Wool and ink

I was walking through the covered market and my eye caught them through the glass, Skeins of lovely wool in a fairly unlikely store, a shop run for the benefit of hospice care. At first I passed by, thinking, "That's ridiculous. What on earth would I do with that." Later in the day I passed by the same shop and the wool drew me with a power I do not understand. Chunky purple wool, lovely ash colored grey wool begging for a knitter. I could envision the grey in an Aran sweater, but I wasn't up to that. My ambition was a scarf. Yes - there are scarves available here for 3 pounds each, but somehow that was irrelevant. I succumbed to the impulse and bought 2 skeins of grey and a pair of second hand size 7 metal knitting needles for a pound.

As I chatted with the woman running the shop we laughed because I struggled about buying the needles. I have a drawer full of knitting needles at home. As we were packing, I carried 2 pairs of circular needles half way up the stairs, intending to put them in my suitcase. Thinking I would never have time to knit, I turned around and put them back. I am still kicking myself.

I think you just have to resign yourself to certain habits or foibles. One of mine is forgetting or not remembering how much I like to knit. One of Craig's is underestimating how much he likes to write. He has a penchant for paper and pen. I love the feel of wool on my fingers and the creation of something useful and beautiful out of nothing but raw material and effort. Although I am frequently disappointed and frustrated with the result, I keep trying. Craig loves the feeling of the flow of fountain pen ink on paper and the creation of ideas from knowledge and reflection. From the ideas begun many years ago, he makes many beginnings, but a relatively few results see the light of day or the printing press. But he still keeps trying. Craig can't pass up a stationary store. I can't pass up a wool store. The material begs the activity.

So we go through life, no matter where we are vulnerable to our weaknesses but trying to redeem them. There is some kind of strenghth and hope in there somewhere. The persistence of the habit attests to its strength. Then there is the hope that we will someday make that Aran sweater or write that book. Maybe someday we will.

Land of Narnia

Oxford is the land of C. S. Lewis. He taught here, met his good friend, J. R. Tolkein here, and married here. He walked for many years over the same slates and cobbles we now walk, met at same pubs, the Lamb and the Flag or the Eagle and Child with the Inklings, a group of writers whose works are now the stuff of legend. C. S. Lewis became a Christian here. He and the other Inklings, he said, represented "mere Christianity," that is they agreed on the basics, but held differing beliefs. Together their collective talent became a river of creativity from which they all benefited. I get goose bumps when I realize that Lewis and Tolkein traveled the same hills that we do and saw the same fields stretching over the horizon. All that separates us is a few years. And a lot of talent.

In honor of St. Peter's Narnia week, we went to evensong at Magdalen College where Lewis taught. The chapel is long and narrow. Dark wood seats line both sides of the choir leading to the altar in front of a stone frieze covered with a grid of figures that goes from the high ceiling all the way to the floor. The stained glass windows, still light at 6 PM, grow dim during the service. I'm sure in his many years here Lewis sat in the same seats and looked at the same altar. As we listened to the plainsong, we thought of everyone at home so busy engaged in bringing Lewis' worlds back to life. He had so much to say. He said it with his pen and his imagination with truth and kindness and a little mystery.

Peace and quiet

March 10th, Cuddesdon

We arrived in at Heathrow airport west of London at 6:35 AM. We had had dinner and breakfast on the 7 hour flight that had taken us directly north from the equator to England. Landing and going through customs was a breeze. Teeth chattering, we dug our coats out of the checked bag that had mercifully arrived when we did. Taking the bus from the airport to Oxford where we picked up the rental car amounted to the calm before the storm.

Curb! Tree! Curb! I was sitting on the left side of the car shouting warnings as Craig, having had 3 hours of sleep tried to learn how to drive from the right side of the car on the left side of the road remembering how to drive a stick shift, but translating it to his left hand rather than his right. In retrospect it might have been worth the extra 100 pounds to get the automatic. We arrived at our friends house in the late afternoon after having made a few forays (some unintentional) into Oxford.

