bringin' the flavor

Maputo is a taste I can't put my finger on. It's like a flavor that I've experienced before, but yet at the same time is totally different. It's as awkward on the tongue as my infant-like Portuguese. It's as delicious as the food we're eating as we stay in a home for traveling missionaries. It's as suddenly spicy as the instant my life flashes before my eyes as a chapa speeds around a corner and misses me by inches. It's as sweet as the smiles from my CCM coworkers as they welcome me to my "second home." It's as flavorful as the salty air that bounces in over the fish markets along the banks of the ocean. But yet it's an unfamiliar taste like one that can only get better with time.

Priscila, Stephen and I have just completed our third day bumping around Maputo in a daze of excitement, exhaustion and wonder. I still feel a bit numb from our whirlwind weekend of traveling and all that lead up to our arrival. We flew on two overnight flights in a row to get us from orientation in Akron, to a long layover in London, to a short goodbye to Elise in Johannesburg, and finally to Maputo. But we have made it (even with all of our luggage!), and are staing safe and well-fed under the provision of Casa Koinonia staff.



I still have trouble realizing that I'm actually here. All of my planning and preparation is done, all of my farewells have been said and all of my fundraising is taken care of. Maputo is now my home. And in many ways, I feel that this is a homecoming rather than a new beginning. The headaches that plauged my head before I came have been replaced with the quiet and ever-present nudging that this is exactly where I need to be. The red dirt, the blue water, the green palm trees, the orange trash on the street, the white walls and the brown eyes all remind me of the aching in my heart ever since I left Ghana. This is certainly the beginning of this chapter, but it is not the beginning of the story.


My Portuguese is improving every day (thanks to the lessons from Brazilian Priscila), my jet lag is weaning, I'm more used to traffic coming in the opposite direction and I'm indeed feeling more and more at home. I've discovered bits and pieces about my host family, such as the facts that they were solidified the day before I got here, they have two daughters and they live an hour and a half from Maputo. I'm not thrilled about the three hour daily commute to work, but it will give me a chance to explore the city more and become proficient in the transportation system of chapas, or minibuses.


This afternoon, we spent some time in orientation and reflection at the home of Joel and Jenny, two MCC workers who have taken us under their wings. Jenny challenged us to spend our year seeking the ways that God is moving in Mozambique, even if "kingdom-bringing" looks quite different than what we're used to at home. It reminded me of the passage in Matthew 5 where Jesus talks about Christians' presence in the world, among other things. Don Davis, an occasional guest pastor at Mars Hill, calls us to be the light of the world and salt of the earth in terms of "get your shine on, and bring the flavor." I don't feel very shiny yet in Maputo, but I'm definantly feeling the flavor.

stories

This video was shown to us as part of our training and orientation. I wanted to pass it on as another perspective that I hope will help me wrap my mind around all that I will see, hear and experience throughout my SALT year. The video is a little lengthy, so get comfy and take the time to watch and listen.

Chimamanda Adichie: The danger of a single story | Video on TED.com

colorful

Even thought I've only been in training for a few days, I already feel a small world away. This is mostly because a majority of the world has been brought to MCC this week. In my training, I'm joined with 60 other SALT-ers, as well as young adults from other countries--either serving abroad or in North America through two other MCC service-based programs. When all of us (about 80 total) are together in a room, it's as if a mini United Nations has been plopped into tiny Akron, PA. Along with valuable MCC-led workshops and orientation sessions, I've learned multiple handshakes from Zimbabwe, songs in Swahili, Chinese recipes and how to sing the colors of the Brazilian flag in Portuguese. I often feel socially overwhelmed from the expansive catalog of names, faces and placements that I've just jammed into my head, but it has been wonderful meeting the people here. We've laughed about melanin, teased about accents and marveled in variance. Never before in my experiences have the joys and challenges of diversity been so apparent in one situation.

This multiculturalism is represented in our living arrangements as well. We all live on or near the MCC headquarters campus, where there are five "houses" that represent different continents and regions. I'm living in the Africa house, but I really feel as though I'm living in a fair trade Ten Thousand Villages store (http://www.tenthousandvillages.com/). From furniture to bedspreads, common African heritage and art forms are represented. These organic-feeling houses even have washers, calming the fears that I'll be hand-washing my clothes while in training!

