—a non-trivial exercise in Ghana.

[new tower AND new ball float inside!]

All better, mostly, we put Rachael on a bus heading north to the Lake, while we headed West for a few days to be at the beach over New Year’s. It was good timing as that’s when the real work began in the back yard, replacing the leaning tower.

Hours after we got back from the beach, so did the Irish, but this time with an excitement for the work God is doing at Lake Bosumtwe, and the part they get to play in it. They will come back in July with a team of 15 for a building project and village outreach. I only wish I could be around to help, but by then I’ll be back pastoring in Central Texas.

At first I thought I was back in "doing ministry business," even if it was only showing folks around Accra, or keeping Rachael company when she was feeling “rather dodgy.” Now I realize it was still a "being ministry," which felt pretty good too. Before the accident, I would have accompaned the team up to the lake, but now couldn't handle the travel on bumpy roads. So I was glad to be able to help in some small, small way.

Lake Bosomtwi Clinic, part 2

"So how was the mission trip?"

When a mission trip starts, I’m never sure how it is going to go, it could go well, it could go badly, and as the first day unfolds, I’m wondering which way it will go. Maybe its like a cutting down a tree, and the best you can hope for is for it to “fall well”. You can do everything right, and still with just the wrong gust of wind at the right moment, and the tree crashes into the house. I remember one mission trip, the last one I did with my youth, was supposed to be the best ever, and the last hurrah for myself and my then-to-be-former youth director, Paul. So much planning had gone into the trip. Paul had assembled best people, planned the best menus, put together the best worship services, even had the best location, and yet as fate would have it, we were paired with a church that for what ever reason, doomed it, causing the tree to not fall well, or into the house. It was a disaster, and most of the youth from that trip dropped out of youth group, families who had kids on it, left the church, and none of the adults who had volunteered for it ever volunteered for another mission trip (myself included). The tree did not fall well and we could see it happening, but couldn’t change it.

So mission trips are make or break kind of things and no amount of planning, preparation, or even repetition can insure it goes well. Afterwards, folks will ask you how it went, and they expect you to say well, or good, or great. For those going on the mission trip, the most dangerous thing is to pack in is a whole set of expectations about what it will be like. It is what it is.

[The two tired doctors]
On Wednesday morning, the free clinic opened, after we went to greet the chiefs. That morning, like the ones that would follow it, opened with prayer and singing and there were perhaps 150-200 people already waiting to see a doctor. Because this was the grand re-opening of the clinic, Andrew wanted to make a bit of a splash in the community so that everyone would know that the clinic doctor was back, and to do that, he invited Cam G. another missionary doctor from Kumasi to join Ju in seeing the patients. Together these two made a great team seeing upwards of 500 people. Ju ’s passion is children, and there were plenty to see, Cam saw everyone else. The mission team had brought “plenty, plenty” medicines but by the final day, they had run out of most of the malaria, pain, high blood pressure, and general infection meds. The first day, as I was working in the pharmacy, I watched one of the team nurses cringe as we counted out meds by hand. “I’d get fired for doing this in the states,” she said, but what else could we do? We would count out a week, or month’s supply and put them in a special zip-lock bag, writing the instructions on the outside. Then we would had the meds to the translator, and explain to him the procedure. He would explain it to the patient.

It occurs to me that the Jernigans will be living the more traditional missionary lifestyle, at least the one that most people have in their minds when they thing about missionaries. Living in a remote village with few modern conveniences. Granted their house is nice and inside it could be anywhere in the developed world, but outside and down the hill, it is still mostly mud brick homes, covered with crumbling stucco. For me it was exiting to be here for their first mission team, and second week at the lake. Even though they had just moved from Kumasi seven days before the team arrived, their home looked more “homey” than ours, and we’ve lived there eight months. It was the kind of excitement you get when you know that someday you’ll look back on this week knowing that you were there for the start of something great.

What will it be like for Lucas, or Luiza in five years? Will this be all they know or remember? Lucas is four, the same age that Grace was when we sold our house in Austin and moved into Seminary housing. It is the age Anna was I became pastor at Foundation, and so that community, especially that church is all they know and remember. What will it be like for Lucas and Luesia having so many village kids as their friends? Will God send Andrew and Ju a set of best friends to bless their lives there?

