The only dance there is

Hope

2009-04-17T17:47:00.000-07:00

So I'm getting married in a little more than a month. It's odd the way these bench marks in life come along. They never quite work out the way I always thought but when they come to pass I couldn't imagine them more perfect. This last month has been an experience. Last week I spent my time in Houston watching two of my relatives suffer from life threatening ailments. Death is something that changes things and as I watched them both struggle against the prospect I gained a new appreciation for humanity. For the way we were made, for the way we need each other and how even more so we need an explanation to this whole big thing. We need something bigger to believe in and to believe that this something is in fact, good and loving. I'm thankful that this is shown even more in the dark times; an unexplainable light that helps us to know it will be ok.

I'm thankful for these times of learning how to care. In marriage or sickness I realize that life never looks how we thought it would, relativity seems to last for only the present but makes our lives that much richer that we can't predict it all.

Hell

2008-10-07T08:27:00.000-07:00

A few church on the street bible studies ago I ran into an old aquaintance. I'll call him Jami and he had no legs. He was quite intoxicated and foul mouthed so naturally he fit right in. Just short of a year ago Jami had witnessed a murder and was now being summoned by the courts to testify. He told us there was no way in hell he would actually testify because on the streets that would make him a snitch. And you just don't do that.

I watched Jami talk and I watched the others try and comfort this stumpy, cursing human. Silently, I tried to to picture what he had actually gone through. He held a dying a man, propped up against a dresser, he listened as this man fought for breath until oxygen was no longer enough. He watched him grow still. Jami talked about how this man was a good man, wrong house, wrong time. The man was simply looking for a rock and a prostitute, not his vastly unnoticed death.

Jami swore up and down that this man was good, just fallen on hard times. He also mentioned that his friend, at the present time, was probably burning in hell.

Oh the tales of a drunk man, but that night I believed Jami. I believed him because it made him cry, because somewhere lost inside of this man was a child who wished that people didn't have to die. There was a sober man that recognized the value to life; and a darkness inside of him that led him to believe that he had outgrown love.

I don't want to believe in hell. I think of things in the world, atrocities, genocides, war. I think of women who feel they have to sell themselves and all the men that are killed on the streets. I think of justice and the voidance of justice in the dark places and I wonder,
how life like this could be so different than hell.

words of wisdom...

2008-09-12T09:48:00.001-07:00

Flax seed is amazing.

Rainy Day

2008-07-12T14:16:00.000-07:00

I did not want to run the yellow light
I would have rather sat at the green;
if only for a change.
Prosperity befalls me and I'm suffocated by my own indifference.
Your creativity annoyed me
and yesterday was the first day I was not scared to die.

So many days have passed since I've updated this, I'm not real sure anyone really reads this anymore, I admit they were probably much more exciting while I was in Africa.

Life is good though; everyday is a struggle to find a place, a purpose to cause everything to make sense. But what I'm learning is that really, it never will. It's hard learning how to be happy. Realizing that good things can happen without strings attached. That there will always be a mystery to contentment, and that is letting go of knowing everything.
I have to admit, international development work appeals to me still, but I think it's because it is somewhere else than here. It's somewhere I can run that seems nobler, a greater, just cause to work towards. It's simpler to feed a child than to cure domestic abuse. It is easier to build a well than to hold an angry child.

What's hard is taking the yoke I've been given.

What's hard is opening my eyes to the world that's been placed around me.

The lost, the hurting, the hungry, the angry.

What's hard is accepting that I can have joy, that I really can be happy serving this world, instead of trying to create my own in a place that allows me to escape everything I need to heal from on the inside.

It has been trying,
no doubt.
But undeniably freeing.

Let there be craw fish.

until next time

2008-04-20T10:00:00.000-07:00

"Love is the only way to grasp another human being in the innermost core of his personality. No one can become fully aware of the very essence of another human being unless he loves him. By his love he is enabled to see the essential traits and features in the beloved person; and even more, he sees that which is potential in him, which is not yet actualized but yet ought to be actualized. Furthermore, by his love, the loving person enables the beloved person to actualize these potentialities. By making him aware of what he can be and of what he should become, he makes these potentialities come true."

-Viktor Frankl, Man's Search for Meaning

Houses of snow.

2008-03-15T22:03:00.000-07:00

Far along this island of sand
lies a muddy house of snow;
covered with angels and fireflies
and burgundy slippers meant for anyone passing through.
Here lies hope of a home void of normality
and perpetually glittered with the
presence of change.
It's never cold here, although usually it's expected.
Sometimes, though, from the perspective angle,
the angels resemble barrels of turpentine,
the fireflies submarine missiles
and a dying rose bush is what's left of the burgundy.
But again,
it's perspective.
It all sounds familiar, like a story so discrepantly trusted in youth.
As I get older I realize I can learn to see the beauty in such extremes
but this time I'd rather not.
I'd rather take this shitty situation and cry about it.
It's all wrong
and there's nothing I can do.
And in this nonsense
I find myself.
Next to you.
Seeing things not how they are,
but wishing only they were how I want them to be.
I never wanted a house of snow.
Just you.
Please don't go.

My new friend

2008-02-10T10:13:00.000-08:00

I bought a cactus a few days ago.