A common theme of this orientation, besides multinationalism, is an acculturation to MCC and who we are within the organization. Being at the MCC headquarters is such a dream come true for me, and I feel so honored to be so graciously welcomed into the MCC family. We've matched the key MCC values of peace, development and relief with our own, and I'm deeply comforted in remembering that this is exactly when and where I'm supposed to be. I'm reminded of why I love MCC and it's work, as well as how perfectly my position is set to compliment and enhance my past experiences. I'm realizing just how colorful the world really is in all of its beauty and complexity, and I'm thrilled to be able to taste, smell, see, hear and feel the interconnectivity of all who are here and what this community represents.

ate logo!

I leave bright and early tomorrow morning for a week of training before heading off to my placement. There are a ton of things that I'm not sure about, but am oddly alright with. I don't know who I'll meet in training. I haven't heard yet where I'll be living in Maputo. Despite my current friends' concern and my future friends' displeasure, I don't know where (or when) I'll be able to wash my clothes. And most disconcerting of all, I feel that I don't know a lick of Portuguese going into this gig.

But, I do at least know ate logo, which is one way of saying goodbye in Portuguese. It literally means "until soon." I find this to be a very fitting way to say goodbye to all the dear and loving friends and family who I have delighted in spending time with and have hated to let go this week. You all have been so supportive of and encouraging to me throughout this whole preparation period, and your excitement for my trip has been contagious (I'll ignore my suspicion that you're really just excited to get me out of your hair for a year!) For a visual of some of the people who have helped celebrate this new journey, check out the album link below.

a new chaper

The adventures of Ghana are long over. College is finished. And a year of service through AmeriCorps*VISTA is complete. Therefore, it is time to leave the country again! This time, I'll be taking off for almost a year. I leave in exactly one week and should return on July 25, 2011.

My newest journey will lead me to Maputo, the capital of Mozambique. But while I'm returning to Africa, I'll be far away from familiar West African countries in order to explore the southeastern corner of the continent, which only books and documentaries have exposed me to thus far. My 11 month experience is through the SALT (Serving and Learning Together) program of the Mennonite Central Committee (MCC). If those acronyms weren't enough, I'll be stationed in Maputo in order to serve the Christian Council of Mozambique (CCM) in their environmental development and water purification systems called sand dams. In essence, team of local and international development workers dam up a river in order to provide communities with clean water through the natural purification of the river's sand. I'll be working as a member of this team, but I'll be focusing on project planning and reporting. I will run previously written reports through a Portuguese to English translating software, create new documentation, and share the findings with donors, partner organizations, and the development community at large. At least this is what they tell me I'll be doing. Only time will tell what my actual experiences will be.

When I leave on the 12th, I will head to Akron, PA for a week of training before arriving in Maputo on August 21. Hopefully I'll gain a better understanding of what all this service year entails. I have been so blessed by my family, friends and home church throughout this preparation period. Through their generosity, I have surpassed the amount of money I needed to raise for my trip. I greatly appreciate your support through financial gifts, continued prayer and even by reading these blog posts. And with all of this being said, I think I'm finally ready to turn the page and see what the newest chapter of my life has in store!

walking tree

There's a tree in Ghana that's colloquially called the "walking tree." This huge tree has roots that stick up out of the ground like legs with small, shallowly-buried toe roots that ever-so slowly move. Over the course of a few years, this tree migrates a few inches or so. It crawls to a new spot as the decades pass.

In many ways I feel like this tree. Having a crazy sense of adventure and craving of travel, and sets me apart from the less movement-inclined trees I've grown up around. In some ways my passion for travel leaves me feeling lonely, un-relatable or guilty for being too restless. But this is how I was made to be, just as the tree refuses to stay stationary.

As my days in Ghana come to a close, I feel like a glass case of emotions. I miss family while also dreading missing my new Ghanaian friends. I can't wait to see my house again, but will be quietly devastated to leave the temporary life that I've built here. But just as God has ordained the walking tree to movement, he's already established the time I will have in any given location before I have to move again.

