What do you miss when you’re away from home? What do you yearn for when the time to return to familiarity draws closer? I missed Reeses, driving, pizza, movies, a clean-pressed shirt, Saturday mornings and a host of other things. But now that I’ve been back home for over a week, I’m discovering what I miss most about Ghana. I miss the smiling kids, the devoted teachers, the grateful parents, the jungle drives, the drawn-out boat rides, Muftawu’s watchful eye, Davi’s ice-cold Cokes, and yes, even the occasional chicken and rice. I’ve said this before, and will continue to say until I die, Ghana changes you. It changes your values, your perception of the world, your motivation to improve yourself and what’s around you, and most importantly, the humanity you share with every person on earth no matter where they live. Forgive me for waxing philosophical and, dare I say, exposing my bleeding heart, but if you go your entire life without experiencing this kind of eye-opening encounter you really haven’t lived.

What I’ll remember most from Ghana is the happiness. Not the Truman Show staged happiness or the commission-based Nordstrom’s happiness, but a genuine glee for life. Every day was a blessing even because of who I got to meet and work with along the way. But I’m not gone forever, in fact I’m already counting down to my return trip to the Gold Coast, and I’m hoping that while I’m back on the reservation I can do some good to make the lives of those I have grown to love that much better.

How you can help.

What you can look forward to.

-Bracelets are for sale at the Provo City Farmer’s Market and the BYU Bookstore for $10. Each one provides another child with an entire year of light! Wear your love, Buy a bracelet!

-Visit the EPI Facebook page and become our friends. It’s the best way to see what we are up to and the faces of the children you are helping.

-Put your money where your mouth/heart is and donate to the cause!

-Follow our Youtube channel and help us spread the word about Play for Power!

-Stay tuned for the “Stand-up for Ghana” event coming soon!

No matter how large or small the villages we drive through are, I see children shout and point while their parents wave and smile. It seems like a novelty to see an Obruni, Brafuno, Yavu, or anyone else of a creamy complexion passing through their town. (I must state here that this is not the reason I come to Ghana, it might be a factor in my returning so often, but not the driving force.) But these drive-by greetings are nothing compared with the warm receptions we receive on the day of an installation. Compared to then, these frequent and fleeting encounters seem downright cold, and this last installation didn’t disappoint!

Every installation I’ve been to has been different and reflects the traditions of that area. The singing and dancing and drumming are similar but each has their own flavor. And Tuanikope proved that you are never too old to join in on the dancing, or that you necessarily have to be African to dance like one (or at least try to dance like one). This celebration was also different from the rest because we had friends from the Forever Young Foundation with us who were more than happy to join in with the installation and of course the dancing afterward.

The system at Tuanikope is merry-go-round number 21, meaning that over 4,000 students now have access to portable light, a better education, and brighter future. These students can read and do homework at night well after the sun goes down reinforcing what they’re taught at school while fostering in them a lifelong love of learning. High school, college, careers and families then follow, setting the foundation to a much greater impact over generations as parents grasp the importance of education and share that love with their children. And each year new students begin school meaning that there are that many more parents who can spread the love of learning and establish a lasting foundation to stabilize Ghana. This wide-angle view of the impact a simple merry-go-round can have is simply amazing and inspires me to try harder to make sure that foundation is set and strong.

See you in the morning, God willing.

God willing, I’ll get into university next year.

Your car will be ready by, God willing, next week.

God willing, the fried rice is coming.

 But what separates Ghana’s use of this expression from that of Michigan is more than its frequency but the faith behind it. In Michigan it seemed more of a colloquialism, sort of like eh in Canada or ya’ll in the South. But here it is said with a smile of quiet reassurance that if perhaps it isn’t God’s will and the rain disappears and the fried rice isn’t coming, you don’t get into university next year and I don’t see you in the morning, things will be ok.

What makes one society more religious than another? There are many differences between the US and Ghana, language, food, history, climate, history. All these things add color to the culture but fail to explain the question of why faith is something shared in one place and kept private in another. What’s even more remarkable is not that faith is just a prominent facet of society in Ghana but that every religion is held with equal and shared respect and esteem. Where does this come from? It comes from nothing.

This religious faith and shared respect for divergent beliefs comes from having nothing else to cling to, no sure foundation against the sometimes tumultuous environment of a nation climbing out of first-world conditions. You aren’t always sure if you will see that person in the morning. You may never go to university, or even high school for that matter. These things are often out of your control, and with no tangible face to entrust your unsure future you turn to God, or Jesus, or Allah. You essentially relinquish possession of your future, your frustration, your fright, and your fear to someone who you believe is better equipped to deal with those things. While letting go of negative emotions may be liberating, even healthy, giving up on your future and feeling helpless are not.

