At four a.m. a church bell rings down the street from my house. I lay in bed as the sun starts to rise, and the birds, chickens, and goats, wake up and make their presence known. Listen to the roosters crow. At five my neighbors have devotions that begin with singing and clapping hands. I fall in and out of sleep as I listen to the animals, singing, and clapping. Hear neighbors sweeping with brooms made of sticks. The sun has risen by six and shortly after I am out of bed to shower, dress, and have breakfast.
A little before eight I leave home to attend devotions with staff of the EPC Headquarters. Pass students in brightly colored school uniforms. Look down the hill into town and notice dust from the Harmattan that is easily mistaken for fog. In devotions we sing hymns, read scripture, pray, and listen to a message; all of which is in Ewe, except when I am told the scripture reference and a couple sentences of the message. Devotions are over after about thirty minutes.
Feel the weight of heat and clothes damp from sweat. Then I walk into town to Maxvin Publishing and Press Shop. Hear taxis honk warning people and animals to move out of the way. Watch goats cross the road. There I help with editing and other various tasks that take place at a primitive publishing house in Ghana: individually sorting pages and hand sowing bindings of books. The work is simple, but important, because I am building relationships with my colleagues as we share the same tasks and talk about our lives, families, and values.
I have a lunch break around noon, when I walk back home. Smell the sweetness of roasting plantains. Greet the woman selling eggs and bread. Once home, I eat and rest, and then return to Maxvin for the afternoon or go to the local EPC Bookshop. There I meet with Gloria, a middle-aged woman who runs the shop -- I help her with work and she teaches me Ewe (which is proving to be quite difficult). The bookshop is entertaining, people coming and going, and I am challenged by Gloria to speak in Ewe. Sit in the bookshop and watch women with babies on their backs retrieving water from a well. Notice a woman carry a tray of oranges on her head. On other afternoons I go to an afternoon program for kids, ages ranging from four to eighteen. There, Becci, Anna, and I, read a Bible story, sing songs, and play games. One night a week I go to a Bible study in town with a young women I work with. Not only is this time for me to study the Word, it has also been a great way for me to try to understand the ways that God is worshiped and understood in this culture.
Once evening has arrived, I walk through town on my way home, stopping by the small market or shop to pick up some food. I am stopped on the street, asked my name and home, where I am going and where I am coming from, where I work and where I live -- the people of Ghana want to know me, they welcome me to their country, into their homes and lives. I give them my time and do not pull away when they take my hand, I am accepted and welcomed as I tell them who I am and fumble through their language. Once home, in effort to cool down, I almost immediately shower. Feel the cold water turn hot when it hits your body. Then the girls and I fix dinner together, often experimenting and trying new things with our limited ingredients, and finally we eat. I read for a bit, and go to bed around nine or ten.
