1. I found out from a Ghanaian man why the dish called "face the wall" is called that. It is simply that it is the cheapest dish you can get at a "chop bar" and so some people are embarrassed that that is all they can afford so they face the wall when they eat it. Hence the name. Oh and a chop bar is a little place on the road side where you can get local food. Somewhat the equivalent of McDonald's except much cheaper, more healthy and not nearly as fast:) Chop is a general term for food.
2. Why do people coming to visit ask us for lists of what to bring from the states (or wherever)? Well I am sure you can figure out why - b/c we can't get everything we would like to eat or cook with, etc. here. But also b/c of the prices of American food stuff here. For example, in the local grocery store a box of cereal like Corn Flakes is about $8 and something like Lucky Charms is $10 or more per box. I went to a little store that only sells American things - some groceries and other things like plastic cups, dishes, etc. But the prices would stop your heart. For example, the really big bag of chocolate chips (about 4 lbs) was over $18 per bag and walnuts of about the same size bag - over $28. No I am not exaggerating. So needless to say we don't shop there. Maybe for my birthday:) But this is why people bring stuff to us. So much cheaper. While we were at this store I was looking (or apparently drooling) over a large jar of Smuckers Strawberry preserves. But it was $8 so I passed on it. There was a couple from the states with us who evidently were spying and saw me looking at it fondly. They surprised me in the parking lot with a jar of it. So very sweet. I just can't tell you how thoughtful that was. God blesses in the kindest ways.
3. The reason I love the market place and downtown Accra and cry when I go to the local grocery store is b/c one is new and exciting and the other should be a known thing but it isn't and that makes it hard. I remember clearly that when we returned from Liberia to the states in 1980 that the culture shock was severe. My parents tell me that they were so overwhelmed in the grocery store at all the new labels and so many choices that they wandered around for about 30 minutes and walked out without buying anything. They just didn't know what to get after being in Liberia where you were lucky to have two cereals to choose between rather than 40 or more options. It is somewhat the same for me here. I go to the store and don't see too many familiar brands, don't know which is good or if the price is good, etc. And for some reason, at least this last time, it was overwhelming. But next time it will be better!!
Oh and just as an aside. Many things here are cheaper than the states and some are as expensive. My stove for example probably cost nearly what it would in the states. On the other hand I had a plumber at my house for about 3 hours yesterday working on several different things and the total that I paid him was right around $30 US dollars. And he cleaned up after himself! Amazing. The labor costs are really inexpensive compared to the states. But it is a lot to the people here. I have noticed as I ride around that the people here work really hard. I mean hard work in the heat and sun. For example, the grass in most yards and along the streets is cut by hand with a machete. Can you imagine cutting your grass by bending over in the heat and swinging a machete? Hard work. But they just don't have the resources here that they have in the states. That is just one example but almost every time I am out I just look around and think "these people are incredibly hard workers" and the little (by US standards) that they are paid is a whole lot to them.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Slave Castles
(A fictional account of actual events)
When we went to bed that night I never dreamed how much life would change in the blink of an eye. The sun was just barely up when we heard the screams and yelling. Before we knew it our door was torn off and men with guns were dragging us out of bed. I had no idea what was going on. I screamed for my husband but he was being hit and kicked and dragged out of the hut. I was terrified. We were pulled into the middle of the village and stood there with every other man, woman and child in our village. There were so many men with guns, gesturing and yelling at us in a language I did not understand. Two men tried to wrestle with the invaders but they were quickly subdued and beaten. We were pushed into a line and prodded to walk by the butts of the guns and the harsh hands of our captors. It finally dawned on me that we had been attacked and captured by men from another tribe, but what they wanted or where we were going I did not know. What could they possibly want from us? We were a small and very poor village. We had nothing to offer and certainly had nothing to fight back with. I was thankful we didn’t have children yet because all the children were left behind and I don’t know what became of them. We marched along the dirt road for hours and then days. Groups of others who had been captured