Did you know that the side view mirrors on some cars collapse? The lane into our friend's house is notoriously narrow. We only hit 2 mirrors. But no damage - thanks to the collapsing. Of course we didn't know that before we hit them. Craig refused to drive again for 2 days.

What struck us about the whole exercise is how something so familiar can be so strange. All you have to do is change one little rule. Drive on the left. What would have been a walk in the park is turned into a white knuckle, hair-raising experience. The other thing that struck me is that no matter how familiar a place is, travel is always disorienting. Somehow you carry the place you came from with you for a few days. It's like your point of reference is far away, and therefore not really useful (even though you still try to use it) Using Ghanaian expectations for travel in the UK isn't really useful, but it takes a few days to develop a new point of reference. I don't understand this. I'm an American, not a Ghanaian, but in the month we lived with our Ghanaian friends, we learned to trust them and looked to them for many things. To a small extent we became like them. Now they were gone and we were on our own. It was like we forgot our old selves and hadn't really invented our new selves yet. Weird.

Now Craig is much more at home driving on the left. Mercifully our friends lent us their Tom Tom. I don't know how we'd do it otherwise. This makes the elbow macaroni streets of home look like child's play.

So now we've settled into our digs in England. The College is set in the countryside greening with early spring. The crocuses are up, and the daffodils won't be far behind. It is surrounded by open fields on the periphery of a tiny village with a wonderful pub. We've made it into Oxford a couple of times, but after the heat and noise of Africa and the anxiety of the first few days here, I think we're feeling like we'd like a little peace and quiet.

This is a good place for peace and quiet.

Flip flops, dreamers, and Sensible Shoes

When we finally got to the airport in Accra I just left the flip flops in the back of Joseph's car along with the empty Fanta can. Shedding them like a snake skin, they were dusty and flattened with wear. The 7 Cedis I had spent for them had been squeezed out of them long ago, but now I was headed for cooler climes. I figured it was time for Sensible Shoes.

I hadn't really planned on hiking through the jungle to see a waterfall on the day we left. The clothes I was wearing in the morning were going to be the clothes I had to wear on the plane. When we arrived at the reception desk for the Wli waterfall, the guide said it was a 45 minute hike in and a 45 minute hike out. That seemed a little daunting for three reasons. First, it was 1 PM in the afternoon and the sun was hot. Second, we had a long ride back to Accra for our flight. Thirdly, I'm not a hiker and I had no other shoes except my flip flops. But once there, we were committed, so off we set down a fairly level path through the forest along a clear stream running along the jungle floor. We traveled over 9 small bridges along the path through the lush undergrowth. A steep grassy mountainside rose up on one side of the river valley, the forest covering the other steep bank of the canyon through which we walked. As we drew nearer to the falls, the forest thinned and I notice we were walking on a rock ledge covered with a thin layer of sand.

We felt it before we saw it. The air seemed cooler. As we rounded a bend in the path, there it was, curtains of water let loose from a lip of rock high above our heads. The water fell almost silently to a sandy pool nestled at the base of a rocky grotto. Lush green plants clung to the walls of the canyon, the waterfall dwarfing everything around it.

The walk through the jungle had been shady, but even in the relative coolness of the forest, we were sticky and hot. Gusts of misty cool air stirred by the falling water drew us like a magnet toward the pool. Off came the flip flops and I waded into the water up to my shins. Apart from a few flat rocks, the bottom was sandy and soft. As I stood there, feet in the water, I craned my neck, looking upward and saw dozens of bats swooping quickly through the mists where the water first launched from its channel. Then I saw hundreds of bats nestled into the top of the cliff face

No one wanted to leave, but time was passing. Dozens of pastel colored butterflies flew around our feet as we left this oasis of coolness. The hike out didn't seem so long. Along the path we met men chopping wood with machetes and women carrying large bundles of sticks stacked high on their heads. After a lunch of chicken and jollof rice we climbed back into the car.

