Photo Reel!

Yesterday was the last day of the "Day Camp"! We had lots of fun, below the proof... in pictures. 

    

                  Writing is always important, but...

C O L O R I N G 

Painting

                               

                                               

 B U I L D I N G                 

        PuzZLe            mAkInG      

  

and

DRAWING

are just so much more FUN!

Well, at least they had fun. I hope you did too...

God Bless,

~Jamie

This is the day that the Lord has made…

On Thursday, April 19th:

Today was a good day. No. Today was a great day. Even better, today was an amazing day! This past week has been relatively awesome, but I think today was the best.

It all started with the “Day Camp”, where certain students come for 3 hours in the morning to do super fun and exciting activities with Lizziey and sometimes me. All educational of course, but we don’t need to the kids that.

In the past couple of days we have been getting a maximum of 9 kids (except one day when it was pouring down rain and only five came, which was still cool, but that’s a whole different story :p ), but today we had 12! One kid in particular did not want to come because he believed it would be boring. He was trying to hide in some bushes outside of the classroom, when I saw him and talked him into joining the group. I told him that he should come to class today, since he was there already, but if he did not like it he did not have to return ever again. He bought it! And at the end of the day he told Lizziey that he liked it and that he would be returning tomorrow. Score!

Our days have been following a loose routine of a quick worship and prayer, followed by math-mania, a ten minute break for “fresh air”, and then English. We also have some free-choice stations; these are changed depending on the day, but generally they consist of a combination of the following activities: silent reading, puzzles, math flash cards, writing, drawing and coloring, and a sand box, just because we can. My favorite aspect of the day is that with the small number of students, I can give them all individualized attention (without the usual chaos that ensues in a bigger class). Also, Lizziey and I make an awesome team! :P

After sending the kids home, Lizziey and I stay a couple of extra minutes preparing for the following day and then head back to the house for lunch. Without the need to rush back to school after lunch, I find I can enjoy and relax while conversing and learning about the people around me. Conversation flows easily on a wide diversity of topics, from the heartbreakingly sad to the laugh out loud funny. Afterwards, we head back to our rooms to rest or to do any number of random things. Today I took a short nap while Lizziey played on her guitar (after brushing up on her econ). Then I woke up and when I went to get some food in the kitchen, Comfort reminded me that I had to make peh-peh (to show her how smooth and HOT I made it), so I did. Not to brag or anything, but she was impressed! :D While we cleaned up our dinner, Comfort discovered that Lizziey plays the guitar. So we decided to have an impromptu worship session in our room. Lizziey and Comfort played the guitar, I played the tambourine, and we all did our best attempts at singing some worship songs. 

Then 7:30pm rolled around and it was time for our work out. Sister Lillian and Sister Evelyn joined us as usual, Jamila was around trying to follow the steps, and even Comfort brought the guitar to serenade us while we exercised. Recently we have been working out in the open on the second floor. Since it is night time, the stars are usually visible and quite beautiful (especially when doing crunches!). As we started a chill cooling wind was felt by all, and a few minutes later it started pouring down rain once again. Now anyone else would have called it a day, but not us. We are tough! So we moved to the covered gazebo, because the breeze was nice, but eventually we had to move to the Library and continue the rest of the workout there. While in the middle of our workout, the lights went off. But did we quit? Di we give up and call it a night? No siree, we kept on and pushed on until some short minutes later the lights were back on. Finally, all sweaty and exhausted from our workouts we returned our “weights” (honey jars, spam ham and tomato paste cans) to the kitchen. Lizziey and I made some tea and took a hot shower while it was still raining. It was the perfect end to and awesome day!

God bless,

~Jamie

A Random Blog for a Random Day

The sounds of African instruments waft through my room to the beat of African hip-hop through blown up speakers. My head nods to the beat, my heart praises with the congregation “to God be the glory” and my arms wearily type the expression of my thoughts.  I thought a lot today.  Jamie and I headed to the school and wrote out our lesson plans for the fifteen kids we will be tutoring over the next two weeks. Jamie designed a beautiful place-value sign, and I created individualized worksheets for the kids.  We pondered over how to best display and teach the concept of one million. We sang silly songs because our heads hurt from writing about math.  We lost track of time and came to the house to eat dinner. 