joined our lines as we went along. I became so weak from hunger, lack of water and sheer exhaustion. My mind was constantly wondering what was going on and what was going to happen to me, to my husband, to my whole village. Any attempt at speaking or stopping was quickly squelched by a hit or kick from one of the guards. We marched in silence. Eventually some of the women and even a few men stumbled and fell and could not go on. Even when they were kicked and hit with the guns they did not get up. They just moaned as they lay in the dirt. Finally we were pushed to march on. Those that fell were left to die. Women and men from my village fell and did not get up. I silently cried and prayed that I would make it to wherever we were going. So many people died on the way. Probably half of those we started with. After marching for many, many days I saw a small village with a large building at one end. It had tall, thick walls all around it and looked like some kind of castle. Beyond the building...the ocean. It was then I knew. Dread and fear gripped my heart. I wildly looked around for my husband and others I knew. Everyone had the same look in their eyes. A few fell to the ground screaming and crying out in fear and dread. We knew that the worst was true. I hadn't let myself believe it but now there was no escape. When we got to the building we were forced into a large open court. The men and women were separated. I never saw my husband again. The men went in one direction to a large room. We women were pushed into a room that was dark and dirty and smelled so terrible. There was hardly room to move. We were all terrified and clung to each other, crying loudly. Day after day we lived in this room. There was one small window for air but it didn't do much. Food was thrown into the room from an opening above. We fought and clawed each other to get a scrap. We slept, ate and lived in the same room where we relieved ourselves. The smell, the degradation, the fear is more than you can imagine. And then it became worse. The guards would come and take us for their own pleasure. If anyone refused or resisted, she was made to stand in the middle of the courtyard with a canon ball tied to her legs. She would stand there all day in the blazing sun without food or water. Eventually we all stopped fighting and just gave in to whatever came our way. Every once in awhile all the women from both rooms were herded to the courtyard. The first time I thought they were lining us up to shoot us or beat us or worse. But I looked up to the balcony and there was a man in a fancy uniform looking down on us. He took his time until he finally pointed at one woman. The rest of us were pushed back into the dungeon but this one woman. In the middle of the courtyard she was bathed and dressed and then sent up to the commander for his pleasure. We were degraded in every way possible. It was a horror that is beyond description or understanding. Somehow word spread of the terrible things that happened to the men. We were told that there was a death room. It had a skull and crossbones over the door. Anyone that resisted or caused trouble was sent to this room. Everyone knew that whoever went in would never come out. There was one small opening at the top of a wall but otherwise there was no ventilation of any kind. The men were left in here without food or drink until they died. The bodies were not removed until every last man had died. My mind could not comprehend what I was hearing. I prayed that my husband would not resist in any way so that he wouldn’t end up in the death room. For three months we were confined here. And then the guards came and started moving us out of the dungeon. The sunlight was so bright we couldn't open our eyes. We rarely ever saw daylight in those three months. As they were shuffling us into a line and chaining our legs together we heard screaming from across the castle. The guards laughed and said that "another one is getting his mark." The men were being branded with a hot iron. Some were so weak that the pain of this killed them. Half of the men and women died before they ever got to this point. So many died on the march and then so many more in the dungeons. How I survived I don't know. I didn't wonder what was going to happen now. I had been here long enough to know. We shuffled through a narrow hallway and into a small room. Here was a door, just wide enough for one person to barely fit and beyond it... the ocean. I no longer had the strength to fear or dread. I was weak and sick and already dead inside. One by one we moved forward until I stood in the opening. Below a small boat waited and out further a huge ship. It was time. This was the point of no return. I stepped forward into the boat and looked back one last time. I knew I would never see Africa again. I didn't know where I was going or if I would even make it, but I knew I would never be back. This is what happened. This is how I was captured by men from my country and sold as a slave to those from distant lands. These things really happened and it was much worse than words could ever describe.
