A Breath of Fresh Air

Heat. Travel. Unstable electricity Things not working. Heat. Things needing repair. Going to town to buy something only to find out "It is finished." Internet issues. Heat. Driving a motorcycle to villages in the strong sun. Not "seeing" any change/growth in the church or congregation. Wondering if "anyone hears." Heat. All of these may seem like small things. But, day after day, they can wear on a person.

Enter, a breath of fresh air. It came in the form of six people from Highworth Community Church, Highworth, Swindon, UK. They came to Lawra for a couple of reasons, one being to encourage me in my ministry, see what God is doing in this part of the world and to pray. And, pray, they did!

They prayed at the clinic.

They prayed at my house.

They prayed at the market.

They prayed at a funeral.

They prayed in Kunyukuo and they prayed in Kalsagri.

One of the things that this team did was to pray throughout my house - a house blessing. I was touched by the faith and conviction with which they prayed...and the blessings they prayed. 

We also had "down time" to share stories of life and faith.

Of course, some were more tired than others!

On Sunday morning, Pastor Matt and the group taught a song to the congregation. His sons did a drama to reinforce the morning Scripture. Then, he preached. It was really nice to hear a sermon in English! I know that all who were present were blessed.

Pastor Matt preaching in Kunyukuo.

All too soon, their time was up and the group had to leave. Lots of farewells and hugs and blessings were given. The visit was short. But, it was enough to strengthen me, to let me know in a concrete way that I am not alone here in Lawra, that others are here with me. (That is easy to forget since I get so few visitors and rarely anyone not connected with TMS Global.) I pray God will continue to bless Highworth Community Church, its leaders, and their mission focus. 

Who would have thought this partnership and friendship would happen? God is so good! Only He could have orchestrated this. Thank you for visiting. You are welcome to come back anytime. The door is open.

Flexability, a Lifestyle

As an American, I like to plan out my schedule...plan my workday, plan my weekends, plan my traveling. I want to know, "When? Where? How? Why? How long?" That doesn't work here. I love the fact that each of my days are totally different one from another. They start the same...coffee or tea, time with God, then, I "go to work." Even if I plan something, it rarely goes that way.

On a recent Saturday, I traveled on my motorcycle to Kunyukuo to be with the mother of a child who had died. As I was with her, I received word that the step child of a church member in Kalsagri had died and the burial would happen soon. So, I hopped on my motorcycle and I was off. (Rev. Clifford, Razak and Steve were there, too.)

When we arrived at Kalsagri, we were greeted by family members and taken to a shady spot to sit. A cold drink was given to each of us. As we spoke with the family, we discovered that the minister of the deceased was not able to come. So, Rev. Clifford was going to do the grave side service. He had no liturgy book with him. But, I had my phone with me. So, I "Googled" Christian burial service" and found several. We were ready! When the time came, Rev. Clifford preached, Razak translated and I helped out with the prayers. We all worked together and God was glorified. The grieving family was most appreciative. And, when we left, we knew we had done the right thing.

Did we have other pland for the day? Yes.Did it matter? No. We went where we were needed. It was a God appointment. This or something similar happens ALL the time. Flexability has to be part of life. If it isn't I wouldn't survive. I guess another way to put it is I need to always be looking for how God intends to use me. It's right in front of my eyes. Lord, may I see the opportunities You set before me.

Uncompromising Faith

Esther is a member of the Kunyukuo Methodist Church. Recently, she received word that her daughter had died down south. The daughter, who was not yet 20 years old, had left the village to travel south hoping to find a job carrying things at market.. Esther traveled to the south for the burial and funeral. But, there also needed to be a funeral in her home village, too. Her culture requires this to happen.

Esther is a follower of Jesus. Her ex-husband follows the Traditional relion. So, when the time came for the Traditional rites to be performed on the parents of the deceased girl, Esther refused. "I am a Christian. I will not take part in these rites." she said. The community elders were not happy. They wanted both the mother and father to participate and, among other things, have their heads shaved. I was notified of this situation. So, I hopped on my motorcycle and traveled to Kunyukuo to meet with the family and some of the elders of the community. A compromise was made, one that was satisfactory to both parties. On the same day and at the same time as the Traditional rites for the father of the girl, the mother, Esther, would meet with us and the pastor. We would have a Christian counterpart to the Traditional rites. 

Saturday, the day for the ceremonies to take place, had arrived. We drove out to Kunyukuo and met at the house of Ester's ex-husband. Chairs were set out. Water was offered. Greetings were made. And then, the service began. The pastor preached an appropriate sermon. Songs were sung. Hands were laid on Esther and we prayed for her. And, soon, it was finished.