Now this is not so much a religious discussion as it is a developmental topic. Human beings should be secure about the present and allowed to plan for the future with that same fervor. And those who have a vision of their own futures should reach out to those wandering in the mists of uncertainty, giving them something solid to hold on to until they can see theirs as well. I believe this is my duty as one who has been given everything, faith in the future and the comforts of the present. There is so much that can be done, so many opportunities to help someone feel comfortable enough in the present to have hope in the future. This is one of the things I will pack up and take home with me when it’s time to go, and this is the reason I come back to Ghana.

 Tro-tro: (noun) a primitive form of transportation, distant relative of the mini-van comprised of the driver and the mate who collects the money and signals the bus route to those waiting.

There’s almost an art form to tro-tro navigation, kind of a frenzied dance with a cumbersome and rusty partner. You pick your partner and hope for the best as she barrels down the road, creaking all the way, dropping bits of fourth generation welds and mends along the path in Hansel and Gretel-esque fashion. Luckily there is a mating call to ensure a good match, complete with intricate hand signals and gestures similar to a bird’s mating dance. The one I was watching for today was the shrill cry of the downtown headed bus, “Accra, Tema Circle, Accra” with the accompanying swish and flick of the wrist signifying the circle part.

The ride, I must admit, wasn’t that bad after I mustered up enough courage to leave the safety of my room. A short walk down to the roadside and I was quickly in a tro-tro headed towards Pig Farm, then on another that would take me right to Makala Market, which is a fete of sheer will power and nearly impossible with your own car due to the lack of parking. There might have been a woman who smelled of urine talking to herself (gee, I hope it was to herself) in the seat ahead of me and an old man who kept eyeing my watch, but all in all it was gloriously uneventful. And you will be even more pleased to know I was successful in my bead hunt landing a few strings of pearls which I will do…something with I’m sure.

Perhaps even more of an adventure than riding in one of these steel death traps is reading their eloquent slogans from the safety of another car. And with traffic only Ghana could offer you get a lot of opportunities to see even the smallest of print on taxis and tro-tros!

Shot glasses and fridge magnets have never appealed to me. Something that everyone else could have gotten from a far away locale just doesn’t seem like a worthwhile travel memento. My trips are unique to me, unlike any other traveller’s experience even in that same place. From Vegas to Venice, and now most of all in Ghana, I’ve been collection my new souvenirs, stories and photos. The calzone stolen on the Grand Canal by a seagull, the snowfall in Central Park, the dewy morning on that rocky beach in Mexico; all of these pale in comparison to any one experience I have had on these few trips to Ghana. This place has taught me to cherish what I have, made me realize how fortunate I am, and has perpetually renewed a commitment to help those less fortunate.

 Everyday I am fortunate to meet people that inspire me. Isaac is a man of firm faith and a great father, extremely honest and happy, even when he’s got the stomach flu! Kweku is someone who could have used his talents and practical knowledge for a comfortable life abroad, but instead stayed in Ghana where he is most needed. The mother of 4 who, in any other country, could be a member of parliament or a CEO, but instead smokes fishes to make provide for her family. But of all the wonderful people I’ve met in Ghana none has left more of an indelible mark on me than my friend Muftawu Muhammed Abubakari.

Like any first time traveller to Ghana, the initial few days are overwhelming. Sights, sounds and smells come at you with fire hose intensity, leaving even the fastest mind ill equipped to process it all. After long days out exploring I would often come back to the little apartment I stayed at and spend a few hours talking with my new friend Muftawu. We would ask each other questions about our very different lives and the responses I got have done much to shape who I am and who I’m trying to become.

What’s your favorite food?

            I eat whatever I can afford.

Do you like to swim?

Yes, I went to the beach once with 3 friends,

2 of them weren’t strong swimmers and they died.

What do you do when you get bored?

            Bored? What is bored?