I haven't had much luck keeping flowers alive.

I named her Tinkerbell.

When it snows in Baghdad.

2008-01-25T08:35:00.000-08:00

There was an article in the paper the other day that I wish to write about. Only a little though. Basically, I'll just post the article for your reading convenience.

"Baghdad-The flakes melted quickly. But the smiles, wonder and excited story-swapping went on throughout the day: It snowed in Baghdad. The morning flurry Friday was the first in memory in the heart of the Iraqi capital. Perhaps more significant, however, was the rare ripple of delight through a city snarled by army checkpoints, divided by concrete walls and ravaged by sectarian killings.

'For the first time in my life I saw a snow-rain like this falling in Baghdad,' said Mohammed Abdul-Hussein, a 63-year-old retiree from the New Baghdad area.

'When I was young, I heard from my father that such rain had fallen in the early '40s on the outskirts of northern Baghdad,' Abdul-Hussein said, referring to snow as a type of rain. 'But snow falling in Baghdad in such a magnificent scene was beyond my imaginations.'

After weathering nearly five years of war, Baghdad residents thought they'd pretty much seen it all. But as muezzins were calling the faithful to prayer, the people here awoke to something certifiably new.

'I asked my mother, who is 80, whether she'd ever seen snow in Iraq before, and her answer was no,' said Fawzi Karim, a 40-year-old father of five who runs a small restaurant in Hawr Rajab, a village six miles southeast of Baghdad.

'This is so unusual, and I don't know whether or not it's a lesson from God," Karim said. Talib Haider, a 19-year-old college student, said 'a friend of mine called me at 8 a.m. to wake me up and tell me that the sky is raining snow.'

'I rushed quickly to the balcony to see a beautiful scene,' he said. 'I tried to film it with my cell phone camera. This scene has really brought me joy. I called my other friends and the morning turned out to be a very happy one in my life.'

For a couple of hours anyway, a city where mortar shells routinely zoom across the Tigris River to the Green Zone became united as one big White Zone. There were no reports of bloodshed during the snowstorm. The snow showed no favoritism as it dusted neighborhoods Shiite and Sunni alike, faintly falling (with apologies to James Joyce) upon all the living and the dead."

-Christopher Chester

Associated Press

What a universal prospect wonder is; and even more so the things that cause it. It's true that we've all had our breath taken away by beauty, natural beauty. Even our commercialized society encourages serenity in the simple. We decorate our homes and businesses with indoor waterfalls and earth tones. We make cd's dedicated to bringing the sounds of the rain forest or ocean right into our living room. We build huge structures in the middle of natural wonders so that we may look in comfort yet be protected from the elements. We thrive off of the idea that there are things that exist that we did not create. And so what do we do with this dynamic? We recreate it. We domesticate it. We make it in a way that's remakeable and tangible but always knowing full well that really, nothing compares to the original.

Snow. Water falling from the sky on a cold day. Not a new concept. So how can something so easily explained cause such a phenomenon. In the words of Graham Greene "“It was like an armistice with the guns silent on either side: you could imagine the whole world listening to what they had never heard before – peace.”

Peace. It's a nice thought. World peace. It's a good motto, but can we really create it? We say we can. But then we hear statistics of war and dispute and immediately we blame. We blame ignorance and rage, justify our indifference by labeling, and then proceed to pretend that there's nothing we can do. I think this becomes so easily accomplished because we've never quite seen what this whole purpose, peace if you will, looks like. Most of the time we never have enough silence in our own hearts to understand the true tranquility of peace personally. We're always trying to explain away the unknown; we make it logistic and wordy until no one, including ourselves, care anymore. I can remember times when I felt like I had truly experienced peace; moments when I had nothing to say or do, I had no motive or expectations. I just was. But these moments did not present themselves at a round table conversation about politics or theology. They were on mountain tops and seashores; they were times when I stood in the rain and didn't care. Moments when I watched someone reach out to another.

How easily God makes it look. How amazing are these little reminders that none of us are forgotten. Water falling from the sky on a cold day.
Wonder. Peace.

What am I suggesting? Nothing really, (although it would be neat to try a world leadership meeting on the crest of Victoria falls or in the hills of Huang Yao, just to see if it changes the mood) except that peace, void of wonder, is trivial and inconsistent. If we can see wonder in snow, then how could we miss it in each other?

Just like any other day.

2007-12-26T05:03:00.001-08:00

"'Hints?'
'Oh, they mean very little in cold print - or cold speech;' he said, shivering in his overcoat. 'And they mean nothing at all to another human being than the man who catches them. They are not scientific evidence - or evidence at all for that matter. Events that don't, somehow, turn out as they were intended - by the human actors, I mean, or by the thing behind the human actors.'...'I am - I really am, God knows - open to conviction.'
-The Hint of an Explanation, (short story) by Graham Greene