When we went to bed that night I never dreamed how much life would change in the blink of an eye. The sun was just barely up when we heard the screams and yelling. Before we knew it our door was torn off and men with guns were dragging us out of bed. I had no idea what was going on. I screamed for my husband but he was being hit and kicked and dragged out of the hut. I was terrified. We were pulled into the middle of the village and stood there with every other man, woman and child in our village. There were so many men with guns, gesturing and yelling at us in a language I did not understand. Two men tried to wrestle with the invaders but they were quickly subdued and beaten. We were pushed into a line and prodded to walk by the butts of the guns and the harsh hands of our captors. It finally dawned on me that we had been attacked and captured by men from another tribe, but what they wanted or where we were going I did not know. What could they possibly want from us? We were a small and very poor village. We had nothing to offer and certainly had nothing to fight back with. I was thankful we didn’t have children yet because all the children were left behind and I don’t know what became of them. We marched along the dirt road for hours and then days. Groups of others who had been captured joined our lines as we went along. I became so weak from hunger, lack of water and sheer exhaustion. My mind was constantly wondering what was going on and what was going to happen to me, to my husband, to my whole village. Any attempt at speaking or stopping was quickly squelched by a hit or kick from one of the guards. We marched in silence. Eventually some of the women and even a few men stumbled and fell and could not go on. Even when they were kicked and hit with the guns they did not get up. They just moaned as they lay in the dirt. Finally we were pushed to march on. Those that fell were left to die. Women and men from my village fell and did not get up. I silently cried and prayed that I would make it to wherever we were going. So many people died on the way. Probably half of those we started with. After marching for many, many days I saw a small village with a large building at one end. It had tall, thick walls all around it and looked like some kind of castle. Beyond the building...the ocean. It was then I knew. Dread and fear gripped my heart. I wildly looked around for my husband and others I knew. Everyone had the same look in their eyes. A few fell to the ground screaming and crying out in fear and dread. We knew that the worst was true. I hadn't let myself believe it but now there was no escape. When we got to the building we were forced into a large open court. The men and women were separated. I never saw my husband again. The men went in one direction to a large room. We women were pushed into a room that was dark and dirty and smelled so terrible. There was hardly room to move. We were all terrified and clung to each other, crying loudly. Day after day we lived in this room. There was one small window for air but it didn't do much. Food was thrown into the room from an opening above. We fought and clawed each other to get a scrap. We slept, ate and lived in the same room where we relieved ourselves. The smell, the degradation, the fear is more than you can imagine. And then it became worse. The guards would come and take us for their own pleasure. If anyone refused or resisted, she was made to stand in the middle of the courtyard with a canon ball tied to her legs. She would stand there all day in the blazing sun without food or water. Eventually we all stopped fighting and just gave in to whatever came our way. Every once in awhile all the women from both rooms were herded to the courtyard. The first time I thought they were lining us up to shoot us or beat us or worse. But I looked up to the balcony and there was a man in a fancy uniform looking down on us. He took his time until he finally pointed at one woman. The rest of us were pushed back into the dungeon but this one woman. In the middle of the courtyard she was bathed and dressed and then sent up to the commander for his pleasure. We were degraded in every way possible. It was a horror that is beyond description or understanding. Somehow word spread of the terrible things that happened to the men. We were told that there was a death room. It had a skull and crossbones over the door. Anyone that resisted or caused trouble was sent to this room. Everyone knew that whoever went in would never come out. There was one small opening at the top of a wall but otherwise there was no ventilation of any kind. The men were left in here without food or drink until they died. The bodies were not removed until every last man had died. My mind could not comprehend what I was hearing. I prayed that my husband would not resist in any way so that he wouldn’t end up in the death room. For three months we were confined here. And then the guards came and started moving us out of the dungeon. The sunlight was so bright we couldn't open our eyes. We rarely ever saw daylight in those three months. As they were shuffling us into a line and chaining our legs together we heard screaming from across the castle. The guards laughed and said that "another one is getting his mark." The men were being branded with a hot iron. Some were so weak that the pain of this killed them. Half of the men and women died before they ever got to this point. So many died on the march and then so many more in the dungeons. How I survived I don't know. I didn't wonder what was going to happen now. I had been here long enough to know. We shuffled through a narrow hallway and into a small room. Here was a door, just wide enough for one person to barely fit and beyond it... the ocean. I no longer had the strength to fear or dread. I was weak and sick and already dead inside. One by one we moved forward until I stood in the opening. Below a small boat waited and out further a huge ship. It was time. This was the point of no return. I stepped forward into the boat and looked back one last time. I knew I would never see Africa again. I didn't know where I was going or if I would even make it, but I knew I would never be back. This is what happened. This is how I was captured by men from my country and sold as a slave to those from distant lands. These things really happened and it was much worse than words could ever describe.
Random events and some Ghanaian food
I have acquired a new pet with my house. I didn't realize that it was a package deal but oh well. It is a little chicken. Every time I came to the house while the men were working on the pavement, this little brownish red chicken was there. I started to call it "my friend" because it always seemed to come around me. Then when I took over the place, I didn't see it for several days. But the last two days when I have gone to the house with Lee and/or Michelle the chicken comes up to the side of the car after we are parked and waits til we get out. It stays within about 3-4 feet of me and follows as I move toward the gate. Even with 2-3 of us around the gate, it moves in closer and waits until we open it and comes through with us. Little fear at all. So I have decided that I have a pet chicken like it or not. I am thinking of naming her Dixie as was suggested to me the other night. We will see how much she is around when I actually live there.