I had been touched by Esther's faith. She did not compromise in a difficult situation. Her faith held firm. I don't see that very often. Most times, a little bit of both traditions is done. But, Ester held onto her convictions and was not afraid to speak up. I asked if I could speak. I commended Esther for her faith. And, then I did something that I didn't plan. It was most likely an American thing, totally against culture, but people didn't seem to mind. I took off my cross necklace that I had been wearing since I came to Ghana. It has the word "faith" written on the side of it. I put it around Esther's neck and told her to continue sharing her faith. This cross itself has no power, but, Who it represents does. I encouraged Esther to tell her story of faith in the One True God when people asked about the cross she was now wearing. Then, I sat next to her, and we grieved together. I pray that the Lord will continue to keep Esther's faith strong until the day she sees Him face to face.

A Tamale Funeral

The funeral notice.

Thursday, January 7, 2016, I traveled to Tamale with a good friend and ministry partner, Razak Abdul Iddi. We were going there to attend the funeral of his Auntie, Stella Nitori, who was an amazing woman! I left my house at 3:45 AM to walk to the tro tro station where I was picked up by Yaroo, the driver. Razak joined us a few minutes later. It was a full car! We proceeded to Wa, where we went to the Imperial Station to buy tickets for Tamale. We arrived at our final destination around 1:30 in the afternoon. I was exhausted! After a nap, we went to the family house to greet everyone. I met relatives from near and far who accepted me as one of their own.

Julius and myself in our "proper" funeral wear with bags from the Lawra area.

There was no viewing of the body at the family home. The first "formal" part of the funeral was a mass at the Catholic Church Friday night. So, Friday, we hung out at the family house, greeting people and getting to know one another, waiting for family members to arrive from all over Ghana and points beyond. And remembering...  I thought there would be viewing at the church, but, I was mistaken. (This was a Tamale funeral, much different from a funeral in Lawra. So, I was definitely a learner in this situation!)

The funeral mass - notice the lights INSIDE the casket!

Saturday morning was the Mass of the Resurrection. I arrived at the church before 9:00 for the 9:30 Mass. There were plenty of people there already, all standing outside, choir singing, choristers singing, each group Stella was involved in, taking their turn. When the time came, the six priests and the bishop came out to say their prayers and escort the casket inside the church. Crossed swords, from the Knights of St. John, made an arch over the entry way. Then, Mass with lots of singing, both in English and in the local language. Muslim, Traditional believers and Christians all gathered together in church to celebrate the life of this woman! The family gave testimonies about their loved one's life. At the end of it all, the top of the casket was undone and the entire congregation lined up and passed by. (This was the only time the casket was open.) Next, burial on the grounds of the school that Stella started. After the burial, there was plenty of music and dancing, eating and drinking and talking with people.

Musicians at the family house - tradition has it that you dance, or give them some small money.

Sunday, a Mass of Thanksgiving for Stella's life was said. Then, back to the family house for eating, drinking, visiting. Stella's sons then traveled to the village of Savelugu to see the Yoo Naa (the chief.) Since the deceased husband was part of the royal family, the funeral had to be "passed on" to the village and her death formally announced. 

Razak dancing at the funeral festivities at the Yoo Naa's palace.

Monday, late afternoon, we all crowded into cars and trucks and hopped onto motorcycles to travel to the village of  Savelugu to begin the funeral "festivities." Plastic chairs were set up in the street, making a circle around the space left for dancing. The local musicians came and started playing. They would choose a person and that person had to get up and dance, or give them a small amount of money. As a person danced, money was placed on their foreheads. The money was used to pay the musicians. There is actually a CD of me dancing at the funeral!

The village musicians.

The next morning, Tuesday, we went to the village early. The women made sure I stayed with them and took good care of me. We all filed into one of their rooms and sat around and looked at jewelry that was for sale and just talked "girl talk." It was nice. Then, we went back outside where others were preparing teezert and groundnut soup to pass out to extended family in the community. The men had gathered to say their prayers for the deceased. (The people in the village were mainly Muslim.)

Tradition calls for the family to cook for the much larger extended family in the village.

After the prayers and the food, the funeral rites were finished. Then,we went to see the chief. After a short visit, when we were all leaving, the chief called to me and asked if I wanted a picture with him. I went up to him and he gave me some kola nuts, a sign of peace. We greeted each other, pictures were taken, plenty of pictures and plenty of laughter was had! We left the village early - before noon! After that, it was relax, rest and pack to return to Lawra the next day. These few days in the Tamale area opened my eyes to a whole other Ghanaian culture. And, has given me a new Ghanaian family! I thank God for this opportunity and privilege. 