This last Sunday was really special. Occasionally at Church on the Street there's a day, that upon experiencing, I know I won't forget. When Debbie, my mom and I arrived at the park it was undoubtedly buried in snow. Because we have such sweet members there were already three guys out shoveling. Everything went smoothly, besides one tussle between our most elderly gentleman and our most mouthy one. I'm assuming the weather was having everyone feel their oats a little. After we were done eating lunch I was able to have a conversation with not only one of my favorite members but also a guy who has been with us from the very beginning. Generally we take communion about every other week and so I had asked this gentleman if he would like to join us. He simply said:
"If only communion could save me."
My fundamentalist, youth group evangelist side began to turn a little in my head, urging me to explain what I thought I knew about salvation and how, if he were smart, he would "make that decision." Good thing love and reality have taught me to shut my mouth. And so we sat on our rain washed pews, drinking lukewarm coffee, neither of us feeling the need to fill the silence. After a few minutes we began talking again. He spoke some of disappointment, of being cold, and how sad he was that faith wasn't enough. Somewhere in between the streets and church outreaches he had been taught that he wasn't good enough. If only he were cleaner. If only his vices weren't so obvious.
I asked him what he was going to do for Christmas.
He said nothing.
That it was just another day.
And suddenly I was jealous.
I was tired of thinking about Christmas.
I was tired of trying to muster up the magical propaganda of this day being more holy than any other; as if devotion at this time of the year meant more. I didn't want to see another nativity scene and I hated the thought of church christmas programs. In my mind I silently burned to the ground all the shopping malls and christian prefixes attached to the holiday.
In America we attribute a lot of worth to empathy. And so I thought, what if this holiday season we became as empathetic as we could to the baby christ?
What if we became weak and vulnerable?
What if we became poor and uncertain of what will happen tomorrow?
Chances are we'd look a lot like the man who saw Christmas as just another day.

I'd be lying if I said my walk of faith has been joyful or even certain. I've been wayward, inconsistent, and irrational and probably a profound stumbling block for many along the way. But everyday I experience these "hints". Hints that cannot be explained by anyone or anything but the spirit that creates them. I've found them to be most predominant in the broken places, in broken people, as if there were anyplace or anyone who existed above these measures.

Yesterday I thought a lot about my friend.
I wondered if he found a warm place and if he perhaps got to open a gift.
I'm not sure he would have cared either way.

And then there's America...

2007-12-20T14:00:00.000-08:00

"I could not have known then that everybody, every person, has to leave, has to change like seasons; they have to or they die. The seasons remind me that I must keep changing, and I want to change because it is God's way… Everybody has to leave, everybody has to leave their home and come back so they can love it again for all new reasons… I want to keep my soul fertile for the changes, so things keep getting born in me, so things keep dying when it is time for things to die. I want to keep walking away from the person I was a moment ago, because a mind was made to figure things out, not to read the same page recurrently." -Donald Miller, Through Painted Deserts

A good friend of mine sent me this quote earlier in an email. Sometimes I think that I want to be a writer. I think that I really do have something to say; something profound that only I can articulate quite right. And then I read something that actually explains all of my feelings better than I could ever think to.

But seriously. The last few years I've had a rampantly persistent restlessness that, at least in my mind, wouldn't cease until I left everything I've ever known. And so I joined the Peace Corps. I'm so glad I did. I went to Africa and met amazing people and learned about a culture I would have never known about otherwise.

And then I came back to America. And now I'm sitting in a coffee shop studying for test I have to take this afternoon at my new found job: Outback Steakhouse. Outback. So much for integrating back into America slowly. Here, let me serve you cheese fries and a steak. You only have to eat a few bites. Or you can eat it all. Really, it's about choices.

Initially coming back was pretty easy. Although now that I'm somewhat scoping out apartments and thinking about grown up jobs that familiar feeling of flight is prevailing. I like it here. I really do. But I'm anxious and scared of being comfortable. It's been amazing catching up with people but permanence seems so tangible and...well...boring.

Anyways, I work in a few hours so I need to collect myself.

One small change.

2007-12-02T12:56:00.000-08:00

So swearing-in happened.

And I should probably mention that I was not a part of it.

Right now I'm sitting in the med unit of Accra waiting to get further information on when my flight leaves.

My flight for America.

Sometimes it still surprises me that I ET-ed. The situation surrounding my decision was not really profound nor was there any one happening that instigated my reasoning.

It's just not for me.

This truly has been one of the hardest decisions of my life. I'm leaving behind some amazing people who have both encouraged and inspired me in ways I didn't think possible. People who sign up for Peace Corps are a different breed. The things that they go through on any given day in this country, and I'm sure any other Peace Corps country for that matter, are things that (and pardon any parents who are reading this...don't worry...your child is safe) could leave the average person unbelieving. They are people of preserverance, passion, and commitment that get little to no recognition and I feel honored to have served even just three months with them.

But they're not why I came to Ghana.
And they can't be the reasons I stay in Ghana.

I've had an absolutely amazing experience and I'd be lying if I said I was completely enthralled with coming back to America. I'm not real sure where I want to be at this point. I have no money...no insurance...no car...but I do have my family and the amazing people at Church on the Street and I do have hope that something, somewhere will feel right.

Maybe I'm running?

It could be true.

But it's my life,
and I'll run from it if I want to.

Right now I have malaria. That was a fun suprise upon arriving in Accra last Tuesday. So I've had a lot of days to contemplate, and re-contemplate recent just events while laying up in the med unit. A very wise woman who I'm sure will be a wonderful volunteer told me right before I left Techiman that no matter what, I should be proud of what I've decided.