I ate rice and pehpeh paste. Fresh pehpeh is hot peppers crushed with onions and a little salt.  Pehpeh paste is fresh pehpeh plus tomato paste. love pehpeh. I really love hot pehpeh. This was a hot pehpeh day. I love how my sentences are still following, albeit loosely, the format of extended form. This is why I minored in English, not math. Not that anyone can tell because my grammar is currently horrible. Nyame N’adom, I should have been raised on Twi.

Together Jamie and I prepared for our trip to Accra tomorrow. We are planning which souvenirs to bring home and are hoping to stop at Mama Mia’s for some pizza. I also read about a place that gives a $12 mani/pedi. It’s risky, and I’ve seen the lovely flith of the typical street pedicure. But my feet are absolutely disgusting. I’ve lost four toenails while here. As in, they have completely broken off (one even snapped up, so that when I bent it back down blood squirted everywhere, and I was greatly intrigued.)  Prince likes to step on my toes a lot, too, so even the ones that are still in tact are often bruised. Which is why I often wake up and thank God for nail polish.

Sister Lillian, Jamie, and myself completed Day 12 of the 30 Day Shred. My neck and upper back are sore after the second day of the second level. If we complete all 30 days of this workout in Ghanaian heat and humidity, then I am convinced that I am invincible.  Despite the soreness, tonight was a lovely workout. We moved our laptop to the roof and worked out as lightening lit up the clouded sky and thunder rumbled lightly in the background as if God’s stomach was empathizing with my own.  I complain, but I look forward to those workouts more than anything of the day (even my morning cup of coffee!) Really, I just love the excellent company of Sister Lillian and Jamie, and whoever else occasionally joins us.

Picture to Come? Perhaps....

Ghana celebrated her Independence Day last Tuesday.  Our students celebrated by participating in an all-school marching competition on Monday.  I woke up on Tuesday, planning on celebrating our day off of school by drinking some coffee on the veranda.  Jamie walked out and saw me looking a little disgruntled.

Why, you ask?  Because in my peaceful corner of the world, next to the goat pen, our friend Peter was butchering a sheep.

So when Sister Lillian and Monica suggested we celebrate by going to Tills’ Beach, Jamie and I eagerly agreed. Way more exciting than watching Peter pull the skin off of one of my beloved friends.

Together the four of us headed into Kasoa, and found a tro-tro. The tro-tro wasn’t overly crowded, and the only worry was when an almost passenger threatened to kill the driver with his bottle of Malta. Oh well! The driver keep going. Good call, Sir.

Tills’ Beach was slightly more crowded than last time, but the weather was excellent and you couldn’t beat the amazing people we went with!

Monica and Lizziey at Tills

When our day was over we took a taxi to Agoti junction. Unfortunately, our taxi driver had been cheated by his previous clients, and then our taxi broke down! But with some magic spray and some prayers, the taxi was back in service and we soon found ourselves at the junction where we hopped on a tro-tro back to Kasoa.

On the tro-tro, a fellow decided to ask me why I wanted to blow up Israel.  Luckily, I read the NY Times headlines just enough to know that the Israeli prime minister had recently been in the US, that he was concerned about nuclear weapons in Iran and I was 99% confident the US was not planning on going to war with Israel anytime in the near future. Next time, I’m telling people I’m from Luxembourg.

I deflected the best I could, but in twenty minutes time we discussed nuclear warfare, GOD (he meant gold, oil and drugs: not the Creator of the universe), racism, and agriculture. Jamie put her head down to keep from laughing. Monica and Lillian shot each other looks. I did my best to give out my mere opinions, but I really had to keep it in check when he made some racist comments and when he said, “I don’t understand why people plant things like grass and flowers. On my farm we plant only things you can eat.”  After a quick briefing on how the eco-system works, the man said he’d come by sometime and show me some documentaries.

He hasn’t stopped by yet, and I seriously doubt he will.  But hey, I’m all for a good documentary every once in a while.

From the butchering of the sheep, to traveling to the beach with great friends, to random slightly misinformed political conversations in the back of the tro-tro, I am thankful for Ghana’s independence. More importantly, I look at our days, typically crazy and typically exhausting and am glad to be a part of something more.

Dirty Dancing.