It will be painful having to rip up my Ghanaian roots and take another step of life. But I'm trying to appreciate the growth that has taken place here. The equatorial sun has detoxified my personality of a few flaws and the environment here has strengthened my bark, I think. Leaving Accra is going to be the same as leaving other places where I've grown and then left pieces of myself behind. It's the same as then, just at a different time. I miss Norton Shores, Grand Rapids, Evart, Barcelona, Lyon, Semes’ché and even Lomé for all that these places have taught me. But any shed tears just help water the ground for further progression. Growth should be celebrated regardless of geography. I'll accept this as my time for a graceful exit in anticipation of where my antsy roots will take me in the future. And all I hope is that I’ve left behind nutrients for others to grow in my wake and continue to be strengthened wherever I move next.

job 5: 17-18

I started reading Job at the beginning of the semester. I thought in some ways it would be good to read over again and make some application to my current situation. Not that I'm suffering in Ghana, or recently had all my cattle obliterated, but I have been going through some challenges this semester and have asked God a lot of hard questions like Job did. Two verses have stuck out to me all semester, serving as the exact correlation between Job and me that I was looking for:

"Blessed is the man whom God corrects;
so do not despise the discipline of the Almighty.
For he wounds, but he also binds up;
he injures, but his hands also heal.

A waxy and colorful bookmark of crayoned hearts fashioned for me by Anna marks these verses. This further serves as an example of where I've been, where I am and where I'm going. I've been blessed and I'm in challenging situations that are changing me, but I can't stay in this place, physically or mentally.

I'm afraid that when I get home I'll be frequently asked the well-intentioned question: "How was Ghana?!" Well, do you have six hours, or which part would you like to hear? I can tell the good parts, of the bright colors, the sunshine, the adorable children, the genuine hospitality. Or I can tell the frustrating side of lines being irrelevant, culture being overwhelming, church being spiritually unfulfilling or language barriers making even English intelligible. Or, I could tell the sickening tales of being physically sick for five weeks straight, or smelling the odor of black smoke of tires burning roadside mixing with the scent of raw sewage wafting from the gutters. Or how about the disturbing experiences of recognizing how high of a pedestal the United States is placed upon and the seeing the rows of used clothes in the markets which are imported from the West. I could describe the haunting images of bow-legged, redheaded and big-bellied children displaying the telling signs of malnution running after a bus of white college students. Or I could attempt to explain the spine-numbing stillness of haunting former slave dungeons with walls that seem to weep and floors corroding with faint screams. But inevitably, I could end up talking about the graceful power of the blue-green gulf, the sound of cascading waterfalls or the general gloriousness of hiking through tropical forests. But this is how it is, I'm realizing: recognizing the beauty of living juxtaposed with the harsh realities of life.

Any challenges that I’ve faced this semester have been discipline, not punishment from God. The wounding of my self-absorbed pride and the humbling physical maladies I've endured have been necessary for my old self to die and a new part of me to grow. In some ways, I apologize in advance for who I'll be when I get home. I'll be emotional, frustrated, confused and Ghana-sick for a while. But I'm not sorry that I've had the experience to become a better person, or to appreciate the consistencies of those who stayed at home. Thanks to all of you who have held me in your thoughts and prayers over the past few months, not even knowing what I was really going through. My experience really has been incredible in the invaluable lessons I've learned. But to truly do justice to what I've experienced, I'm going to be processing things for quite some time. So please continue to be patient with my continuous cycle of being wounded and bound, injured and healed.

too many cooks in the dormroom

It all started when I went on a homestay a three weekends ago. Grand Rapids has this sister city relationship thing with the Ga District, in the Greater Accra Region. This means that everyone, it seems, from the Ga District (East, West AND South, mind you) wants a chance to be hospitable to us. It's really quite kind of them, and we do appreciate it, but it is also a bit time-consuming. For instance, we just got back from spending the day eating a feast of Ghanaian food, drinking more bottles of water I thought a human could consume and dancing to the music of traditional African drums while enjoying the sea breeze off of the Gulf of Guinea. How did you spend your November 22? But the story of the homestay entails just five of us being hosted by a wonderful lady named Victoria who lives in Tema. She brought us to her house three Saturdays ago, socialized with us and taught us how to make delicious Ghanaian dishes such as bean stew or ground nut soup.

Well, after our delightful time with Victoria, my roommate Esther inquired what I could now cook. See, to Esther, if I can't cook Ghanaian food, I can't do anything....at all....ever. It's a little frustrating trying to convince her for three months that I'm not incompetent, I'm just in a different country. When I told her that I learned how to make jollof rice (a spicy white rice cooked in a tomato-based stew), she asked me to prove it. She claimed it was good to practice cooking here so I wouldn't "embarrass myself" at home. Thanks for the support, friend.