Today we went into the "downtown" area of Accra to find my stove. It was great. Lee and Michelle went also. Because of the distance and traffic, etc. we took a taxi. The trip in was pretty relaxing. The trip out a little more interesting as our driver seemed to prefer driving down the middle of the road rather than being bothered by staying in one lane. We received several long horn blasts and a few dirty looks but made it home safe and sound. I have decided that a driver here would rather lose his brakes than the horn. The horn is used usually in short little beeps that say "I am here, don't hit me", "I am passing you", "get out of my way", "move over before I hit you" and so on. Very useful. Not like in the states where you usually only lay on the horn hard to tell someone off.
Being downtown was great. Kind of like the market. People everywhere, selling everything. It is a mad house. Again I am amazed that I like it but I did. I hope to go down there again soon. Of course I am with Lee and Michelle so that helps. We bought several things at different stores and then had lunch at a nice little restaurant. It was great to be able to skip past the American type food and go straight for the Ghanaian food. Michelle and I shared a dish called "red red". It is some kind of bean made into a stew and served with fried plantain (or rice). We both really enjoy it. It was HOT though. My mouth was on fire. But still I managed to clean my plate. Lee had something called palaver sauce with rice. It appears to be a type of green with meat in it. I have had it before and it is pretty good. Also very spicy. One dish that I do not enjoy is called "kenkay". It is a thick substance with some kind of gravy or sauce over it. I find it sour. I plan to try some other dishes like "banku", fufu (which we also had in Liberia) and something called "face the wall". I still have not gotten a clear picture on why it is called "face the wall" or what it actually is but I still want to try it.
People told me to take lots of pictures when I first got here b/c what was really different and interesting at the beginning would become commonplace later on. This is so true. The hawkers that line the roads...I mean the lanes of the three lane highway (you are dodging them on both sides) no longer seem strange to me. As a matter of fact I am starting to enjoy being able to buy useful things from the car window. Things like matches, little bags of cold water, newspapers, etc. etc. Today Lee and I got the "pure water" bag. It is just what it says. A plastic bag of filtered (we hope) water. And if you want to appear like you have been here awhile you bite off a corner and drink it about halfway down and then let it hang from your mouth while you suck out the remaining water handsfree. Lee has this down but I am a novice so I need a bit more practice. Next time I get the chance I am going to buy some sugarcane from the hawkers. The sugarcane is cut into small chunks and you chew on it to get the sweet juice out and then spit out the pulp. We had this in Liberia also and I loved it. You do have to be careful though. Once you look twice at a hawker and what they are selling you will get plagued for awhile. But on the other hand if you are really interested and are bartering and traffic starts moving, the hawker will run quite a distance to get the sale. It is amazing what they can do to get that sale. And usually they are running with their product in a huge bowl balanced on their head. Amazing!
As we were bartering a bit over the stove downtown I was looking at, the salesgirl asked me if I was German. We were looking at a German brand so I thought that made sense although I don't sound German at all. Then she asked if I was English, and then if I was Australian. Now I am thinking what about me did not give away immediately that I was American b/c it is usually quite obvious. And I certainly wasn't using an Enlish accent. When I said I was American she was surprised. This is not the first time that this has happened to me. She told me she didn't think I was American b/c I was speaking so clearly and precisely. So I started listening to myself and I do drop into this very enunciated, sing song kind of talk. I don't know where it comes from or how I started it but there it is. I think it is a combination of trying to be very clear, a little bit of Liberian English and a little bit of Ghanaian English. Pretty soon I hope I can throw in a little Twi and then I won't know what I'll sound like:) If I am ever in a situation where it is not advantageous to be American, I hope I can pull out this strange talk.
I have learned a couple of cultural things. The first one is really a reminder that sadly the majority of people here are illiterate. In the taxi today we saw a word that I believed was the Twi word for thank you called "mendaase". I asked the driver if that is how you spelled it and he looked confused. Unfortunately it didn't click with me and I asked again. Then he explained what the word meant but still didn't talk about the spelling. Michelle softly whispered that he probably couldn't read and I finally got it. How dense. It just was so different to me. Where I come from people are educated, usually very educated. Michelle had mentioned a report that said in most of the world you were considered wealthy if you owned a book AND could read it. I hope I don't make this mistake again. The other thing that I did notice and PTL didn't make the mistake was the idea of being indirect. As Americans we tend to be very direct in what we say. And as a matter of fact we get annoyed with people who beat around the bush and can't get to the point. But in other cultures, such as this one, people are not direct but are rather very indirect. I noticed it most significantly the other day when talking with my guard about some points of the employment contract. Part of it may have been a language barrier but most of it was this slowly circling the issue before getting there. I remember a couple of times in my mind thinking "would you please just get to the point!" but I am happy to say that I didn't say it outloud. And I think God helped me to realize what was going on so that I didn't show my irritation on my face. The training at MTI in Colorado was very helpful on this point. Just one idea of a cultural difference that I need to be aware of and try to adjust to.