Jamie and I decided to play ballerina using an electrical pole in our "back yard."

Je voudrais de jus d'orange

I never expected Ghana to be the place of language overload. Yet,  I have heard more languages spoken in the town of Kasoa than I did in the international city of London.  My kids' families speak Twi. Many of the candidates speak Fante, which is closely related to Twi.  My students are learning French, and occasionally there are songs in Latin. In Accra our taxi drivers usually speak Ga. Jamie and I regularly converse in Spanish. I've committed to reading Grammar Girl this year simply because my English skills are now such a mixture of languages and accents that it has definitely shaped my mind and writing.

Despite the fact that my polished English skills sometimes escape me, our multi-cultural climate is exciting. One night recently after the candidates arrived from their month-long absence of a retreat and visiting their families, we all sat around eating popcorn and drinking soda (in the dark because of course the power went out).  Because we didn't really have enough lights to play Jenga or Rubikub, we started rapping. That's right, rapping. Sister Mary E. played the spoons to a tune in Portuguese. Sister Lillian gave us a jingle in Swahili, Cynthia chanted in Hausa, while Jamie rapped in Spanish. I threw in some English and away we all went.

I've found several French books in our library which has reignited my desire to actually learn this lanaguage. So I found a blog that is helping me learn basic phrases like "taisez-vous" and "Je voudrais de jus d'orange" I feel like I can add these to my repetoire of phrases I remember from high school French. (okay, so I only remember one phrase from French class and that translates to "do not touch me because you are a little fish." I actually had to use it once, but that is another story for another time)

Anyway, Jamie and I have been working on learning languages among learning how to live in Ghana.  Last night, for instance, I also discovered how to make fresh orange juice.  I was so excited that Monica let me help her in this endeavor.

The kitchen was messy, but the three of us had fun. Our orange juice was yummy, the conversation was excellent, and I added to the experience by learning to say "Je voudrais de jus d'orange" in French.  I consider it all: the multiple languages, the making of orange juice, the interruptions by my favorite Ghanaian six-year-old (who's current favorite activity is to hide places and jump out and scare me) part of the experience.

Market Day

It was an exciting week. Jamie and I gave all ten of our midterm exams, graded all 400 of those tests and then hosted a workshop on library resources and lesson planning.  (Did Lizziey really make all of the teachers pretend to be superheros during said workshop? Yes, she did.)  We introduced short "i" words to our after school remedial reading group and attended a workshop on early childhood education.  In between doing all of those things we found some time to teach.

At the end of our busy days, Jamie and I often indulge ourselves in recreational activities. It almost always involves drinking coffee on our veranada. It usually involves philosophy.  It sometimes involves playing the guitar and sketching. But last night God gave us an even better gift than the ability to engage in conversation over Betty Friedman's orginal ideas on the Feminist Mystique: God gave us rain. It poured from heaven, cleaning our windows and spilling over onto the veranda.  Jamie and I soaked it up. Then, we had a dance party.  Somewhere in our glee, Jamie decided to say "I think we should go to Accra tomorrow to get our packages."

In my typical fashion I rolled my eyes and pouted. (Being the youngest in my family, I've always been really good at pouting. Teaching fourth graders has allowed me to perfect that trait.) And then I said, "well maybe," and continued to dance to my playlist of Lady Gaga and Lily Allen while some African drumming from a nearby church service accompanied.

This morning I woke up from the previous night's coffee coma ready to go. On the way to the kitchen we ran into the candidates who were getting ready to go to Accra. Jamie said, "Hey, would you stop by the Circle post office for us?" They agreed, so we were excited that we didn't have to find the Circle post office by ourselves.

But then an even better thing happened. Tuesdays and Fridays are market days, but they are also school days. I teach school, so I rarely make it to the market. But this morning we headed to the kitchen and found out that Ama was getting ready to go to the market. We invited ourselves and off we went!

We had some fun exploring New Market with Ama.  We didn't buy anything, as we went looking for cloth and didn't find anything comparable with the quality of Grandma in Accra (an elderly woman who sells batik fabrics).  So eventually we hopped on a tro-tro and went to the Kasoa post office.

Kasoa's Only Traffic Light. Do not call it a stop light, or the tro-tro driver will get very confused and have no idea where you want to go.