 But perhaps the most impactful story I’ve heard has been about his childhood and the great lengths he has had to go to for an education. At a young age his mother passed away. His father felt he would be better cared for by extended family who lived 7 hours to the north, a great distance to the average Ghanaian. Muftawu says that he liked living with his cousins and having new friends but his uncle was mean and didn’t allow him to go to school. After 12 years of living away from his father, and only 2 years of school under his belt, he ran away. By gathering scrap metals with a friend he was able to buy a bus ticket that would take him back to Accra where his father lived. Although he hadn’t been to his house in over a decade, or even seen his father for that matter, he found where his father lived and was welcomed back home. He finished Ghana’s equivalent of middle school but then didn’t have any money for High School. A friend acquainted with Lybia promised him steady work and a safe place to live if he could only get there.

 After a dangerous trip on a hired bus he made it through the desert into Lybia where the streets weren’t exactly paved with gold as his friend had suggested. No work, no food, one room for far too many people, and no visa would be his life for the next 3 years until he had earned up just enough money for school. He returned home and started buying the books he would need for his classes. Nearly all his money went towards school supplies, until he saw a young boy who he thought needed them more than him. So he gave them away and started again.

There are so many details and intricacies in his life’s story that I am just incapable of writing about. But the skeleton of a story presented above makes me question how someone can go through so much for something most people see as a hassle? It’s funny to me how much of a curse school is to most of those fortunate to have it and how sacred it is to those without it. Muftawu says of his childhood, “Sometimes it makes me happy, sometimes it makes me cry.”

Not everything we talk about is morbid or macabre; most of it is happy and enlightening. We talk of our beliefs, our families, school, work, and stories from distant memories or about the future. Last week we were talking about Halloween. I described it as a night when kids get dressed up in costumes and go from door to door collecting candy. Muftawu said, “Oh, that’s just like a festival we have up north where people walk around with torches and beat each other and fire guns.” Ok, where’s the candy come in? After devouring an entire pizza one Saturday afternoon I began expounding on the different types of pizzas, who makes the best, the difference between thin crust and hand tossed and deep dish and all the toppings. We got to olives and I remembered a cherished childhood memory:

            “When I was younger I used to put the black olives on my fingers and pretend I       was a monster. I’d run around roaring like a lion and then I’d eat them off my fingers until I was sick.” To which Muftawu replied, “Me too, except with goat intestine. My hands would smell like meat all day.”

 Who else gets to bring home that experience? I guarantee they don’t make a shot glass or magnet with this kind of stuff on it!

But don’t rush to alert customs or anything. This elephant is only 18 inches high and made of “ebony” wood, meaning some tree with shoe polish on it, but I love him all the same. His name is Kofi, the Ghanaian name for a boy born on Friday, and he will fit in nicely with my new flour sac pillows and burlap bag ottoman. But the duct tape omen goes even deeper than my new furniture acquisition. Yesterday it could have signaled the end of my life, or at least a long swim. (Boti Falls)Close your eyes for a moment…are they closed? Imagine Africa; recall all you’ve learned from school and Hollywood about this behemoth of a continent. Now open them. You’re wrong. As I’ve already mentioned, Ghana is nothing like my mind’s picture of it; and the trip to the Volta Lake only confirmed this new revelation. So what does this have to do with duct tape? Water, that’s what. More specifically, keeping water out of my canoe! A canoe that was in the middle of a very large lake, in 2 foot rolling waves and leaks springing up everywhere.

We’ve made it a goal recently to explore the islands that are seemingly everywhere in Ghana in search of potential schools. We’ve had great luck in the Lower River Volta with Pediatorkope, Alorkplem, Aflive and Tuanikope Islands and have already planned an installation at Kpala (Paula) Island in the Volta Lake. These island schools and villages are isolated and often very deprived, and after yesterday’s boat trip I better understand why. Getting to the islands in the lake is difficult, often taking upwards of an hour once you’ve secured a boat. On our last trip we went with a large boat that carries locals back and forth on market days with their goods and, much like the buses and taxis on the mainland, doesn’t leave until every square inch is full of something or somebody. A smaller boat reserved just for us would get us there faster and make visits to the island easier, but we didn’t take into account bad weather and the bumpy ride it would make for our little crew.

After replaying Titanic over and over in my mind, “Never let go Jack, Never let go,” we made it to our destination. The clouds parted, the sun shone through, and we found two gems. These little islands have deplorable facilities, lack supplies, and struggle to get teachers stationed at the remote little villages. There are fleeting moments when everything seems to melt away; all your problems, deadlines, traffic and noise disappear and you focus on what’s in front of you. This island trip was one of those moments. Everything leading up to it was worth it. And anything it takes to get some help to the children I met there will be worth it as well.

