Tema, Ghana
The day after the Winneba trip I was on duty and needed to stay
nearby in Tema, even though Accra is about 20 miles away, with the traffic it
can take up to two hours to get there (and my duty-dean radius is 1 hour). Patrick (the photographer), Jacques and I
decided to head into Tema to explore,
our only planned destination being the Church of the Prime Meridian (as you can
guess, it’s a church that the prime meridian runs by). The port of Tema is miles of industrial
bustle, and so there was a shuttle we could catch to right outside the port
gates. We took the shuttle out and then
caught a taxi into the Church of the Prime Meridian. After some fun shots straddling the meridian
(*which I don’t have. I slipped my
memory card into the cd reader instead of the memory card reader on my
computer, where it is snugly awaiting my return to the states. I did take apart my computer and couldn’t get
it, and I do not think “shaking it” is actually such a great idea—my computer
is working great right now, I’d like to keep it that way). After our mini-meridian photo-shoot, we
wandered in to the quiet church, only to realize that a service was
underway. It was cooler inside out of
the direct sunlight, and the high church walls were constructed in such a way
so that almost every other cinder block was missing, the design being to let in
light and air. We sat down on the back
benches as respectfully and quietly as we could, to observe a bit and let the
peace of the church wash over us. I was
acutely aware that 3 white tourists had just bumbled in to their
sanctuary. As I watched the service being
orchestrated by several leaders in several languages (including English), I
suddenly realized that everyone in attendance was a woman. Most were dressed in traditional
Ghanaian-print wraps/dresses. Several
grandmas and mothers had babies bouncing on their laps or wrapped on their
backs. At the exact moment that I leaned
over to Patrick and Jacques to comment upon this (I believe my words were, “you
guys, you’re the only guys here! I think
we should leave), one of the main leaders at the front said, “Our guests! You are welcome—come sit with us up
front. Please share with us what your
mission in Ghana is.” In the blink of an
eye everything changed. I learned so
much about grace and graciousness and welcoming in that moment, in that moment
where I felt like we had been intruding (we had), but with the magic of
compassion and welcoming words, we became a part of the service. We walked to the front, all eyes on us, and
were handed a microphone (which, mind you, hadn’t been working for the others
leading the sermon). Luckily, my two-day Winneba public speaking training
kicked in, and I started us off, describing our mission of bringing college
students around the world for greater peace, connection and understanding. After the three of us said a few words, the
main leader welcomed us to stay and hear the sermon, the topic of which was
listening—listening so that your spirit may soar. They prayed that our mission in Ghana would be
fulfilled. We stayed for the sermon, which was beautiful—“Find a quiet space so
that God can hear you” “Let your inner deity quiet it’s message of ‘I can do
this alone’ to hear other messages”.
There was the constant friendly beeps from the hustling and bustling
traffic outside, and the swaying of the women inside, with the Ghanian accent
lilting through the church. At one point
in the service we were encouraged to pray.
Almost everyone got up and moved around to find some space to talk aloud
to God. The leadership was shared by 4
or 5 women—two who led the main sermon, one who free-styled a bit, and others
who led us in song. They asked us for
any words of wisdom, and as several of our SAS elders had joined us at that
point, I deferred to them. At the end we
all stood in a circle and prayed/sang while holding hands. I left feeling full of gratitude, wonder, and
at the beautiful receiving end of so much grace. We popped outside to figure out what next—a
passing group of girls all dressed in mango-yellow dresses with silver hoop earrings
walked by—one of the them pulled her earring and pointed to my earring and
smiled, because they matched—connections are all around us! I then made them laugh by raising up my
sunglasses and showing off my matching eye-brow ring. We crossed the dusty busy road to get fresh
coconuts, and then crossed two more streets to one of the markets. The markets I went to in Ghana were
amazing—so much for sale, all laid out in chiara-scura labyrinths—dark shaded
stores with bright pathways. To my
US-centric senses, it felt a bit like going down the rabbit hole, a warren of
wares. Patrick was hilarious to trail
behind—he has such a joie de vivre and a playfulness to him—very bold and
connecting (I think my style is also playful, but a bit more sensitive/quiet). Patrick is a tall, muscular, lanky guy with a
buzzed head and a Castro-like moustache and beard. He’s got bright blue twinkly eyes and
typically wears a shoulder harness that has two cameras attached on either
side. I kept a list of
one-liners/comments that Patrick had on our market tour:
1. “Do you have any black
shoes?” (asked of a vendor who had nothing but black shoes—about 500 pairs.)
2. Thumbs up to another
bearded & head-shaven gentleman passing by, who broke out into a big smile.
3. vendor “do you want some
fish?” Patrick “no thanks, I’m allergic
to fish”
4. Vendor joking with Patrick
“would you like to marry my daughter?”
Patrick “What is your daughter’s name? Oh, I’m sorry, I only marry people named
Mary.”
And finally, in the market are these HUGE live snails for sale—they
look kind of like conches, but exist outside of water. The vendor tried to sell Patrick one, and he
said “No thanks—they terrify me!
Look—she’s doesn’t even like them!” he said of the vendor's friend. Once she realized that Patrick was terrified
of them she kept on trying to give him one for free by putting it in his
pocket. “Free, free!” she would giggle, as Patrick would squeak in terror.
(Sorry Patrick, you were squeaking).
Market hilarity ensued.
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| where's waldo in ghana |
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| where's pema? in Buenos Aires |
As I write this now we are hours outside of Rio, and it is very wavy
outside—the swells occasionally hit the bridge of the ship a certain way and a
thud and plume of spray shoots up, all the way past my cabin window on the 5th
deck. The ocean is a beautiful blue—not
dark steel blue, not tropical blue, but a deep soothing blue, with whitecaps at
the peaks, spraying off their own individual rainbows. Pema’s on board somewhere writing, and we
have a social with the captain in a couple of hours in John Tymitz’s cabin. I’m so excited for Rio—we’re getting up at 5:45
to watch the ship come in to one of the most beautiful cities in the world.
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