After our adventures in the north, we headed south toward Accra from where we were to catch our flight to London. As we came closer to the city, the secondary roads became four lane highway. As we approached the airport we took a wrong turn. The person who knew the way had fallen asleep in the back seat of the car and we found ourselves in a crowded market, stalls lining the packed red dirt roadway. The stalls sold everything from food and clothing to shoes and appliances. Every hundred feet or so there was a large scrum of men and boys, their faces all turned facing into the stalls. Those in the back of the crowds were trying to see over the shoulders of those in front of them. It turns out that the Ghana National Team was playing in the African National Tournament. The crowds were gathered around anyone who had a television set or radio. As it was near the end of the game, the concentration was visible in the way the fans were standing and listening. As we sat still, mired in the traffic jam, I became uneasy. Our plane was to leave at 11:30PM, but it was already after 6 and I didn't know how long this might take. Just as I had my moment of unease, Ghana's team scored a goal. A great roar erupted simultaneously from the knots of people around the TVs. Quickly after the goal, Ghana was declared the winner. What had been bonfires of enthusiasm became a conflagration of joy. People who were inching along just stopped their cars. Passengers alighted, horns honked, music blared. As we sat in the eye of the storm, all I could think of was, “Please let me get to the plane on time.”

After some masterful driving by Joseph we reached the airport. Then we said our goodbyes and boarded the plane. Our cabin attendants were performing their last minute checks. A voice came over the sound system saying, “We're going to spray the airplane now. If it bothers you, cover your eyes and mouth for approximately 20 seconds.” In disbelief, Craig and I grabbed whatever we could find to cover our faces and down the aisle they came, one attendant on each side of the plane, spray hissing from the nozzles. After we recovered from the shock we realized that the door had been open to mosquitoes all night. The riot of life to which we had become accustomed, we realized, might be too much for the rest of the world. That's when it hit me. We were leaving. We were leaving the mosquitoes. We were leaving the heat and the stickiness, the thirst and the fear of running out of water. But we were leaving the jungle and lush greenness, too. We were leaving the red earth, the soft air and bright suffused light,. Most of all, we were leaving the dreamers and the dream makers. They showed us a Ghana full promise.

Flip flops were good for Ghana. They got the job done. I don't think dreamers wear Sensible Shoes.

Monkey business

March 4th

Tafi Atome, Ghana

Our time in Ghana finished with a two day excursion through the part of Ghana near the Togo border. The plan was to tour the mountainous area east of the Volta river. There were several attractions near the regional capitol, Ho and the larger city of Hohoe. Joseph wanted us to see the monkey sanctuary at Tafi Atome and West Africa's tallest waterfall, Wli falls. We traveled from Kumasi to Ho on Tuesday afternoon, arriving at a guest house around 8 or 9 PM. After an early breakfast the next morning we left for the monkey sanctuary, stopping along the roadside to buy 2 bunches of bananas with which to lure the Mona monkeys. We arrived at the reserve after a one and a half hour drive north of Ho, turning down a dirt road stopping in a small settlement.

We pulled up in the shade of a Mango tree. Large-leafed and dark green, its trunk was gnarled and its branches were filled with baby green mangoes. Bamboo benches spread out underneath the tree. After checking in at the reception center and paying the requisite 9 Cedis charged non-Ghanaians, we were told that the walk would take 45 minutes. With our guide, we set off back up the road we had come down. After about 50 yards we came to the entrance to the path into the jungle. Carrying the bananas, the guide made kissing sounds to attract the monkeys. Before we ever stepped off the roadway into the forest, the monkeys came. First a few, then an entire troop of monkeys braved the sight of strangers for the the irresistible yellow bananas. As they grabbed the fruit, they peeled it, breaking off pieces of banana, popping them into their mouths. Some were shy and some fearless. Some carried their prize into the trees and some ate the fruit on the spot. As some monkeys from another troop approached from further up the road the larger monkeys from the troop near us put up their tails and advanced into the roadway to fend off the invaders. We were unaware of the two large monkeys who had climbed far out on some tree branches above our heads. They were making high pitched barking sounds whose meaning was clear even to us non-monkeys. After the invaders had cleared off and the bananas were almost gone, we were still on the roadway, not even having gone into the jungle. One of us asked, “Can we still go into the jungle to see the monkeys?” Our guide looked at us quizzically and said, “There won't be any monkeys in the jungle.” When we asked why she said, “Because they came here instead.” Duh.