I’ll be the first to admit, with my mom a close second, that I’ve always been interested in interior design and stuff like that. I vividly remember clipping pictures out of old Better Homes and Gardens issues and putting them in my “Dream Home” folder when I was younger, a practice now digitized to a folder on my laptop titled with the same name. And now that I have my own place (sort of) I’ve gone crazy gathering things that I think show my personality, tell the stories of my travels, and hopefully make others feel at home in my second floor apartment. Why am I talking about this? I’m half way across the world, separated from my nest by an ocean and 2 half-continents. Because I’ve found something awesome, flour sacs and cocoa bags! Yep, that’s right, flour sacs and cocoa bags. Stay with me here.

I fell in love with the crisp white, tight-knit fabric flour sacs the first time I came to Ghana and have been on the hunt for them ever since. They seem to be used for nearly everything around Ghana; baby wraps, smock linings, bread stand covers, awnings, and even sailboat sails. For some reason I feel drawn towards the blue and red of the Tema hard spring wheat flour and the warm orange of the Takoradi flour mill bags. And similar to that girlfriend I had in second grade, I knew I wanted one but didn’t know what do to with it when I finally got it. But now I do, pillows. I’m going to make pillow for my brown leather couch, and after a quick Google search I’ve filled my mind with interesting ideas. And the cocoa bag, what will its future be? Well an ottoman of course! I dream about an old reclaimed ottoman re-skinned in a Produce of Ghana, 100% Cocoa rich-smelling burlap.

And where did I find the materials for my Sistine chapel-esque masterpiece? Well the dirtiest and most hectic place ever of course, the Kejetia market in Kumasi. It’s been a while since I was actually there but it’s taken this long to recover from the chaos, smells, and traffic that rule the largest market in West Africa. I’ve heard it said that driving through Ghana is like going down the aisles of Wal-mart, which is as apt an explanation as I’ve ever heard. But going through Kejetia market is like clawing your way out of the bowels of hell through hoards of sweaty, hurried people, heads and arms pilled high with everything imaginable. A once in a lifetime experience for a reason, I never want to do it again. The responses I’ve gotten from people regarding my flour sac and cocoa bag upholstering projects have maybe been the best part of the whole deal. My favorite was simply put“but why?” I guess the beauty of reclaimed fabrics is lost on some, but it resonates well with me.

 As I’ve said many times before, there is no way to describe Ghana, no all encompassing phrase or specially crafted word that transfers an experience like this from my senses to yours; you just have to experience it. But to have the Disney designed Africa of my childhood run haphazardly into the Africa I have experienced in great detail was… well, trippy for lack of a better word. There were no lions hoisting cubs over sun tipped cliffs, no menacing hyenas plotting my demise, not even an omnipotent blue-butted baboon to explain life’s meaning, just me and Isaac in an Indian made car cruising down the road listening to a childhood fantasy reliving itself. To stereotype an entire continent with one movie, especially one with talking animals, is ill advised at best and downright dangerous at worst. The big realization was that I’m doing one of the things I have dreamed of from boyhood, and although it’s different than I had imagined it, it’s nonetheless a dream come true (And yes, there have been a few monkeys along the way).

 There have been other revealing experiences this week as well, one of which was a little more important than my pre-dawn Disney moment. As some of you may know, I’ve had a cold for a few days, nothing major but still a hassle to say the least. No one likes to be sick but I must admit I tend to get a little whiny when I feel under the weather. But this time I forced myself to be more Ghanaian and I think it helped a lot in my recovery time. So what does it mean to be more Ghanaian? It means to find the silver lining in all things, no matter how bad. It means to be happy even when life’s circumstances tell you to do otherwise. One boy I met this week personified this way of life. His name is Andrew.

Andrew is a student at a school near the Volta River in a little village named Obane. We were passing through on a mission to repair a piece of their merry-go-round when, as always, a crowd of kids came out of nowhere and watched us inquisitively. I noticed one of the boys had a small hole in his neck surrounded by scar tissue. I asked him what happened to his neck and he just smiled and disappeared into the crowd of boys. Undeterred, I got Isaac to ask him what happened but they spoke different dialects and didn’t understand each other. Worried, I went for my trusty camera and snapped a few pictures to bring back to Accra and to show one of our doctor friends. The whole way back to Accra I kept thinking “how does this boy have a normal life?” He seemed happy, even healthy, and when I asked one of his teachers about the hole he said he had never noticed it before. If I had a hole in my neck everyone would know about it! If I stub my toe on Monday it comes up in conversation Saturday right after the salutations. But Andrew just goes right along with his life despite his problem. And what’s even more revealing is that those around him don’t define him by his problem because he doesn’t either. You will all be pleased to know that Andrew’s hole is not life threatening, but we will be getting him into a doctor just to make sure.