And I am.
I know that things are gonna be ok. There are millions of noble causes to devote my life to.
The fun part is finding one that really makes me come alive.

So here I go.

Thank you all so much for all your support. I will continue to update this blog although obviously my link probably won't be "brennainafrica". Maybe you could pray for me as having malaria sucks a lot more than I had imagined. They're going to re-test me again tomorrow and if it comes back negative than I'll probably leave Tuesday.

Hope all is well with you.

Happy Thanksgiving

2007-11-22T09:26:00.000-08:00

Koojo and Kofi, gathering water during one of our crazy thunderstorms.

11/18/07

“He was asleep when the boy looked in the door in the morning. It was blowing so hard that the drifting boats would not be going out and the boy had slept late and then come to the old man’s shack as he had come each morning. The boy saw that the old man was breathing and then he saw the old man’s hands and he started to cry. He went out very quietly to go to bring some coffee and all the way down the road he was crying.”
-Earnest Hemingway, The Old Man and the Sea

So my birthday came and went. Just like that. It was pretty fortunate timing in that my birthday was a day we were all together as volunteers. Thus we were able to go hang out afterwards and by no means was I alone. I feel for those who will celebrate their first birthday in country at their site…not that they’re necessarily be alone, but Ghana is not a country who pays particular attention to such dates. It was also a mail day on the 16th (I’m not sure I can explain the excitement of mail days throughout the group…it really is a great thing) and I received a lot of news from home which is always good. Thank you all for sending me cards and letters and packages and such; it was a tremendous blessing.

A lot of things are happening as training is coming to a close. We all returned from site visit last Thursday and I think I can speak for everyone when I say we all returned from site changed. I’d be lying if I said I was enthralled with the condition of my village and the task set before me but like everything else thus far you learn to adapt and then somehow things are ok. Somehow. My village is a very poor community in the upper Volta region. I’m replacing two volunteers who were married and, apparently saints, according to the community’s commentary. It’s very difficult coming this shortly after someone else has left because the community is still mourning the loss of the previous volunteers and thus comparing this new specimen of a volunteer (me) to the former. I understand that things become easier in this realm as I get to know more of the community. However, communication is also a little bit of a challenge considering I spent the last 8 weeks learning a language they don’t speak in my village. It’s good that I’m learning Twi because it’s spoken throughout the majority of Ghana; but it also would have been nice to learn even a little of the other so that I could at least greet in the local language.
Oh well.
So here is a small list of things I did at site visit:
-Swept.
-Met the chief.
-Accidentally locked myself in my room. (Don’t worry. They used a machete to get me out.)
-Made lots of coffee.
-Swept.
-Read a month old newspaper from the states.
-Watched the community women perform traditional dance.
-Tried to perform traditional dance.
-Ended up doing the index fingers out, shake your body boogie.
-Was laughed back to my chair.
-Met opinion leaders.
-Biked 20 miles to catch a taxi.
-Swept
-Ran with about 40 children in pursuit, with water buckets on their heads, barefoot, and yes, they kept up.
-Did laundry.
-Waited for laundry to dry.
-Swept.
-Wrote letters.
-Met lots of community women.
-Talked to my dogs.
-Talked to the roaches.
-Tried to beat roaches with sweeper.
-Swept.
-Visited clinic.
-Wished I was eating icecream.
-Wished it wasn’t 100 degrees in my house.
-Read.
-Arranged my books.
-Rearranged my books.
-Swept.
-Pouted. Only a little.
-Talked to my amazing neighbors.
-Rode 12 hours in a tro.
-Regretted not packing more underwear.
-Swept.

Two years seemed really long over site visit. It’s daunting to know that I was only present for 5 days and yet never felt that I had a complete grasp on what was going on. It’s not that the community wasn’t warm and accepting. My counterpart, Kingsley, is very helpful and seems respected in the community. My house is adequate, I have two rooms, a kitchen and a bedroom along with sort of an inclosed porch thing that is nice. Chris and Sayward, the volunteers before me, left a lot of things that I would otherwise have to buy. Things like a gas stove, dishware, sheets, etc. so that makes settling in a lot easier. I think that overall my experience was pretty normal of site visit. It’s more the doubts that I have prevailing in myself that have presented the greatest challenge.