Ok enough rambling for now.
Today we went into the "downtown" area of Accra to find my stove. It was great. Lee and Michelle went also. Because of the distance and traffic, etc. we took a taxi. The trip in was pretty relaxing. The trip out a little more interesting as our driver seemed to prefer driving down the middle of the road rather than being bothered by staying in one lane. We received several long horn blasts and a few dirty looks but made it home safe and sound. I have decided that a driver here would rather lose his brakes than the horn. The horn is used usually in short little beeps that say "I am here, don't hit me", "I am passing you", "get out of my way", "move over before I hit you" and so on. Very useful. Not like in the states where you usually only lay on the horn hard to tell someone off.
Being downtown was great. Kind of like the market. People everywhere, selling everything. It is a mad house. Again I am amazed that I like it but I did. I hope to go down there again soon. Of course I am with Lee and Michelle so that helps. We bought several things at different stores and then had lunch at a nice little restaurant. It was great to be able to skip past the American type food and go straight for the Ghanaian food. Michelle and I shared a dish called "red red". It is some kind of bean made into a stew and served with fried plantain (or rice). We both really enjoy it. It was HOT though. My mouth was on fire. But still I managed to clean my plate. Lee had something called palaver sauce with rice. It appears to be a type of green with meat in it. I have had it before and it is pretty good. Also very spicy. One dish that I do not enjoy is called "kenkay". It is a thick substance with some kind of gravy or sauce over it. I find it sour. I plan to try some other dishes like "banku", fufu (which we also had in Liberia) and something called "face the wall". I still have not gotten a clear picture on why it is called "face the wall" or what it actually is but I still want to try it.
People told me to take lots of pictures when I first got here b/c what was really different and interesting at the beginning would become commonplace later on. This is so true. The hawkers that line the roads...I mean the lanes of the three lane highway (you are dodging them on both sides) no longer seem strange to me. As a matter of fact I am starting to enjoy being able to buy useful things from the car window. Things like matches, little bags of cold water, newspapers, etc. etc. Today Lee and I got the "pure water" bag. It is just what it says. A plastic bag of filtered (we hope) water. And if you want to appear like you have been here awhile you bite off a corner and drink it about halfway down and then let it hang from your mouth while you suck out the remaining water handsfree. Lee has this down but I am a novice so I need a bit more practice. Next time I get the chance I am going to buy some sugarcane from the hawkers. The sugarcane is cut into small chunks and you chew on it to get the sweet juice out and then spit out the pulp. We had this in Liberia also and I loved it. You do have to be careful though. Once you look twice at a hawker and what they are selling you will get plagued for awhile. But on the other hand if you are really interested and are bartering and traffic starts moving, the hawker will run quite a distance to get the sale. It is amazing what they can do to get that sale. And usually they are running with their product in a huge bowl balanced on their head. Amazing!
As we were bartering a bit over the stove downtown I was looking at, the salesgirl asked me if I was German. We were looking at a German brand so I thought that made sense although I don't sound German at all. Then she asked if I was English, and then if I was Australian. Now I am thinking what about me did not give away immediately that I was American b/c it is usually quite obvious. And I certainly wasn't using an Enlish accent. When I said I was American she was surprised. This is not the first time that this has happened to me. She told me she didn't think I was American b/c I was speaking so clearly and precisely. So I started listening to myself and I do drop into this very enunciated, sing song kind of talk. I don't know where it comes from or how I started it but there it is. I think it is a combination of trying to be very clear, a little bit of Liberian English and a little bit of Ghanaian English. Pretty soon I hope I can throw in a little Twi and then I won't know what I'll sound like:) If I am ever in a situation where it is not advantageous to be American, I hope I can pull out this strange talk.