So this past Monday, Esther put me to the test. She gave me a shopping list of exotic spices and fresh vegetables buy at the night market. Oh, and Esther really likes meat, so I should get goat meat too. Well, it just so happens that goat meat is the most expensive meat on the market, and since I was already spending much more than I anticipated in this jollof rice endeavor, I stuck with chicken. To make a long story short, here I am, presumably vegetarian, coming back home with two kilos of chopped up chicken in a bag on the hottest day of the universe. Seriously, we're talking a dry 115-120 degrees with equatorial sun. I come back to our room muttering, dehydrated and smelling of chickens, and Esther sets me to work.

Our academic semester is rapidly coming to a close, which has created a little extra stress in my life. It's not that the work load is unbearable, but challenges arise when we're trying to balance final exams and research papers, while still attending classes. This being said, Monday was a little overwhelming for me as I looked ahead to all the work I had to do. On top of this stress, the LAST thing I needed was to cook a dinner that took four hours to prepare. When we spent all day at Victoria's, I apparently didn't perceive how long it actually took to cook all the food. And while seemingly simple, jollof rice takes a long time to prepare. Esther, who also has exams she is studying for, decided mid-cooking that she will rip me out for not paying enough attention to cooking and paying too much attention socializing with Amy (which was actually just venting to Amy about my day and having her help me organize my life and abundant stacks of study guides).

Anyway, the jollof turned out to be delicious, even though it was cooked with disdain on my part. Esther continues to be her....self. But now I know that food tends to be a bit more of a cross-cultural engagement than I can often handle, so I have begun to steer clear of Esther's attitude around dinnertime. Don't get me wrong, Esther really is great, but apparently our discussion at the beginning of the semester of how Ghanaians view food/eating quite differently than North Americans hasn't quite sunk in yet. And regardless of how many culturally stressing situations I've been having lately, I still don't feel ready to leave yet. It's not that I don't miss home or people or want to go home, but I feel as though I'm just now beginning to tap into who I am in Ghana, but I have to leave soon. Not having enough time to truly appreciate this culture is probably the most frustrating thing of all.

a day in the life...

I don't want to come off as one of those touristy types who think that everyone needs to know every detail of my life. But I feel the need to share my details of yesterday to give those of you reading this a little better understanding of what my life is like here. Sorry if this is long and tedious...

I began my day with breakfast in my room, like I do most every morning. I buy fresh bread at the night market near our hostel and eat it with groundnut paste (peanut butter) for breakfast. My former coffee addiction has been slightly curbed since I've been here, mostly thanks to the instant dirt that upon watering springs to a muddy creation that strangely smells like coffee. I decided to take my changes and accompany my breakfast with this pretend coffee. The rest of my morning was leisurely, since the only class I had was Twi, but not until 10:30.

As Becky and I walked to class in the morning, we passed other international students decked out in red, white and blue and donned with buttons or shirts of their favored candidates. It's been strange to watch the pre-game of the American elections from Ghana, where everyone seems to take a much bigger interest than I fear many Americans within the country would. Becky and I suddenly had a car stop right in front of us, roll down the window and ask us whom we were voting for. He then told us his views, and about how this was the most important day EVER. Well, I don't quite know if I would have gone that far...

After Twi class, a few friends and I went to the bush canteen, which is a mini market on the front fringes of campus. For 40 pesewa (about 40 cents), I got a delicious heap of fufu (pounded cassava) in palm nut soup. The Ghanaians around us commended my friend Amy and me for eating with our hands, and they laughed when we clumsily scooped the slippery substance into our mouths. Another 10 pesewa got me a peeled orange, which one holds and sucks all of the sweet juice out of from the top. Ghanaians still laugh at how much slurping noise we make and how much pulp ends up in between our teeth whenever we eat them.

Despite applying for my absentee ballot in AUGUST, it still never came. I waited all of October, plus the grace period of the week we were in northern Ghana. But alas, it's a no-show. So a few of us with similar stories went down to the U.S. Embassy (a.k.a. "Fortress America") to take another stab at our civil duties. After security checks and waiting in numerous lines, I told a lady at a window my sad story and asked what I could do about it. I did end up voting, but since I was told my ballot wouldn't even be sent out until the following morning (and after the results were already in) my vote didn't count. But at least I tried as hard as I could.