(sidenote: after the tro-tro ride, but on the way to the post office, I saw a pretty dress. Since I can't officially go wedding dress shopping yet, Jamie let me go into this shop on the main street in Kasoa to look at the pretty dress. The owner let me try it on by simply moving a rack of clothes in front of me. I'm sure that no one noticed the half naked 5 foot 8 inches tall white girl trying on a formal white dress in the middle of Kasoa.) 

Oh the post office. First of all, we open our mailboxes with skeleton keys. Skeleton keys make me feel like I am part of a novel where the main character is participating in an act of greatness like hiding former slaves on the Underground Railroad or finding buried treasure on an island full of danger. Jamie and I wandered behind the post office, over the gutter where chickens are pecking through the trash and black muck, through a narrow alley way and unlocked our tiny PO Box. We took out the overflowing loot and stuffed it into our satchel and went inside to plunder the world's smallest post office for even more blunder. Oh the treasures we found! I received a box and an envelope full of books and dictionaries. (I've been praying for dictionaries. I read my 4th graders Frindle, and now they need dictionaries. Funny how that happens)  My mom sent me a Valentines Day box full of chocolate. Some dear friends of mine sent me a note with a box of fabulous goodies: including Nutella, Parmesan, peanut butter, POP ROCKS, Slim Jims and the world's cutest sewing kit.  Jamie and I are so thankful for those who remember us even though we don't always do the best job of staying in touch.  It seems that whenever we need a little something something, a package or a note from home arrives exactly when we need it.

Signals On!

Basic Three (B3) is sorely trying my patience. They are threading on very... thin... ice...

Mid-term exams begin this Friday, which means that mid-term reviews for exams will be going on all week. This is easier said than done, especially when your students seem to have learned absolutely NOTHING since the school term started. Don't get me wrong you still have your 2 or 3 students who always know what is going on (at least I know I didn't just imagine teaching the material), but the rest of the class obviously attended school at an alternative parallel universe. I mean, how else can you explain the "deer in headlights" look they give you when you ask a simple question (like "What color is the close button on a window?") ? Or better yet, the outrageous answers that prove that they didn't even listen to the question (Umm...ahhh... Madam! UP!). Ok so the real problem is not the alternate parallel universe, the  real problem is that they don't pay attention... to me!
This is not a relatively new problem for B3. At the end of the first term I noticed that my once "best-behaved class" was quickly becoming my "worst-behaved class". So I made the resolution to start tough and strong this term. I implemented routines and activities that would capture my class' attention and help creatively re-direct their focus back to me (without shouting or threats). I even tried some olds techniques, like "signals on" (which gets them to sit and look at me). They worked really well... for a whole week... Now, what?! Well, "if at first you don't succeed, try and try again". Which I did, with different approaches and yet the same end results! And now, I am left frustrated, exhausted and angry with B3 and their behavior.
The plain truth is, I love B3. I don't particularly feel fond of them right now, but I do love them. That is why their behavior hurts even more. I want them to do good, be good, and succeed both in my class and in life. It hurts (much like a slap in the face), not because they ignore me, but because in doing so they are missing out on so many wonderful things, the very things they learn from me. I have a lot  that I wish to teach and share with them, but there is only so much I can do for them. Only they can fill in the answers in their homework and exams. All I can do is try my best to prepare them for those tests by teaching them the material they will need to know, and hoping that when the time comes they use that knowledge to pass the test. I cannot, as much as I might want to, put myself inside them and do the work for them, they need to learn from me but do the work themselves...
And THAT is what God wants from us as well. Except that in this case He is the teacher, and I am the B3. As Oswald Chambers puts it "We don't consciously and deliberately disobey God-we simply don't listen to Him". We don't listen because we are so busy and concerned with "other things" that God's instructions never even reach our ears. We don't listen and it is DISRESPECTFUL. I might want to take the easy way out and say: "I didn't hear anything, so it's not fair that Im in trouble now!". But think about it for a minute. If a teacher can stand up in front of class and EXPECT the pupils to listen and follow directions, then why can't God expect the same from us? It is not the teacher's fault if the student chooses to doodle on their notebook during class and consequently misses writing down the homework assignment. The good teacher will always look out for the students whose attention has wondered and call to them  ("Jamie, did you hear me?"). How many times does He have to call us back to Him? How long until we finally learn to listen and pay attention to everything He says? If we love Him, shouldn't we stop whatever it is we are doing and listen as soon as He makes a sound? Don't you want to pass the class?...