It turns out that the Mona Monkey is revered in this part of the forest. Once viewed as sacred messengers to the turtles, the monkeys were decimated by religious and other conflicts. This reserve at Tafi Atome was established by the Ghanaian government to rebuild the population and protect the monkeys. The Mona monkeys are the only primates who live in this part of the forest. No Mona monkey has ever been taken from the reserve. In fact there is a legend that an Englishman once took one of the monkeys to England to keep, but that monkey, the story goes, came back to the forest from which it came and none has ever left again.

A bit hungry, we snacked on the left-over bananas and climbed back into the car for our trip to the water fall. Knowing the uncertainty of travel, it was hard not to worry about getting to the airport on time, but the forest was so beautiful and the drive so interesting, I soon stopped fretting. (To be continued)

Ten things I have learned

March 1st, Kumasi

When we first arrived in Ghana, I didn't know what to expect - what was "proper behavior in church." Craig has preached in a different church every Sunday. Now that I've had a few churches to compare, I'm feeling more comfortable. Here are ten things I have learned.

1. Anglican Church services in Ghana are Long. Three and a half hours. And that's if there's nothing else going on.
2. There's always something else going on.
3. And they're very formal. 16 acolytes.
4. When I feel hot, I look at Craig wearing a clergy shirt, alb, chausable and stole and I stop feeling sorry for myself.
5. Some parishes are full of life and others are stiff. Not so different from home, really. You can always tell by who claps with the music. Unfortunately this can be so much fun that it can make the service longer.
6. Most churches use sound systems. Young people like to turn the amplifiers up high.
7. They use lots of incense, sometimes 2 or 3 thuribles going at the same time. I've noticed that it doesn't seem to be enough smoke until you can't see the altar.
8. Fund raising is a weekly and essential part of every priests' and bishops' job. They are very plain about it. At the offertory you march to the front of the church and place your donation into the collection box pew by pew (accompanied by music of course.) They might pass the plate too. And then there may be a special collection where you march to the front again, sometimes according to the day of the week you were born, competing to see which day's group gave the most. After the announcements at the end of the service, the Anglican Youth might have a fund raising session. They you can go home. Churches give 50 or 60 percent of their income for the work of the diocese.
9. Anglican clergy and leadership shoulder a huge responsibility. They are deeply involved in the life of their congregations. They "wear many hats," civic and religious. They are highly respected and can get things done that other people can't. People look to them for leadership and direction.
10. They make me sit up front. I am honoured, but you know me....

Saying Goodbye

February 28th, Cape Coast

Today Hannah told me, "Now you are a real Ghanaian lady!" because I danced with her in chapel... a kind of slow shuffling walk really. Hannah is one of the first two women that will graduate from St. Nicholas this June. Never without a smile, it seems you can read her whole being on her face. There is a depth of expression beyond happiness or joy. There is wisdom and maturity and generosity of spirit. She is a comforting person to be around. When she was moving this morning with the music, she allowed herself to simply be.

For 3 weeks we have lived and shared life with the students and faculty at the Seminary. During a going away ceremony for us yesterday, the Dean said Craig had come as a missioner and that we were part of St. Nicholas now. One part of St. Nicholas that will always stay with us is a song known by every Anglican and sung at the offertory at almost every service. The only problem for us is that it sung in Twi and we wanted someone to translate for us. At the end of the goodbye ceremony, Craig asked the students if they could make the song for him again. What began as a demonstration quickly became a summary of all our time here. Out of the context of the church service itself, it was sung for joy. Having an asymmetrical rhythm punctuated by double claps and accompanied by drums, cast iron "bells" and tambourines, no one can really stand still when it's played. So when Hannah stepped out from her chair in a slowly rocking walk it was really no surprise and it only seemed natural to join her.

So there we were, 2 generously proportioned middle aged ladies "walking" with the music that they made for us - a fleeting gift, loud in the mind and alive in the heart. I saw Craig clapping with smile filling his face and then I saw him wipe his eyes. Then he didn't bother. Neither did I.