I have learned a couple of cultural things. The first one is really a reminder that sadly the majority of people here are illiterate. In the taxi today we saw a word that I believed was the Twi word for thank you called "mendaase". I asked the driver if that is how you spelled it and he looked confused. Unfortunately it didn't click with me and I asked again. Then he explained what the word meant but still didn't talk about the spelling. Michelle softly whispered that he probably couldn't read and I finally got it. How dense. It just was so different to me. Where I come from people are educated, usually very educated. Michelle had mentioned a report that said in most of the world you were considered wealthy if you owned a book AND could read it. I hope I don't make this mistake again. The other thing that I did notice and PTL didn't make the mistake was the idea of being indirect. As Americans we tend to be very direct in what we say. And as a matter of fact we get annoyed with people who beat around the bush and can't get to the point. But in other cultures, such as this one, people are not direct but are rather very indirect. I noticed it most significantly the other day when talking with my guard about some points of the employment contract. Part of it may have been a language barrier but most of it was this slowly circling the issue before getting there. I remember a couple of times in my mind thinking "would you please just get to the point!" but I am happy to say that I didn't say it outloud. And I think God helped me to realize what was going on so that I didn't show my irritation on my face. The training at MTI in Colorado was very helpful on this point. Just one idea of a cultural difference that I need to be aware of and try to adjust to.
Ok enough rambling for now.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
A Lesson in Culture Shock
So many of you have been asking how I am adjusting, how the house is doing and how my time at the beach went. Thank you for asking! Well here it is – the good, the bad and the ugly:)
When I went to the beach last week, I hardly expected to be wrestling with the issues and feelings of culture shock (or culture stress). I anticipated sitting on the beach alternating between reading a good book and watching the waves roll in. But God had other plans – for at least part of the trip. Going to the beach during rainy season has some really excellent points. One is that the prices are too good to believe and the other is that the volume of people is greatly reduced. On the other hand, the bad thing about going to the beach during rainy season is that...well...it rains. And so it did for about three days straight. Since there aren’t movie theaters, shopping malls, arcades, etc., etc. around to entertain guests while it rains, you either read or watch TV or play games. I did some of each, but mostly read. At the beginning of the trip, one of the ladies we met up with there gave me a book on culture shock. At first I set it aside and started in on a book by John Ortberg. But when the rains outside started and the sky was grey, my heart and mind followed in the depressing mood. So I decided to read about culture shock. It was a gift from the Lord. I didn’t realize until it took me about five days into the trip to truly unwind and for my jaw and neck muscles to relax that I was really suffering from culture stress. Of course I knew that I had some culture shock – just read about the driving and you will see. But I didn’t realize how much I was dealing with it. Culture stress is described as “the destabilizing influence of the radically new way of life in which the foreigner finds himself (herself). Culture stress varies in intensity, and the more exotic or different the (host) society and the deeper one’s involvement in its social life, the greater the stress. Culture stress strikes the one hardest who is settling in to a community to make it his (her) home for possibly a lifetime.” The last couple of weeks amid the joy and excitement of finding a house to rent and settle into was also the stress of finding a house to rent and settle into. When I left Chicago, I wasn’t thinking – “oh three years. No problem and then I will be home.” Rather I was alternating between thinking, “I am going to live in Ghana. How exciting. This is my life” and “I am going to live in Ghana. Dear Lord, this is my life!!” Whether excited or scared at the prospect, my intentions were and are to really live life here. Not just be on the fringes or live superficially, but to build relationships and set down roots. So you see, the very thing that I want to do is one of the things that is causing a major part of the stress. It’s not just the obvious things like the driving that are stressors but even more so that I function more like a child than an adult. See in the states I am an educated, fairly intelligent, competent person. I know how to drive, where to buy milk, how to make change and pay my bills. But in a new culture I am like a child that has to learn all these basic things and it tends to bruise the ego a bit and yes, cause stress. Then there are the inherent cultural things that you learn just by growing up in that culture. What is acceptable behavior and what isn’t and these things take much more time to learn (and truly can only be learned to a certain point). My expectations regarding the adjustment and my performance at this point are nowhere close to each other and this causes great internal stress. Is there a theme here?:) The culture stress is coming from many different directions. So what is my point and is there any good news? There is good news in that the God who sent me here to live and serve is the same God who will help me to do it if I rely on him. The danger is trying to do it in my own power and resources. The good news is that although culture stress can’t be eliminated, it can be minimized and God has given me a window into seeing this (through the book as well as the training I received in Colorado at MTI). The good news is that although living in a new culture is difficult and adjustment will take time, it won’t last forever. Eventually, I will find my way around without getting lost, I will learn where and when to pay my bills, I will learn how to keep the generator running, I will gain understanding of how to behave in different situations, and yes, I will be able to drive and cut off people with the best of them:) My point in sharing this is just that – sharing. This is part of the reality of living in a new culture and most of you have told me you want to know what is really going on. Thank you for your genuine interest in the reality of it all. But lest you think that God left me in the rain, dealing with these challenging issues let me assure you He didn’t. After the rain, the sun shines again and He brought three incredibly beautiful days of sunshine, blue skies, light breezes and a gorgeous ocean. I played tennis, read by the pool, read on the beach, went on boogie boards, hiked through small towns and tall trees, played boules, and relaxed. Did I mention just sitting and watching the waves roll in over and over? At one point the tide was so low and the water so blue that I thought for sure I was sitting on my childhood beach at ELWA in Liberia, West Africa. Close but not exactly the same:) So the trip ended very well and I am so thankful for what God showed me and rest He gave me.