At the end of the day there were more people than time for the doctors to see them, and so some were going to disappointed. In the late afternoon, Margaret was hanging out in the “waiting room” area, really an outside porch/sidewalk and we could tell that the people were hungry and tired. Ju would comment that there was a spirit of uneasiness at that time. That first day there was only one seller, and she was selling these fried things called donuts, more like a really large donut hole. She was selling them for ¢1000, and all I had ¢12,000. So we bought all we could, prayed over them, and then began passing them out to those who were still waiting. We knew there were not going to be enough, and so some part of us was hoping for a miracle like the loaves and fishes. It certainly felt to me like a sacrament and inside I caught myself saying, “this is the body of Christ” as Margaret handed one out to every other person saying, “share, share” and the remarkable thing is that everyone did share, share.



[enjoying a 'bo-frute' , share, share]



In fact we had just enough for each person waiting to have half. I don’t know if there were just the right number of people, but I like to think God used us to do something small but really incredible. Later Ju would say that something changed in the people she was seeing, like there was hope again, I like to think we had a part of it all.

[By the second day, a whole market has appeared]
At night we ate a wonderful meal, and then gathered for worship and a time of reflection to help people process what had happened. We did this each night and I looked forward to hearing stories of what God had done that day, and where team had seen Him. Like in the 114 year old man, or the 4 month old named Grace, who was so sick with malaria, that most of the two page prescription had the words First Dosage: NOW and Leigh Anne and Brett had to administer her first dose of medication, to this very little girl. It was a different sort of sacrament I think, but just as life saving, at least in this life.

Like most of Ghana, the team got to experience “light out” both in the day, at night, and during dinner and worship. It was like I have experienced at my house, an incontinence that God uses to draw us together. I was reminded of another mission trip where there was a power failure, and how it turned out to be the most special time of worship, so much so that the last night we voluntarily worshiped in the dark.

[Even on light out, Ju studies her book on Tropical Medicine by flashlight (or torch as they say here)]

There is this point in a mission trip that you know it is going to go well, the team begins to gel, but not too quickly. People are actively engaged in their work, but still connecting to each other and to the ones they have come to serve. There is an excitement that second day, that there is still so much to do, and folks are not energized by the thought. By day two’s end, people are tired, but it is a good tired, a tired borne of fact that today, you made a difference, the world is better because God used you. It is the point that most teams start wishing they could stay longer, they see the need, they see how well they are working together, and how great it feels to be connected to something beyond themselves. Late in the day it is also the point when things start to happen because we’ve let down our guard, or started connecting more to the people we’ve come to serve than to the work of service. Its not a bad thing in itself, but how it is handled will reflect on how the mission trip ends.

[Lucas shaking hands with Louis]

For this trip it was some of the village boy being boys, and its unfortunate discovery by a tired doctor taking a break to be a mother. I don’t know if any mother could have handled it better, and maybe God will use this incident in some way, but when Ju stepped out of the clinic to take a break (or was it mother’s instinct) her first sight as she rounded the corner was Lucas, pinned by down some of the village boys he didn’t know, hurting him. Later we learned they just wanted to know if his cry was like theirs? It is. The incident could have really tainted the mission trip, and the Jernigan’s relationship with the village, but it was defused in such a graceful, yet stern way that it didn’t come to define the trip, but served more as a reminder that they have come to serve in a very different cultural. Later, Brett is on the porch of the guest house, pumping up footballs (soccer balls) and the village kids who see him doing this are in awe. They have never seen so many footballs in one place.

[Brett pumping footballs (thanks Margaret!) ]

Back at the clinic Dr. Ju started seeing patients, after Lucas was OK, but not joyfully, it was out of obligation. God sent her a old woman, whom Ju happened to think to ask, how long have did walk today? “Three hours,” she said and it broke Ju ‘s heart, to let God use her again. The woman had serious pain and other issues, and to think of her walking three hours more to go home, over God knows how many mountains, helped her put the problems of the day in perspective, and prepared Ju for the last patient, a child who had (I think) a descended hernia that required immediate treatment. So Andrew, Michael, and Father Stephen left in the Patrol, rushing off to the nearest hospital, or at least the nearest one that would admit the boy. Many hours and two hospitals later, he was admitted with the promise of surgery the next day. About 10pm they arrived back home, tired, but well used.

[football field carved out of jungle]

On Friday, the clinic was only open in the morning, and a 12 village football (or soccer) tournament had been organized by some of the clinic staff. The mission team had brought with them three large trophies to give to the winners. In the morning the coaches gathered to draw matches, but it was later that we learned that two bitter village rivals had drawn the sixth match. Even later we would learn that the rivalry was so bitter that these two villages had not played each other in ten years. We would also learn why.