I’m finding that compassion, at least for myself, is fleeting here. There are certain coping mechanisms that we all apply when subjected to intense situations. In the quote that I mentioned above from The Old Man and the Sea, the boy walked in on the old man sleeping. The old man had just returned from a fishing trip in which he was badly beaten both physically and mentally. His hands had been especially mangled while spending two days reeling in the king kong of fish. I’m not wanting to give a book report but I was moved by the compassion the boy had on the old man. To cry from the wounds of another seems almost sacred and though one cannot rely solely on feelings, there’s no doubt that compassion can begin a movement. But what happens when that is no longer present? When the feeling of wanting to make things better fades into a thought process of blame and apathy? What about when I see the malnourished child and instead of embracing I ask why the mother is so ignorant to let her child waste away? I’ve talked to a few people about things and Ryan, a health volunteer in my region and one who has been here already a year, explained that our quest is productivity. He talked about how he’s changed since he’s been here and he mentioned how his compassion has changed to logical problem solving. It is true that if one were to weep at every injustice then there would be no time spent not crying. So instead, he focuses his energy into assessing the needs, and then logically plans out the steps that need to happen to ensure change. This is hard coming from a country that romanticizes everything. Hollywood can glorify any historical event or story line; religion adds a twist where somehow in the mix Jesus meets Abercrombie; we glam up the party life as if sex and booze will solve all of our problems; and one can definitely find the exaggeration in our idea of compassion. We get all worked up about a noble cause, mustering tears of empathy and perhaps even some sort of financial contribution.
But it passes.
Because it can.
Because it was only a feeling that changes with the seasons or perhaps the song one is listening to.
That’s definitely me and thus far this sort of process has sustained me. But things are getting harder along with maybe my heart and I’m finding doing things void of feeling is a huge challenge; mostly because that means I’d have to stop thinking about myself. I’m not really sure where I’m going with this and I don’t even know if this is making sense. Needless to say, I do hope to grow stronger and to be fueled more by the greater good rather than self serving compassion. But like the boy looking at the old man, I still want something inside of me to hurt by the wounds of another. I don’t want to discount authentic compassion in the least; but I’m learning that it’s the productivity of compassion that makes it authentic.

Anyways, we only have a few more days of homestay. It’s going to be a very, very sad day when I say goodbye to my family. I can’t believe it’s already gone by this quickly. Some people from home have asked a little about my family, like how many are there and what their names are. My father’s name is Papa Amoah, my mother’s is Maame Alice, and then I have 2 sisters named Diana (14 years) and Obina (25ish years) and 3 brothers named Koojo (10 years), Kofi (12 years), and…well I never really learned the last one’s name…so I call him “brother” (maybe 16 years?). They’ve been amazing and I honestly can’t think of how this phase could have been better.

Happy Birthday Cody.

11/20/07

Our big language test is tomorrow. One week ago I would have said this test would be a piece of cake. Now, since we’ve been reviewing, I’m finding how much I don’t know.
Such is life…like my mom would say. At least I’m getting good at doing laundry and finally mastering how to eat without utensils.
With only one hand.
My right hand.
Because one doesn’t use the left hand for anything here. The culture considers the left hand unclean (I think in olden times this hand was used for wiping after toilet) and therefore if any task such as eating or shaking hands or even handing something over is done with the left then it is considered insulting. Just for kicks you should try omitting the left hand out of your daily interactions. It's harder than you'd think. I also carried water on my head for the first time today. I made it about 10 yards…or maybe it was 10 feet…really just depends on perspective…I spilt a lot of it. All over myself. And they all laughed at me. Then a kind gentleman carried it the mile hike back to our house from the stream. My 10 year old brother, Koojo, had gone with me and it bothered me a little that his bucket was twice the size of mine, but again, humility comes easily in this country.

11/21/07

Language test is over.
That’s a really good feeling.
I’m sore from carrying the water bucket.
There was an amazing storm that just passed through leaving everything really cool and quiet. I don’t think I really have much more to say. I find that my blog entries are a bit vague. If anyone on the receiving end of this has a question concerning…well anything please ask as it would give me something else to write about aside from simply my thoughts.

I miss you all very much and the holidays are going to be different here. Thank you to everyone who was in Matt’s video, it was so good to see you all. I’m still a bit bitter about the cheesecake factory scene but I guess I have some time to get over it.

Kassi, I miss you.
A whole lot.

And Stacia, I really wish you would have been in the video.

11/22/07

-My compassion is fleeting
and I wonder why you fail to notice.
Could it be your presence is less conditional
than my intentions?
Or maybe, that I feel more obvious is only wishful thinking.
Twilight speaks different
as every dusk seems as the last,
and happiness is patiently redefined
into something more attainable.
Perhaps it simply takes peace within myself
to understand the vagueness of purpose;
and then be content within the abstraction,
Or sometimes subtraction of feeling.-

Happy Thanksgiving.

....

2007-11-14T12:27:00.000-08:00

Hey. This is going to be short. Just wanted to let you all know things are going pretty well. Site visit was good; perhaps a bit overwhelming. I'll write more in detail later...well maybe I will. I don't know. Really I'm just trying to upload some pictures but I've only been able to get one. One is apparently the limit.
that's me up there. In case you forgot. I'm in a church in Forikrom where I've been staying with my family.

Bye for now.

Such is life...

2007-11-01T04:43:00.000-07:00

“True grace is in forgetting; yet if pride could die in us, the supreme grace would be to love oneself in all simplicity as one would love any member of the body of Christ. Does it really matter? Grace is everywhere.”
-George Bernanos

10/24/07

Field trip.

Amazing.