Life in Lawra - Sunday

Yesterday was Sunday. In my mind it was a "day off" because I didn't have to preach. I woke up early and made croutons to serve as a snack later in the evening when I was going to have guests. After that, I made a tuna macaroni salad to have after church. If I made it before church, it would have time in the refrigerator, so it would be cold when I ate it.

I drove my motorcycle out to Kalsagri so I was there by 9:00. Church was not starting until 10:00 because the Superintendent Minister was coming to do a Thanksgiving service for a woman who had died two weeks ago. Plus, he was preaching and serving communion. Thus, my "day off" feeling.

When I arrived at church, the benches were set out, but nothing was ready for communion. The plates and cups were so dusty and dirty. So, I sent a couple of people up to the borehole to fetch water. I had a few anti-bacterial wipes in my backpack that we used to wash the things needed. When the water arrived, very cloudy and dirty looking, we rinsed the dishes. Then, we were able to set up for communion.

Since most of our singers and drummers had traveled south to try to earn money, our song leaders and drummers were young this week. They did a fine job. 

Later, as others arrived, the children went to the children's service and the adults took over the singing and drumming.

We sang plenty yesterday. The pastor had to preach and serve communion at the Lawra church before he came out to Kalsagri. He had told me that he would "fast track" the service in Lawra. Someone finally came who could translate for me, and we started the service. Scripture was read, songs were sung, visitors were introduced and welcomed, prayers were prayed, announcements were announced, the offering was taken...still no pastor. The "day off" feeling had long since left me. Where was he? Oh, one more song...he finally arrived, at 12:15! He once again welcomed the family of Afie, the woman who had died. People stood up and gave testimony of how Afie's life had touched theirs. The pastor did the Thanksgiving part of the service, thanking God for the life of this precious sister in Christ.

Now, it was time for the sermon..."Come to Me all you who hunger. Come to Me, all you who thirst..." Then, communion. The service was over by 1:30. So, I am thinking, "Yeah! Naptime!" WRONG! Someone had delivered a letter to Rev. Baiden early Sunday morning. It told of the death of a man in Techiman. He and his wife were from one of the villages of Kalsagri. Would the pastor please visit the widow and do the widowhood rites for the deceased man's wife. So, first we had to find someone who knew the family and knew directions to the family house. According to Tradition, the man was already buried, but the funeral and grieving were still going on. So, we "hopped" on our motorcycles, in search of the bereaved family. We did find them, but, then, we had to search for the man who had visited the pastor that morning. As we walked from here to there and from there to over there and from over there to...my knee was paining me with every step because of the arthritis. We did find the family house. We greeted everyone and sat down. We shared our mission of why we had come.

Then, the widow was found and brought to us. Again, greetings and sharing our mission. There was much discussion on when the widowhood rites would be done because the widow wanted to return to the south before she moved back north to the family house. She finally agreed to have the pastor do the rites now, while he was there. I didn't understand most of what was said because it was in Twi and Dagaare. So, I looked in my Liturgy book when I got home. First the pastor gave thanks that the two has said their marriage vows and were true to them. He had the woman put her hand in the hand of a male relative who would represent her husband. The pastor talked about the vow of living as man and wife until "death do us part." Now, death has separated them and freed her from that vow...and the hands were separated. He prayed that God would be with her during this time and again thanked God for their marriage.

He had the widow kneel. Then, as he prayed for her, she was anointed with oil. It was a short service filled with symbolism. I was glad that we could be there for the family.

I got home at 4:00 in the afternoon. I was exhausted. And, I was having guests at 6:30. So, I quickly ate and rested. Then, the sky was getting dark. I received a text, "Can I come early? Looks like rain." "Sure, come on over now."

So, Sarah and Sydney came over at 6:00 for our "girls night out" with Hassan, the three year old son of Sarah's fiancé. We watched it rain small, and watched the sky get dark and watched the candles glow as we talked and got caught up on each other's life.

The evening ended about 8:15. I was tired. I brought the things in and collapsed on my bed. It was a busy, but good, day in Lawra!







A Kalsagri Funeral

Early yesterday morning, I was informed of the death of one of the church members in Kalsagri, Afie Yongpugre Songneh. Afie was one of the older women of the church, one I called, "Maakum." (Grandmother)  Here, in the north, the body is "staged," items from the person's life surrounds them. Mourners come and grieve and throw coins on te ground. The coins will be used to pay the grave diggers.

The casket is ordered and made the same day. There are no casket shops! The calabashes and pots are broken underneath the staging area. Afie used these items in this world, and will need them in the next. This is how the transition is done. Next, goats were sacrificed. It is believed Afie will need these in the next life, also. 