And that brings us full circle back to my haircut. I’ve tried, there is no silver lining there.

No positive side.

No redemption.

It’s bad. Biblically bad.

Isaac and I were way up north in the upper-eastern region of Ghana selecting some schools for EPI’s electricity-generating merry-go-rounds. Each school was different, some in large block buildings, others in mud shanty rooms, and one had four classrooms outside under large shade trees. At first I was dumbstruck by the sheer number of students who learned without any sort of accommodations, no desks, no books, just a chalkboard leaning against a tree and a mat on the floor for them to sit on.

One of the teachers, a young woman probably mid-twenties, was teaching them English. She had written phrases on the board and was reading them aloud as the kids parroted them back to her, never actually looking at what was written. Soon it was their turn to go to the board and read a phrase while pointing at each word with a stick, Ghana’s version of follow the bouncing ball. One boy was in front of the class “reading” the phrase “may I go out please?” which is very American, in Ghana the please always comes first, “please, may I go outside?” After several attempts and an equal number of failures the teacher said to the class “lets shame him, 1-2-3 SHAME!” all of the students pointed at the unlucky boy and shouted “SHAME, SHAME, SHAME!” and I was horrified. This was my worst fear as a student, and perhaps still is, lodged somewhere in the recesses of my squishy mind right behind the names of capitals and the difference between a noun and pronoun. As soon as we got back in the Tata I consulted with Isaac “is that normal?” He assured me that this wasn’t the standard form of teaching and that the woman was untrained, somewhat soothing to my sudden onset of nausea. Luckily this school will be one of the many getting one of EPI’s merry-go-rounds soon.

Besides just a toy that produces light, an EPI system provides the teachers with some training on more effective teaching styles. With each merry-go-round or swing we install we provide hands-on science kits that the teachers use to supplement the government provided curriculum which is rich in memorization but lacking in actual experience with concepts. The goal is larger than just cementing scientific tidbits into student’s brains; hopefully the teachers will learn how to teach all their subjects more effectively, enhancing each and every discipline taught in a classroom or under a shade tree. Then students will fall in love with learning and the terror that I had as a child will disappear.

 I am thoroughly humbled by a Ghanaian dish called Banku. Weighting in at what has to be 20 pounds of pure starch, Banku is one of the staple meals for a culture of hard workers with little time to stop and linger over a meal. Here, eating is out of pure necessity. The starch keeps you going, the fish adds some protein, and the hellish heat burns out the parasites. But it’s not the heat of the soup that makes this dish and its cousins so hard to get down, it’s the fact that you must swallow the little fiery starch balls without chewing. While making a visit to Kpala Island yesterday I was served dinner by our very gracious host, and not wanting to be rude, ate nearly my entire weight in corn starch before I gave up, leaving 1/3 of the corn clump untouched.

You eat Banku (and Fufu , Kenkey and Rice Balls for that matter) with your hands, breaking off little pieces of the pasty corn dough and dipping it in the soup, placing it in your mouth and “swishing” it around to savor the flavor before swallowing. The soups are usually very good in and of themselves, a little spicy of course but the flavors are rich and complex. This time around was okra stew with fall off the bone Tilapia that really was great, minus the banku. Fufu is the same concept but made from kasava and plantains instead of corn. Both foods are made by boiling the starch and then pounding it in a big wooden bowl with a large stick until it forms a dough. To watch the process is rather amazing as it takes the trust and coordination of two people. One pounds while the other turns the dough and adds water until the perfect consistency is reached. Kenkey is just Banku that you wrap in plantain leaves and then in a plastic bag to ferment for a few days making it a little sweet and tangy. Rice Balls are made by cooking plain white rice well past the fluffy stage until it breaks down and starts to clump together. The clumps are then formed into bigger clumps and sort of mashed together into a ball before being tossed into a soup with a little meaty side.

So what do I eat? While I like adventure every once in a while I usually stick with chicken and rice although I have been known to get a little crazy some times and go for fried rice, but only after 5pm and only with friends. And I’m sure you will be happy to know that Pepsi finally has a presence in Ghana, which makes washing down Banku all the more enjoyable/possible.