My friends and I were invited to an election party at night, hosted by NYU and a hotel down in Accra. We were shuttled down in a charter bus full of hyper white kids in Obama t-shirts. But despite our fears that the whole party would be like that, I was surprised at the diversity. Granted, the crowd still had a clear bias, but there were preppy Ghanaians next to the hippy Americans next to the middle-aged foreign expatriates. We sat outside in front of a large screen projecting CNN, and struggled to watch the TV as a local radio station loudly broadcasted from the lawn. Even though the five to eight hour time lapse made results slow and late for us, the energy was high. We left around 1 am our time, which meant not much had been reported, but we decided to be smart and sleep rather than wait out the night.

The opportunity to experience an election abroad and truly see the impact that the United States has on the world has been incredible. Regardless of feelings of Americans, Ghanaians are ecstatic about Obama as president. And while African-Americans must be feeling pride, local TV stations prove the empowerment that many Africans are feeling at this time. No matter what party or ideological divisions might be dividing some people right now, yesterday and today has made it easy to remember remember the 5th of November.

chacos on an adventure

Esther thinks I have a foot fetish. This is pretty much because of how excited I was when I got my second, newly-refurbished, pair of Chaco sandals in the mail. It is also because I have a few pictures taken of just my shoes. See, these all-terrain, all-purpose, all-ecofriendly sandals are not just shoes, they are the pages that the stories of my past adventures and excursions are written on. They're old friends who could tell tales of playing games in grass with children or getting lost and going spulunking in caves. If you are an onwer of a pair of Chacos, you understand. The few of us on the trip that own Chacos have tracked our adventures thus far with catchprases like "Chacos at the beach," "Chacos in the rainforest," or "Chacos in the air." But after an adventurous day like today, my Chacos can now tell the epic of "Chacos at a waterfall."

My friend Amy and I love adventure. She has a list of things she's looked up in her guidebook and wants to check out, and we've slowly been helping her check some things off her list. She has been dead-set on finding a waterfall for quite some time, so I tagged along today for map-lead and instinct-driven journey. Esther and our friend Dorcas sent us off with nervous looks and a "Don't get lost!" Perhaps it is because Ghanaians are not natural cartographers, or because they legitimately have no faith in our navagational skills, but I think they were genuinely surprised to see us come back in one piece, and about the same time we told them we would.

We traveled on three tro-tros for a total of about 2 1/2 hours there and about 3 hours on the way back. After our second transfer, we got dropped off on the side of the road about 21 km north of Koforidua. Our visit at the Bodi Falls park apparently needed to begin with a hike. A nice hike sounded delightful. We set off into the grasses which turned into trees which turned into rainforest. By the time we got to the slippery and muddy rocks of our path, I remembered once again that we were in fact just shy north of the equator and that Ghana makes humidity like the sun makes UV rays. We came upon a cave, which was really just a mysteriously dripping rock shelf in the side of a mountain. It was pretty cool, actually, and apparently people used to hide out in there for protection during times of war. There was a picturesque little stream trailing next to us the whole time, but at this point we crossed it and proceded to practically rock climb to get another 80 feet up in the air. The next point of interest was the "umbrella rock," where the Ghanaian tourists decided that we were a better attraction for them to be photographed with. It was a little wierd being by this awesome rock formation which overlooked the mountain foothills, all in the gorgeous sunshine, and having people taking pictures of us. We came upon more of this undesired attention as we proceded to the "three-headed palm tree," or the palm tree with three trunks. At this point we turned Amy's suntan, my projectile sweating and our jelly legs around to trace our hike back out to go see the waterfall.

We walked down stone stairs to get to the waterfall(s). There are two falls right next to each other, but in the peak of the rainy season, the streams widen and almost connect into one giant fall. They were absolutely beautiful! I wish I could post the video of Amy and her pseudo-Brittish accent doing a brief National Geographic documentary, or even just a picture, but alas, Ghana's technology most likely won't let it happen. The pool at the bottom of the falls served as quite the oasis for all of the swimming children and adults who stripped down to underwear and jumped in. A rainbow stretched across the bottom of the falls, and served as a colorful semi-halo for the swimmers. And the floating mist in the air overcorrected the humidity, but was a refreshing break at the end of a steamy day.

Today I probably got melanoma and fire ant bites that I don't know about yet, but it was worth it. My skin got a tan, the water in my body got an excape route out, and my shoes got one more story to tell. I'd say that was a Saturday worth spent.