That’s really the only word I can use to describe it. Actually, I can use many words: serene, beautiful, comforting…really I could go on but there’s no way words could justify. What is field trip? Basically it was just another chance to visit an existing health volunteer and experience day to day life along with various other activities. We left last Saturday for a town called Brekamonso. We arrived in the evening time and ate dinner and then proceeded to go to our place of residence for the next 5 days. We knew we were going to stay at a bed and breakfast type place but I’m not sure any of us were prepared for what was to come. We had to walk about half a mile to the actually residence because it was hidden in the mountains. We arrived in the main open aired bungalow that would come to be our place of hang out and saw hammocks, a wooden table, drums, and all lit up by lantern. The shelter looked out into the lushness of Ghana and the sound of waterfalls was a constant compliment. Because we were somewhat elevated the view was breathtaking, the breeze new and the stars were like I’ve never seen before. We all stayed in circular bungalows that were surrounded by vineyard flowers and palm trees and each night we sat by lantern and played drums with the couple who owned the bed and breakfast. It was not a big place, in fact, the ten of us filled it up and because there was no electricity we took showers by moonlight every night. It felt like something out of a movie, only we were really there. Our time in Brekamonso consisted of playing soccer against the village soccer team, teaching about malaria, visiting the clinic, planning lessons to teach at the school, eating orange marmalade, falling down waterfalls, good conversation, and for the first time it seems, actually being completely in Ghana.

10/29/07

Now we are back in everyday training. I’ve been a little more motivated in my language sessions and my family is having me do much more around the house, which is good to learn. It’s crazy that training is already half over. There is a project called SCOP that we’re all having to work on. Basically is it an event that small groups plan to help the community in which we’re staying. My partners are Alicia and Niall and for our project we are doing a play promoting acceptance for those living with HIV. The play is an adaptation of “The Point” by Henry Nielsen that Alicia came up with. Despite my hesitance, everything has gone incredibly well. Most of those who are involved in the play are JSS 2 kids, which are about 14-16 years old. They understand so much and are incredibly willing to try new things.

And they can dance.

Very well.

Needless to say, working on the play has definitely been a highlight.

Our next big event is site visit, which I believe comes up in about a week in a half. On this trip our counter parts (a person from our future village who is essentially assigned to work with us for the next two years) will travel to pick us up, and then take us back to our almost sites. It’s a very exciting time because most of us have not seen where we will be living; we’ve only heard small.

Small small.

Akrakakra.

Only a little.

Just a side note, English is fleeting here. Especially the English we speak in America. In a lot of ways it’s incredibly more correct and proper yet on the other it’s a little quirky and quite foreign. There is a certain accent one must obtain in order to be understood by a local and sometimes this “broken English” carries over to two Americans talking, which is quite funny. I write this only to pre-apologize for any future phone conversations in which you and I may have. I’m sorry for this.

11/1/07

Halloween was yesterday.
I feel that this is how holidays (if you can consider Halloween a holiday?) are going to go overseas. I’m going to sit down to write or perhaps look at the date on my phone and some little twinge will remind me that this used to be a day that at one point in my life…I celebrated something.

We did, however, have a sort of cook off shindig. Throughout training we have certain things that we’re evaluated on; one of these things is our ability to cook with local ingredients and in a way that will be applicable when we go to our sites, such as being able to cook over fire. So my group decided to bring a little taste of America to the black star country. Our dish was called the magical mystery melt (not to be confused with the magical midget that frequents this little town of Forikrum…another story) which consisted of tuna, mayo, cheese, vegetables, and spices all grilled to a wondrous perfection between two toasted pieces of sweet bread. For our desert we made a fruit salad consisting of papaya, pineapple, bananas, and oranges with cinnamon and dare I say it…a la mode style.

We rocked it out.

The deprivation of familiar foods is something I think we’re slowly getting used to here but it’s days like yesterday when you remember the beauty of cheese or the simple style of a sandwich and you vow never to take such foods for granted again. It was a good day.

It’s crazy the other things I’m finding myself appreciating. I love music. I always have. I brought a lot of music from home and I’m finding that I like it even more in Africa. Andrew Peterson for instance, you can’t really get enough of him here. Anyways, the other day we were watching a video at a home for children with mental disabilities. The place was founded and ran by a Dutch woman and her Jewish husband who is a retired actor and musician from Chicago. It was a great place and very unique to a culture that tends to shun those suffering from mental disorders. I bring this up in the music aspect of my blog because accompanying this video was sort of a collage of jazz tunes. I can’t say that I’m learned on my jazz really at all; but sitting there listening to the jazz piano and bass brought on this feeling of almost euphoria. I realize it’s a little odd that I’m writing about this, but this is only one example of something that seems just a little bit better in Africa. Somehow things seem more possible here in Ghana. Things that I would never consider learning about or trying suddenly seem in reach and fascinating. Maybe it’s because no one really knows me here; the things that defined me in America no longer have to be my vices and those things I feared to try could suddenly be things that I love to do…and perhaps am even good at.

And really, send me jazz music. Please.

Be well.

Everyday life

2007-10-13T07:13:00.000-07:00

“For he is not known by argument but by what we do and how we love”
-Richard Rollie

-Does charity involve feeling?
Maybe I fear for my soul
When all I long for is emotion.
I wonder why we were given such vices when assumed salvation
Lies in deprivation,
Or at least that’s what I read.
Perhaps it’s the path set for each,
Some solitude, others communal.
Although I anticipate the absolutes,
I wonder if some were meant for egos
Because I cannot deny the freedom that partakes me
When I stand under the rain
That is mercy.
So take away my feeling
And in that deprivation I will only feel more
Of what we all long for.
I do not believe in a heart absent of its palpates,
Nor a God void of tears.
For only love can so move humanity to vigilance
And a God to create such as that.-

Hello everyone. Or I should probably say Akwaaba (“You are welcome”) since I’ve been in Africa for three weeks now! Things are going well. Language classes have been intense but I’m thankful that our sweet instructor is patient with us. It’s also nice that my host family speaks the language that I am learning; they were right (whoever they are) when they said the best way to learn a language is to be submersed in it.

