Ghana Part 5

Well…this is the last installment on Ghana. I seem to have run out of time to handle all of the matters at hand. For instance, last week I was elected to be the interim pastor of our church. I thank God for that, to be sure. But, it does mean a lot less time in the tractor seat, less time as “Farmer Ran” (my gophers are rejoicing… the neighbor’s gophers are rejoicing), and less time in the "Minnick Computer Service" bunker. Besides, I think I’ve about run out of information (though, more likely, I’ve forgotten several things).

As one may imagine, it was easy to sample a number of different foods in Ghana. And, though I'm not all that adventureous (probably has something to do with that large yellow stripe down my back), I did just that. But, there was a special culinary stand out. It was some sort of stew with a tomato base and that had wonderfully spicy meat (probably beef) in it that had a real kick to it. It was potent but wasn’t so hot as to scorch my tonsils. I asked for the recipe then promptly lost it! How nice. It wasn’t like the standard palm nut soup base like that used in making fu fu. For some reason the taste of that stuff got old very soon.

Pastor John Appia was ever the accommodating host. He made sure that Ol’ Ran was well taken care of. I’m glad I had only a few desires or wishes as I’m quite sure that he would have caused all things big or small to come to pass. One instance was when I mentioned if it were possible to deep fry the local yam since it was so much like a potato. In almost no time, I had a pile of deep fried yams that had been cut to look like French fries. Astonishingly, they not only looked like French fries, they tasted like them too! He also made sure that I didn’t run out of Chinese food. That was truly great since, after about three days or so, the local cuisine had lost its novelty. Had I needed a valet, John would have seen to it that one was close at hand.

During the normal course of affairs, John asked me if I would like to visit the Manhyia Museum in Kumasi. Since museums and I have a long time affinity for each other, I did answer “Yes!”. And, so it was. He took us there for the really cool tour. The tour guide was a real hoot. He truly was funny but few folks have such a dry wit or were so deadpan as he. He gave his opening spiel and then asked if anyone (it was just John and I) had any questions. John didn’t and I nodded and said, “No, sir”. He looked me right straight into my pretty brown eyes and said, “God bless you, sir”. Not wanting to make a complete fool of myself (reserving that for another time, no doubt), I did all that I could to keep from cracking up. It was difficult, though.

Our guide took his time and treated the two of us like we were the most important of any that would pass through the museum. He filled us with facts and figures and dates, timelines, and eras. It was amazing to learn so much of Ghana’s past. He even took the time to explain what the colors on the national flag represent. It was most interesting. Their cache of antique firearms was captivating, too.

In a previous part, we noted that the water was off all but two days while I was thre. To say that Ol' Ran missed his morning showers would be like saying Aurther Ashe missed his tennis shoes on game day. But, not much thought was given for the matter. It was not much different than camping out somewhere so “bucket bathing” wasn’t all that bad. However, wouldn’t you know that "Captain Spongebath" would outdo himself? Somehow, and without any help from a single person, I made it out of the digs….without my deodorant. Oh, brother. Now I was part of Kumasi's pollution problem. My first thought was that my only hope would be to try to find a burning truck tire and just stand close to it. Maybe just keeping close to an open sewer ditch would work. That didn’t happen either. I’m not sure if anyone else suffered given the fact that most folks (at least that I could tell) didn’t take very many showers or use pit stick. Anyway, I offended myself. Way to go, Pepe LePew. At least I didn’t have fu fu breath.

At other times, when the electricity was off, I couldn’t use my blow dryer. Now, that’s a “bummer dude” thing! Thankfully, I had Mr. Ball Cap close and was able to make due. It was either that or go “hairless in Kumasi”. Ummmmm….maybe not. I haven’t had a butch since I was about 7 years old.

During one of the few times I was able to use the Internet, I did get to contact Connie using SKYPE. Some of our contact was truncated because of slow connection speeds and sometimes I couldn’t contact her because of the 10 hour time difference. We managed to at least SKYPE a few times and then just use the phone a few times. That also meant that we did texting a lot. I guess I didn't get the memo about texting in a foreign country. The texts were 50 cents each. That doesn't sound too bad until you account for forwarding ten or twelve texts at a time sometimes several times per day. Do you suppose Ol' Ran was shocked when the texting bill was more than 400 dollars for the time spent in Africa? The word I like to use is "stunned". Next time do you think "Pastor Dummy" will read the fine print?

One Net session allowed me to use Google Maps to trace my travel route from the US to Ghana via the Netherlands. The route from Amsterdam covered France, Spain, Algiers, Burkina Faso, then Ghana. It was downright cool! An interesting note was that Google identified me as being in Ghana and brought up “Google Ghana” automatically! Amazing!

I missed having my morning coffee latte’s but knew that finding or making one was about as likely as finding an Outback Steak House next to Santa's place at the North Pole. So, the standard (morning) drink for this wayfaring stranger was Lipton’s Yellow Label tea (their original tea). It’s a good tea but I still prefer Luzzianne from the Midwest. Connie and I grab a couple of boxes of it when we travel to Texas and Oklahoma. Good stuff. We also try to pick up some "Cains" coffee too. I did break down and purchase a small tin of instant coffee and had that with the hot water served with breakfast one morning. Instant coffee just isn’t the same as the brewed stuff so I still have the small can. The worms may get it.   