The Very Rev. Ernest Baiden came to Kalsagri to lead the funeral service. After prayers, scripture and a sermon, which included an invitation to know Jesus as Lord and Savior, a collection was taken up for the family to help alleviate funeral costs.

Next, the graveside service. the family and friends of Afie formed two lines and the pastor, myself and the casket passed through, then, the rest followed.

The grave was hand dug, which is no easy task on the savannah. The earth is hard and I am sure a pickax was used part of the time. The step on the side of the grave was for the grave diggers to stand on while they straightened the casket inside the grave. 



 As the words, "From earth to earth" are said, a shovel full of dirt is thrown on the casket. The same for the words, "From ashes to ashes." And, for, "From dust to dust." The sound of the dirt and stones hitting the top of the casket are a reminder of our mortality...and Who gives us life!

Final prayers are said, a benediction and a song. Then, greeting the family, once again, offering our condolences and inviting them to the service that will celebrate Afie's life. Afterwards, we join the family under the mango tree and visit with family and friends before leaving. One topic of conversation...one of Afie's relatives wants me to be his second wife!!

I pray that the Christian example that was seen these past few days will speak louder than any words preached. Seeds were sown. Praise God!



Elijah Has Taugh Us All

A week ago, today, a friend of mine died. His Christian name was Elijah. Elijah was not always a follower of Christ. As a matter of fact, he was a Christian for only 21 months. But, in those few, short months, he was no longer living as the local soothsayer or Fetish priest, he was living for Christ. He was baptized a few months after becoming a believer. He was very active in the local church, always there whenever the doors are open. He prayed that God would give him a wife. And, God answered that prayer. Elijah had paid part of the bride price for her and they were living as man and wife for some time. Elijah had traveled to Techiman to find work so he could finish paying the dowry. He told the pastor before he traveled, "I am leaving my wife in your hands. Take good care of her while I am gone." Of course, the wife was still in the village, not at the pastor's house, but Elijah trusted the pastor so much, he knew that Rev. Baiden would watch over her. Anyway, Elijah arrived in Techiman but could not even alight by himself, he was too weak. A taxi was called and he was taken to the hospital where he died.

I could not believe the news when I heard that Elijah had died. I wanted to see the body. It was uncertain if the burial would take place in Techiman or here in the Lawra area, in the village of Yagtuor. After a lot of discussion and several phone calls, it was decided to bring the body back north for burial. Saturday was the funeral. When I first arrived at the house, Elijah was sitting in a chair, looking as if he was napping. The grieving, the mourning and weeping had gone on all Friday night, after the body arrived. Then, the body was taken inside of the house to change clothes. Elijah was given a smock, trousers and a hat to wear, all made out of northern cloth. He looked quite handsome, fit for a Naa (Chief.) The sat him in a chair, with a cross around his neck, a bow in his hands (he was a hunter), and Guinea corn and millet (he was a farmer) and a Bible on top of the bow. The wooden xylophones were playing the funeral dirges and people were wailing. The hand made casket arrived...a cross was put on it to symbolize Elijah's faith. I did notice that a couple of men took a stick and measure the height of the casket to make sure that the grave was dug deep enough.

Members of the church had come early to the house to grieve with the family. Later, in the morning, many, many people from several of the Lawra area Methodist churches came to morn, grieve, pray and give testimony to Elijah's faith and to speak on how his life touched theirs. Rev. Baiden held the service for a Christian burial. People sang and praised God all the way to the cemetery - he was buried in the Christian cemetery. The entire day was a testimony to how he lived the last 21 months of his life for Christ.

Sunday morning, the family came to the Lawra church to worship and to give thanks for Elijah's life. His senior brother said, "Elijah has taught us all the One thing that is important." Praise God. I pray we will all know that One Thing!

A Very Fine Send Off

This past Friday was the burial of Mr. John Kuu-Ib Beka. He was the father of a friend of mine, Rev. Lawrence Beka. "The Old Man", as he was lovingly called by many, died July 15, 2012. I could tell by the numbers of people attending the funeral and days of grieving that he was very much loved.

Funerals in the north of Ghana are quite different from those in the south. This funeral, though, had aspects of both mainly because of the age of the person and the position he held in society. In the north, the body is "staged." On Thursday, "the Old Man" was staged - on a platform, about six feet off of the ground, sitting in a chair. The platform had canvas around 3 sides and a roof, to protect the body from the sun. Mr. Beka was dressed in his finest. Around him were items and crops to represent his farming days. In front of the staging area were two rifles propped up, to signify the hunting he had done. he was also a blacksmith, so there were also tools of the trade displayed. Underneath the platform was the hand- hewn coffin, draped with northern cloth and a quilt. As people paused in front of the staging area, they would toss coins on the ground. These were later used to pay the grave diggers. Gyli (traditional wooden xylophones) players were constantly playing their music, only stopping to switch players. Coins were tossed there, too. This money was split amongst the players.