I suppose there’s not much to update although I feel like that explanation is inadequate. Many things have happened, I suppose I just don’t know where to start. Things have calmed down into pretty much an everyday routine, which is becoming normal for me, which is still no explanation to you. So I suppose I will take you through an average day here in the town of Forukrom where I reside.

Wake up: 5 am.
If you are ever thinking of coming to Africa you need not bring an alarm clock. The world wakes up here about 4:30 am, although the roosters usually rise around 2am. I can be awaken by a number of things: sweeping (yes, the sweeping of the dirt), the goats, the “where do you go” song my brother likes to listen to every morning, known also as the night at the Roxbury theme song, my mother (who stands at my door and yells my name, it usually comes out in a sort of one syllabal noise that sounds a little like “Brea!”), the clanking of pots and pans, chanting, the rain (my personal favorite), the churches singing, people yelling, or lastly, all of the above.

Contemplation: 5:10-5:30 am
This is when I lie in bed and decide what I should next. Do I run? Do I try and go back to sleep? Do I read? Study? Yoga (yeah right…but I think about it.), Laundry? Usually I decide to run. I’m not usually a great morning runner but I have a route I go that takes me directly into the sunrise, so it’s worth it.

Bath: 6:30 am
So I wouldn’t normally talk about this but taking a bath here in Ghana is a bit different than in the United States and I get a lot of questions inquiring about the process. Basically you take a bucket, put water in it (and I have amazing sisters who heat up the water over the fire), take the bucket to the wash house, and then splash yourself. A lot. I’m sure there are other methods to this. I’ve heard of some lifting the bucket over their head and doing the pour method, although then you take the risk of dropping the bucket on your head and frankly, I’m not willing to go out that way. Others have a cup that they dip into the bucket, and then proceed to pour in smaller increments, I believe this is how most do it and I think it’s generally a good way to go about it. I don’t have a cup to use though. Which is fine. So I splash.

Then there’s breakfast…
Food in Ghana…now this is a whole other issue. The food itself has been great. The portions on the other hand are outrageous. People here can eat pots of rice, a whole chicken and perhaps an entire yam in one sitting. The only thing is that no one is fat here. Because they are able to accomplish this they think that white people should do the same. They feed me and feed me and when I can’t finish they take it so personally that I’ve begun to hide the food in my room to eat later. When they see that I’ve finished what they’ve given me they clap and clap and say “You have done well.” I like it when they tell me this. Breakfast is probably my favorite meal and where I eat the most. I usually have bread with this peanut butter like substance (not as sweet and sort of crunchy), carrots, an orange, and two hard boiled eggs. They have this stuff called milo here that tastes like hot ovaltine. I’m a big fan of this so they bring a thermos of it in the mornings.

School: 8-5
This consists of lots of things. Four hours of it goes to language, the other part goes to more technical lessons (pardon the lack of excitement). Good stuff, but I don’t really want to write about it. We either stay in our communities or we go to Techiman for this time.

Home time: 5-Bedtime
This is the really fun part. This could consist of anything from playing soccer, learning how to cook, dancing, hiking, or pretty much anything else one feels inclined to do. I find that my family and I usually have the best conversations right after dinner when we’re hanging out on the porch. I really like these times. Sometimes my father takes me around to greet people, and by people I mean everyone in the village. Sometimes we just remain in the courtyard. They have many questions about America and some are very hard to explain given the cultural differences. Last night we went into a discussion about divorce. My father asked me why anyone would divorce in America. I told him there were a lot of reasons but to put it as simply as I could I said “I guess they don’t love each other anymore”. My father was very troubled by this and my mother even more so. He thought about it for a long time and then looked at me and said

“But love doesn’t end.”

And these are the moments you wish others were around. Moments where the simplicity of translation describes in four words what authors and poets have been teasing for centuries. As much as I miss icecream and a decent pillow I'm learning to recognize other things that suffice and as much as surpass. Things like kindness and conversations, the breeze in the mornings and my family's greeting when I return home for the evening.

There are difficult things as well. Very difficult things that sometimes seem like the only reality. But again, it's sort of a day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute mindset that sustains sanity. I feel that I've talked enough for this blog. I hope all is well for you who are reading. I appreciate your encouragement so much, thoughts from home are amazing to read.

Be well

The same sky

2007-10-01T09:50:00.000-07:00

-And maybe it does take time to realize 9.29.07
That this is life;
And everything else lay in the commentary of our perceptions,
As if those were important.
If only time were natural and the rain cleansed the depravity of this red dirt
A little more than the innate abundance of its competition.
So maybe perceptions are important
Because this could be the best day of my life
And yet all you see is sorrow in the surroundings.
Even if that be,
I will still see you
Fuller than I
Of the joy it takes to sustain this
that is life.-

I’ve arrived at my host family’s house. I’d have to say that the anticipation of meeting my host family was almost as bad as walking the green mile down the Wichita airport after saying goodbye to my family and friends. Today my host father, I call him father, walked me around the village and as we greeted those who lived in the town I couldn’t help but comment on the storm that was forming and the way it was making the sun illustrate the clouds. I told my father that they had a very nice sky over the village and he laughed and said “But you have the same one no?”