We returned home Tuesday night to the real world. I have to tell you that sometimes I think God has quite the sense of humor. Shortly after returning, I heard from Eva, who has been taking care of the house in my absence, that while I was gone there were a couple of problems. The first, and in my opinion by far the worst, was that a family of cockroaches has taken up permanent residence in a rotten board under the kitchen sink. That grosses me out beyond description! It will be an aim of my life to eradicate them from the premises!! (I had similar strong reactions to the fire ants while I lived in Texas). The second thing was that when it rained last week there was a leak in one of the bedrooms and adjoining bathroom. I am thinking that this is just horrible and what on earth will we do. But when Lee heard it he said “just one room? That is great!” Perspective is everything:) You probably thought from my last email that I was all moved in before I left for vacation. Well when we got to the house we were unable to move all that we thought we could because of some logistical problems. (Not to mention we ran out of time before leaving for the beach the next day). At the end of the driveway, the city has been working on the drainage ditch and at the time we were trying to move there was a ditch of about 4-5 feet wide and several feet deep separating the driveway from the road. The workers had put a piece of wood about 18 inches wide across the ditch for us to cross on. Thoughtful but not all that reassuring. With just me on the board walking across it, it sagged most precariously. We didn’t even try it with Lee and a refrigerator! OSHA wasn’t around:) Actually I found it so humorous I could hardly function for laughing. Ah the joys of living in Africa. You either have to laugh or cry. As for me, I am going to try and laugh as often as possible. So needless to say, I am still living at Lee and Michelle’s. They know very well the difficulties of adjusting to a new culture and setting up a home, while trying to learn a new job. Their patience and graciousness has meant so much to me. As a matter of fact, they are helping me to find a reasonable pace for adjusting and working. My expectations were way too high. I am thankful for their wisdom and insight. Our focus together right now is to get the house in order and get me settled there. You would be surprised at how long it takes to find a simple mattress! So far three days. It is just going to take awhile to get the house together. Lee has told me that my job duties will be doled out in pieces over several months. A few weeks ago I thought that was ridiculous. Last week I realized that that was the nicest thing he could have said to me!
When I went to the beach last week, I hardly expected to be wrestling with the issues and feelings of culture shock (or culture stress). I anticipated sitting on the beach alternating between reading a good book and watching the waves roll in. But God had other plans – for at least part of the trip. Going to the beach during rainy season has some really excellent points. One is that the prices are too good to believe and the other is that the volume of people is greatly reduced. On the other hand, the bad thing about going to the beach during rainy season is that...well...it rains. And so it did for about three days straight. Since there aren’t movie theaters, shopping malls, arcades, etc., etc. around to entertain guests while it rains, you either read or watch TV or play games. I did some of each, but mostly read. At the beginning of the trip, one of the ladies we met up with there gave me a book on culture shock. At first I set it aside and started in on a book by John Ortberg. But when the rains outside started and the sky was grey, my heart and mind followed in the depressing mood. So I decided to read about culture shock. It was a gift from the Lord. I didn’t realize until it took me about five days into the trip to truly unwind and for my jaw and neck muscles to relax that I was really suffering from culture stress. Of course I knew that I had some culture shock – just read about the driving and you will see. But I didn’t realize how much I was dealing with it. Culture stress is described as “the destabilizing influence of the radically new way of life in which the foreigner finds himself (herself). Culture stress varies in intensity, and the more exotic or different the (host) society and the deeper one’s involvement in its social life, the greater the stress. Culture stress strikes the one hardest who is settling in to a community to make it his (her) home for possibly a lifetime.” The last couple of weeks amid the joy and excitement of finding a house to rent and settle into was also the stress of finding a house to rent and settle into. When I left Chicago, I wasn’t thinking – “oh three years. No problem and then I will be home.” Rather I was alternating between thinking, “I am going to live in Ghana. How exciting. This is my life” and “I am going to live in Ghana. Dear Lord, this is my life!!” Whether excited or scared at the prospect, my intentions were and are to really live life here. Not just be on the fringes or live superficially, but to build relationships and set down roots. So you see, the very thing that I want to do is one of the things that is causing a major part of the stress. It’s not just the obvious things like the driving