God please forgive my insensitivity and disrespect. I am ready to listen, my signals are on...
Jamie

Let It Rain

It rained yesterday:

A drizzling downpour
           A whirling whisper
                    A calming catastrophe


And all we could do was stop and sing, dream and dance.


So we did.

"Let it rain, let it pour from heaven. Let it rain and revive my soul. I need Your rain-I need your streams of refreshing-until I thirst no more."

The Harmattan

I promise I will write a post about the super awesome events that have taken place over the last month. Two amazing friends came to visit me. One even decided that he wanted to marry me, so he proposed while on a beach in Akwidaa, Ghana and we will be getting married this fall!  But those stories will all come later when the internet is fast enough to upload pictures.  Today I wanted to post an entry from my journal.


The sands of the Harmattan blew in at the end of last term.

The Saharan traveler swirled in one morning, leaving the horizon where my steadfast mountain stands with nothing more than a dingy gray existence.  Like a rapidly progressing depression, the sand both blocks the sun and creates a pseudo yellow tinge as if it is attempting to convince the land that its dry swirls of sand may actually be clouds full of water.

The earth cools down.  Kids wear winter jackets as the temperature drops to 76 degrees. I wrap myself in 3 sheets at night.  The cooler temperatures seem like a breath of fresh air - until you actually inhale the dryness that surrounds you. The Harmattan sands seem to separate me from the realness of Ghana.  I miss seeing more than gray on the horizon, and I long to breathe clean air. 

But the Harmattan-despite traveling quite the distance- is a part of Ghana.  The dusty sands are a part of the authenticity of this place.  It's not unlike sin.  Sin, when first sweeping in to the Garden of Eden, must have changed everything.  It must have tainted the taste of fruit and dulled the landscape.  Its
very being clouded the vision of all of us, leaving only gray horizons where luscious mountains once loomed.

Then we woke up into the dust-covered world.  We feel the impact-our lips are chapped from the dryness, our skin is dull, our throats parched.  We realize that somewhere the grass must be greener: We know there must be more than this.

Jesus saved us, but the Harmattan hasn't lifted yet.   There is more in store for us.  I am anxious about leaving.  I struggle that I may never see some of my students again. I struggle that I have not taught them everything that they need to succeed to be strong, to love people and to love God. My heart is constantly bursting between all of the people I am constantly leaving and I wonder if it will only be settled well the Harmattan has forever gone away.

"O God, you are my God; I earnestly search for you.  My soul thirsts for you; my whole body longs for you in this parched and weary land where there is no water.  I have seen you in your sanctuary and gazed upon your power and glory.  Your unfailing love is better than life itself; how I praise you!  I will praise you for as long as I live, lifting up my hands to you in prayer.  You satisfy me more than the richest feast.  I will praise you with songs of joy."

Tranquil Till's

Yes, finally a post!!! :)
School is back in session! Day one was not nearly as hectic as we had anticipated, and the rest of the week went by better than expected. I hope this trend is carried through this coming week...


Lizziey's friend Hannah arrived last Saturday and she has been helping us out in the school, which is awesome! I cannot see how I would've managed to get my B3 kids into the computer lab (you know, without them killing each other) on Friday without her help. Also, because Hannah is here we feel more adventurous, so we even decided to go to the beach this Saturday.

It was our first time at Till's, so after some short tro-tro and taxi rides, we arrived at the gate of the Till's Hotel. Lizziey and I had no idea that the beach was actually the hotel's beach! Needless to say we were pleasantly surprised; especially when we saw that the beach was deserted, save one lonesome obruni, which was perfect for us! So we swam (or more like waded) and lounged to our heart's content on our own private beach....

... and even discovered some treasures hidden in the sand...

...and others hidden among the rocks.


















As we got up to leave in search of food, the beach was almost immediately invaded by a large group of people (presumably a school). Classic perfect timing! We decided to eat at the hotel's restaurant, and the food was excellent, even though some of the menu titles were harmlessly misleading....

God Bless,

~Jamie