[football] The plan was for six matches to be held on Friday, and the finals on Sunday, followed by awards ceremony and a film. All began well, there was even an announcer who gave the play-by-play on Andrews brand new sound system. The condition of the field was excellent, and unusual for Ghana in that it was all grass, and more or less level, carved out from the jungle that surrounded it. Most fields in Ghana are dirt. But unknown to us, about 100 miles away on Lake Volta, all seven generators at the Akosombo Dam collectively failed and the entire country lost power for 24 hours. Losing power in the remote village of Agyemen, meant sound system failure, and communication with the every growing crowd more difficult. You couldn’t just announce what was happening.

By the fifth game, it was getting really hot, the sun was overhead and tensions were high. Match five ended in tie, and so there was shoot out. I went back to clinic to rehydrate and rest. Some of the earlier teams had walked for two hours to play in this Gala, but it was the local teams, the bitter rival teams, that played in the sixth match. I wasn’t there but at some point there was a contested decision or shot that one of the villages did not like, and the crowds took to the field. Unfortunately, they also took with them clubs and machetes and began to fight. Obrunies were told to get out of there quickly, and some were taken into the bush for hiding. We are not sure how it all ended, and how no one was hurt, or at least came to the clinic for treatment. What we do know is that the Gala was suspended and then later canceled all together by its organizers, and the village elders were deeply embarrassed.

[football head shot]

For us on the team, it was another reminder that this is a very different culture, and as much as we might like to think it is similar to ours, it isn’t. Tread carefully. That night we slept behind locked doors and the drumming that had been so fun to listen to the previous nights, sounded more ominous, like the drums of war. Add to that a light out, and the team slept fitfully.

[billie, sidnie on boat]

Blessedly, Andrew had already planned Saturday as a day of rest in the schedule and so we took the boat across the Lake to its only resort where we spent most of the day (waiting for our food). That night we had a slide show, and didn’t know it at the time, but it would be our last time to gather for worship.

[Andrew, The Bishop, & a trilled Father Stephen]

On Sunday we went to two churches, the local one, and another miles away to witness the installation of a new bishop. There is nothing that can prepare you for the Ghanaian, or at least the Methodist Church of Ghana, worship experience. I can’t help but wonder what Brett, for whom this was his first experience, thought about it all. For me the most disturbing part is arriving 90 minutes late, and when the ushers see five obrunies walking up, two in clerical collars, they scramble to clear space for us. They also cleared space for the clinic staff, who sit behind us. I don’t know where the people who were sitting where we sat were moved to, or how they felt about it. Andrew and Father Stephen end up sitting up front between the two most powerful men in the room, and I wonder who was sitting there before? Where did they go? How much of the service is done for our benefit? Questions I won’t have the answers to any time soon.

[its hard to see in this picture, but there were about 500 people, michael is preaching]

Even though the Gala was canceled, the organizers still asked that we show the film in the village that night, so Michael, Sammy and I head down the hill late afternoon to hook up a portable DVD player, sound system, and projector. The location was a side of a building no one was living in, next to the road, so the overflow of the benches would be actual road through the village. Power came from a nearby shop via a very homemade extension cord. As people gathered we played Ghanaian praise music in Twi, which has a very Caribbean beat to it, so it felt like a party. When it was well dark, Michael gave an introduction, then Ebenezer, the Methodist Evangelist and clinic worker, lead the children in singing. I wouldn’t have thought of that it, but it really changed the spirit of the crowd. I wish you could hear their voices praising God, and rejoicing. Somewhere in the music the spirit of the people changed from curious, to anticipation that God was going to do something that night, and they wanted to be a part of it.

I’ve read and seen about films about missionaries who took technology into the village as a way to introduce Christ, but had always been skeptical of its effectiveness. Andrew and I have had this discussion, and he freely admits that the “wow factor” is technology driven, but when we showed the film, which told the basic Biblical story in detail, the kids, and adults heard it in their local language. Something happened. It guess it is one thing to hear about the Biblical story, but then to see it in full color, and hear the narrative in your mother tongue… the effect was profound. More and more people showed up, maybe they were just walking along the road, and decided to watch. Maybe they were in the village and curious. For me it was the people saying the Twi equivalent of WOW, when they saw something in the film. When it was over, Michael got up and gave a message, which pretty much all stayed behind to listen to, and then he prayed over them. It was a good night, God was honored, and I was wowed just to be apart of the process.

The last day of a mission trip is always hard. I never know when I'll see these people again. We have shared such an intense experience, and there is this part of me that doesn't want it to end. I don’t know what to say, or how to say it, all I know is that I’m forever changed by what has happened, and it makes me look forward to the next trip. I wonder if I went on enough of these mission trips if I would lose my since of wonder, if I would no longer be awed by the experience, of seeing God blessed in the people who have come to serve, and be served. I pray I’ll never learn.

So yes, the long answer is, it was a good mission trip.