Prior to departing the US I asked John if he drank coffee. He advised that he did, indeed, drink coffee. What he didn’t advise was that he didn’t drink coffee in Ghana. I brought him a pound of Starbuck’s coffee and assumed later that it would make a great shelf ornament and conversation piece for a few years. He may be able to trade it to the next missionary for some Lipton’s Yellow Label tea. Who knows?

On the last day in Kumasi, we departed the digs and headed southwest. I knew that I would miss the good folks there but also knew that I was getting weary of the African heat and such. Cousin Jimmy Sanders text’d and said that he thought that we would be heading to a place where they shot white folks and otherwise just cooked missionaries. I advised him that I heard that they were lousy shots even if they could afford the ammo and that I tasted too gamey to eat so I should be OK.

Leaving the digs was interesting. I had lots of stuff! Connie had packed three dump truck loads of goods crammed into one medium sized suit case! I had no idea how she was capable of that trick or how on earth I would get everything back in there! Somehow, I managed to get the job done but was afraid to open the suitcase later knowing that it would likely explode when I did. Not sure how I would break the news to Connie but I suppose that, "The suitcase has exploded, madam" would be the easiest and most direct way to do the job. She's pretty sweet; maybe she would smile and just help me gather the pieces.  

After about four and a half hours of driving, we made it to the small village where John was born and grew up. The best that I could tell, the place had hardly changed in almost 60 years. I shouldn't wonder. When he was born (1953), they were still issuing tribal cut marks on the left cheek. He said that they no longer practice that particular ritual. I don't know why I was surprised to hear that ritual marking of babies had ceased. It seemed to me that Africa was hardly out of the 19th century so why should their rituals change or stop?

I probably mentioned before that I wore the beautiful black and red shirt that John had custom made for me. It was part of the funeral attire for that occasion in the small village. His mother had died and the customary funerary is predominatly black. The symbols on the shirt mean “remember your roots”. I will see that I do just that.

Our accommodations were nice enough at the "Daasebre Lodge" there in the little village that was only a couple of hours from the coast. We unpacked and had lunch. They served us deep fried mackerel, spiced rice, and spiced black eyed peas. It was pretty good stuff probably due to the fact that none of it involved the palm nut soup base. Later, for dinner, we had deep fried ocean fish and deep fried yams. The next day, I was served spicy rice, a couple of fish the size of my hand (some kind of salt water fish), and a palm nut soup base with a fish and a chunk of “mystery meat” in it. I guessed that it was probably lamb or mutton and found that it was, indeed lamb. John said that it was prepared especially for me so that I could be “African”. It must have worked because I answered him in Akan.

The shower in my room was a small cubicle in the corner of the the room had no door and the walls of the cubicle didn't reach the ceiling. The shower bottom wasn't contained so that meant that water got on the floor. It didn’t take long to discover that the floor (being concrete) became a dangerous skating rink when wet. Giving the fact that I never actually learned to do anything well on an ice rink other than fall, I had to be quite mindful that I didn’t accidentally skid to Tulsa in the blink of an eye.

We departed the small, quaint, lively, dingy, sweltering hot, forgotten-by-Tarzan village and headed for a town on the coast near Cape Coast (the former capital of Ghana). I probably won’t miss the little village.

The ministry experience was also very satisfying. I taught on “peace” for a few nights in Kumasi and during the Sunday service at the church near Cape Coast. This teacher was well received which was a real blessing.

This trip had a tremendous and life-long impact on my soul. I saw, felt, smelled, and experienced things that simply were life changing. Most of it was difficult and even unpleasant and made even more so by a soul sapping heat. Will I go again? I went this time because I knew that I was called to go. If called again, I will go again. But, I hope to be more emotionally prepared to deal with a country where one third of the population lives on less than a few US dollars per day and the remainder are merely dirt poor. Most likely, the sense of awe and adventure will not be as prominent and I'll stay pretty close to a Chinese restaurant if possible.

An astounding fact was that there was never a hint of bigotry or racism any where I went in Ghana. This white boy was treated with great respect even in the depths of the slums of Kumasi. I truly did feel welcomed there. That also had an impact on me. It proved that it was possible to live without racial bias and to treat men equally. Though I was often the only Caucasion within a wide area and was a stand-out 6' 2" 235lb  minority figure, nothing presented itself that would cause me so much as take thought for the matter. It was remarkable.

One wonderful aspect of this trip was the confirmation that God loves His creation/His man and loves each and every one of them without respect of persons. Not one soul on this planet is less valuable than the other in His eyes. This marvelous revelation came when I worked at the homeless shelter in Longview, WA. Not one homeless or needy person was “off the radar” with God. We serve an awesome God.

A Rancho Relaxo update is forthcoming. It’s a new year with some old challenges mixed with new ones. We’ll see how Rancho Ran and Canning Connie (who just put up the latest jars of chicken and spinach) meet them head on.