Friday, the body was in the casket. When I arrived at the Beka family compound (which is where the funeral and burial took place), I was told that they were preparing to have a service. Chairs and benches were set up under two trees in what looked to be a clearing in a corn field, which was actually the entrance to the family compound. Drummers from a near by village drummed in a somber distinct way. As I sat waiting for the service to start, I watched people come in from the path parting the field. There were many, many mourners. Some carried food on their heads to be given to the family, others brought minerals (soda pop) or alcoholic beverages, chickens and even a cow was presented to the family. Many just brought themselves and their grief.

After a bit, with the drum roll still playing, the casket was carried to the gathering by members of the military and set on benches. People gathered, sitting on chairs, benches, tree roots, cloth, pieces of tin, bricks, etc. to take part in the burial service. The grave was there, right before us. As the pastor finished his message, men were arranging the rope so they would be ready to lower the casket into the grave. Then, the time for the final farewell came and the coffin was lowered. The words, "From dust you were made and to dust you shall return" were spoken. And after each phrase, Lawrence shoveled some dirt onto his father's casket. I didn't hear the ending of the service. I was watching Lawrence at this solemn time...wiping tears from his eyes...and I prayed for him.

"The Old Man"'s middle name was Kuu-Ib, meaning we can't escape death. He couldn't. You can't. I can't. The question is, will you be ready? Will I? He was. Praise God!

Gurggisberg

In September I met a young man at the clinic. His name was Gurggisberg and he lived in the village of Kunyukuo. He was 12 years old at the time. The left side of his face was swollen beyond anything I could ever imagine. His family did not have the money to travel 10 hours away to pursue further treatment. Through the blessings from an American couple, Gurggisberg and his father received the funds needed to travel to Kumasi and begin treatment. When he returned to the clinic in October, Gurggisberg looked stronger and the swelling on his face had started to decrease. His father was told to return to the hospital if Gurggisberg was not getting any better. A few weeks later, the father they returned to the Lawra CHPS clinic. Gurggisberg had lost weight, his face looked worse and he was very week. They were told to go to the Lawra Regional Hospital so that Gurrisberg could get strong. They chose not to go.

At this point, I am so confused in my mind. How could parents allow their child to become so ill? Why did they wait so long for treatment? But, I also know, to some degree, the way people in this area live and think. Even with funding, travel to Kumasi is a burden on the family, especially if it is during any type of harvest. People don't realize how serious an injury, or an illness could be. They just do their best to keep their loved one comfortable.

When I saw Gurggisberg on November 20, he could not stand or sit. He could not eat. We told his family that he had to go to the regional hospital in Lawra so he could get strong so he could go back to Kumasi to the hospital. So, on the 21, they sandwiched Gurggisberg in between two people on a motorcycle and tied him on so he could make the trip to the hospital. We called a few times during the week. Gurggisberg was eating porridge – a good sign! Razak saw him on Friday and he had asked Zak for some meat. Zak bought him some & he ate two bites. Razak then had to go to Wa for the weekend to attend classes. Sunday evening, Razak received word that Gurggisberg had died at the hospital that day. He was 13 years old.

So, on November 28, Razak and I went to Kunyukuo for the funeral. Here in the north, burial is usually within 24 hours. I am guessing Gurggisberg died later sometime Sunday. As we approached the family home, we could hear the weeping and wailing of the women along with the mournful "song" of the gyil (wooden xylophone.) They had him “staged” – not really laid out, but sitting in a chair - and others were digging a grave in the distance. (On closer look,to me, the grave looked like a small circular hole. I was amazed at how a grave is dug up here.) Anyway, Gurggisberg was buried Monday night. It was thought that Gurggisberg had some type of cancer.

Meanwhile, at times I still struggle. And, I get angry with myself because I can see and understand so many facets of what happened. I can understand why Gurggisberg's parents did not take him for treatment. I also can't understand why they didn't take him. Why didn't they come for the funds to travel to Kumasi to the better hospital? Why did they allow him to get so weak? I know he was a burden to the family. I also know he was loved. Living in the Upper West Region is harsh, for the farmers, for the "professionals", for the families and, for the sick.

Gurggisberg’s father was especially grateful for the care, concern, prayer and provision given to his son by people he had never met. I pray that this experience will draw him closer to the Creator of Life and not away from Him.