that are stressors but even more so that I function more like a child than an adult. See in the states I am an educated, fairly intelligent, competent person. I know how to drive, where to buy milk, how to make change and pay my bills. But in a new culture I am like a child that has to learn all these basic things and it tends to bruise the ego a bit and yes, cause stress. Then there are the inherent cultural things that you learn just by growing up in that culture. What is acceptable behavior and what isn’t and these things take much more time to learn (and truly can only be learned to a certain point). My expectations regarding the adjustment and my performance at this point are nowhere close to each other and this causes great internal stress. Is there a theme here?:) The culture stress is coming from many different directions. So what is my point and is there any good news? There is good news in that the God who sent me here to live and serve is the same God who will help me to do it if I rely on him. The danger is trying to do it in my own power and resources. The good news is that although culture stress can’t be eliminated, it can be minimized and God has given me a window into seeing this (through the book as well as the training I received in Colorado at MTI). The good news is that although living in a new culture is difficult and adjustment will take time, it won’t last forever. Eventually, I will find my way around without getting lost, I will learn where and when to pay my bills, I will learn how to keep the generator running, I will gain understanding of how to behave in different situations, and yes, I will be able to drive and cut off people with the best of them:) My point in sharing this is just that – sharing. This is part of the reality of living in a new culture and most of you have told me you want to know what is really going on. Thank you for your genuine interest in the reality of it all. But lest you think that God left me in the rain, dealing with these challenging issues let me assure you He didn’t. After the rain, the sun shines again and He brought three incredibly beautiful days of sunshine, blue skies, light breezes and a gorgeous ocean. I played tennis, read by the pool, read on the beach, went on boogie boards, hiked through small towns and tall trees, played boules, and relaxed. Did I mention just sitting and watching the waves roll in over and over? At one point the tide was so low and the water so blue that I thought for sure I was sitting on my childhood beach at ELWA in Liberia, West Africa. Close but not exactly the same:) So the trip ended very well and I am so thankful for what God showed me and rest He gave me.
We returned home Tuesday night to the real world. I have to tell you that sometimes I think God has quite the sense of humor. Shortly after returning, I heard from Eva, who has been taking care of the house in my absence, that while I was gone there were a couple of problems. The first, and in my opinion by far the worst, was that a family of cockroaches has taken up permanent residence in a rotten board under the kitchen sink. That grosses me out beyond description! It will be an aim of my life to eradicate them from the premises!! (I had similar strong reactions to the fire ants while I lived in Texas). The second thing was that when it rained last week there was a leak in one of the bedrooms and adjoining bathroom. I am thinking that this is just horrible and what on earth will we do. But when Lee heard it he said “just one room? That is great!” Perspective is everything:) You probably thought from my last email that I was all moved in before I left for vacation. Well when we got to the house we were unable to move all that we thought we could because of some logistical problems. (Not to mention we ran out of time before leaving for the beach the next day). At the end of the driveway, the city has been working on the drainage ditch and at the time we were trying to move there was a ditch of about 4-5 feet wide and several feet deep separating the driveway from the road. The workers had put a piece of wood about 18 inches wide across the ditch for us to cross on. Thoughtful but not all that reassuring. With just me on the board walking across it, it sagged most precariously. We didn’t even try it with Lee and a refrigerator! OSHA wasn’t around:) Actually I found it so humorous I could hardly function for laughing. Ah the joys of living in Africa. You either have to laugh or cry. As for me, I am going to try and laugh as often as possible. So needless to say, I am still living at Lee and Michelle’s. They know very well the difficulties of adjusting to a new culture and setting up a home, while trying to learn a new job. Their patience and graciousness has meant so much to me. As a matter of fact, they are helping me to find a reasonable pace for adjusting and working. My expectations were way too high. I am thankful for their wisdom and insight. Our focus together right now is to get the house in order and get me settled there. You would be surprised at how long it takes to find a simple mattress! So far three days. It is just going to take awhile to get the house together. Lee has told me that my job duties will be doled out in pieces over several months. A few weeks ago I thought that was ridiculous. Last week I realized that that was the nicest thing he could have said to me!