I like it here.

Today has truly been a day where I’ve tried all my emotions; perhaps I was just making sure they were all still intact. When I arrived in the town the only thing I wanted to do was cry. I’m not real sure why but it really seemed like the thing to do. And so I did. But the thing about being a new white person in an African village is that someone is always watching. They want to meet you and greet you and ask you all sorts of questions about America and why you are not married. There is no time for breakdowns when you’re trying to establish a reputation.

But I still cried.

I missed home and I missed being normal and I missed having a conversation where I could say more than “Good afternoon” and “how are you?” So in the words of Anne Lamott, I prayed the deepest, most profound prayer that one could utter:

help.

And he did.

And for the next ten weeks I will be a part of this family. I have brothers and sisters and a father and a mother and they will teach me how to cook, clean, socialize, and in essence, become an African. They are very protective of me and I think it’s funny that they worry so much. The thing about being white in Ghana is that they assume you are rich, and that because you are rich you don’t do things like walk or lift heavy objects or cook or anything else back home. They worry if I go out and want to know when they should expect me back and they are very concerned that I eat well and fully.

Right now I’m sitting in the dark listening to the rain fall outside my window. There are bugs crawling up and down my computer screen and I can hear the children in the room next to me laughing. The amazing thing about grace is it’s comparison to the sky. Completely vast and seemingly tangible but when it is reached for we're somehow surprised that it is too big. And so we stand under it and marvel at all the ways it chooses to inspire us.

I love and miss you all.

10.1.07

Last night I finally broke out the guitar for the kids while we were sitting outside looking at the stars. They kept wanting to see what was inside that crazy box and so I played them a song. I told them that if I played they had to dance. And they did. Even my mother who speaks no english got up and started dancing around. I was playing a rendition of your love is extravegant and they wanted to know the words. So I told them and then we translated it to Twi so that the mother could sing too. It translated to "God's love is go good." It was awesome.

The kids are amazing here. They are all very intelligent and most speak english. Most of the time one of the children are translating between me and my mother. They are so fun to be around and I'm thankful for my brothers and sisters.

I'm going to get off of here and head back home. I should let you know that I will be in the Volta region for my pernament placement, the very north end of it. It's called the Nkwanta District in a village called Sibi Hill toop. It's somewhat isolated because the roads are pretty bad, most people travel around by bike.

Talk to you soon.

-Brenna

What day is it?

2007-09-24T05:11:00.000-07:00

"But I would ask whether God demands of us anythig but that we should love and know him since we are naturally capable of love and knowledge. There is no doubt that we know at least we exist and love something." -Blaise Pascal

I'm really sorry that I'm not emailing you guys individually yet. I only have about ten minutes left on the computer. Things are...a little crazy. There's no way to describe it. Really. But I really want to to encourage anyone who is thinking of visiting. I wish that someone from home could experience this as well. Each day is different but for the last few I've been staying in a small village in the Volta region (sort of southeast). They call this portion "vision quest" where you travel (first time to travel in africa by myself) to a site where there's already a pre-existing peace corps volunteer. It's been a lot of fun and everyone in the village is extremely friendly and to my surprise there's also an amazing sky over Ghana as well. On Wednesday we go to Techiman for the start of training. Everything to this point has been a crash course. Pretty much you're kind of thrown into things and you figure it out as you go, which really is working great. The food is taking some adjusting to. They have a "I crapped my pants in Ghana" club and they say that everyone joins it usually in the first year of their service. Haven't joined that one yet but I wouldn't put it past me:) It really has been amazing so far, hopefully I will get a phone soon and I can call for my personal updates.. I appreciate your prayers so much. I miss you all.

Until next time,
Brenna

Africa Tomorrow

2007-09-16T18:49:00.000-07:00

Hey everyone. Just wanted to say thanks for all of you who endured IHOP at 3:30 am to make my last few hours in Kansas amazing. We leave for Africa tomorrow and we'll arrive in the after noon on Tuesday. Yesterday was really, really long but today I think it finally hit that I'm actually going. I tried taking things day by day but I'm learning that I have to go hour by hour, and sometimes minute by minute. I won't have internet for a few weeks but the Peace Corps tells us to tell you that no news is good news. Love you guys.

Preparing

2007-09-12T12:38:00.000-07:00

So I'm leaving in three days.

Preparations are a bit...slow. Really I feel it's more important to spend time with people I care about rather than packing and doing other grown up things.

But at least I got to ride a mechanical bull before I left.

Thanks mom.

no place like home

2007-08-31T12:12:00.000-07:00

I will miss the kansas sky.

Purpose

2007-08-28T18:41:00.001-07:00

In about 3 weeks my new address will be in Ghana, Africa, serving as a Peace Corps volunteer for the next 27 months...

And thus the reason for this new blogspot account.