The Barter System

I don't really have too much to add today. I was hoping for a more eventful Saturday, but when both sister Westerby and Sister Woodward both fell ill Saturday morning I knew I was on my own. I took advantage of the down time. I read, went shopping, wandered through town a little. I bought a few souvenirs at a local market and braved a few more photos. The local artisans (and wannabe artisans) have gathered themselves into small groupings of shops. The "pit" which I spoke about a few weeks ago is one such place. I visited another today. These small commercial areas rely more upon charity than any good economic theory. Every little "shop" carries the exact designs over and over again through there is some variety in quality. One could literally spend hours without moving more than 20 yards and see hundreds of the relatively same carved lion. The sheer volume of supply makes negotiation almost too easy on the part of the buyer. I have now learned that I should start the bidding. If I let them start, I would almost feel bad lowering it down. They usually start up in the 20 dollar range for things we would find at the local dollar store. That said, these people live in meager circumstances and the majority of the salesmen also create the items by hand. So I play the game. On this particular outing I purchased Sara some bracelets and a necklace. At the necklace store we bartered back and forth. I originally offered 1 cedi (which equals 1 dollar) for a blue beaded necklace and a key chain in the shape of Ghana. She smiled, laughed a bit, and in a soft, polite tone acted shocked. Normally the necklace is three Cedi all by itself she said. The logic behind the pricing was quite natural. The necklace 3, the bracelets 2, the key chains 1. The game began. Having had the logic explained I offered 3 for both the necklace and the key chain. She hesitated. I had offered her 1 cedi less than she was hoping for. She glanced around the area. Customers were fairly scarce. In fact I had not seen a single other person looking to purchase anything. I was probably the only customer she had all day, if not all month. "3.50" she replied. She was taking some chances. I thought about running my usual routine. Normally, having had my price rejected, I put the items down and begin to look at the next shop over. This almost always works, yet I am a bit hesitant this time. During her hesitation, I too had noticed the absence of customers. I accept the offer. I give her a four 1 cedi bills and ask for change. Diligently she sets out looking for fifty cents in the back of her shop. After about 3 minutes she immerges holding the money out for me to take. She is honest, and I appreciate that. She could have said she had no change and tried to force my hand for the full 4 cedis. I smile and tell her to keep the change. At this her eyes catch fire as her smile would have lightened even the darkest of those shops. As I walked away I wondered what 50 cents would buy in her world. In the end she got her full four cedis, but I got to play the game and pretend to be generous.

A few minutes later I arrived at another shop with fairly stylish bracelets. I start off with my usual offer of 1 cedi. He laughs, and tells me they are usually 3. I smile, and continue to examine the products. He has a second bracelets that is not as good, but comparable. I offer 3 cedi for the both of them. "It's buy one get one free day" I say to him. At first he hesitates, "no, no promotion today" he says, as if there are days when it does happen. This time I go through the routine. I set the bracelets back on the table and thank him for his time. As I begin to walk away, as always, he stops me. "you are a nice man. Just because I like you I will give you your promotion." I got both for 3.

On the walk home I wonder about the ethics of bartering poverty. That night, I show the bracelet to Sara and ask her what she thinks one would pay for it in the US. She guesses between 7 to 10 dollars. I guess I did a good job of going directly to the source.

Here are just a few more pictures from my walk.

Love you all - Jeff

Some pics of work and worship

This is where I worship

This is where I work

An American Party in a 3rd World Country

I am a few days late, but I thought I would give you a little update on my past couple of days:

Saturday night I got to socialize for the first time with a General Authority. As some of the couple missionaries were headed home in the next few weeks, the Area Presidency hosted a party at his house for all the expatriates and missionaries who work at the office. All three members of the Area Presidency are either in the first or second quorum of the seventy making them official "general authorities." I spoke a little with all three, but mostly with an Elder Goldman. He was a charming man from South Africa. The whole evening struck me as a great contrast to the morning I had wondering around some of the poorest areas of Accra. I sat and looked around the room. A wide assortment of colorful dishes decorated the tops of the three tables that had been cleared for the party. Cookies, chips, hot rolls, avocado dip, fresh vegetables, pasta salads, potato salad, just to name a few. And it didn't just look good, it tastes delicious. The whole affair, in the spacious house with vaulted ceilings evoked emotions of guilt. I looked around the room again. All white. Except for the maid. I am not sure what it is about prosperity that makes us feel guilty. I mean, I don't think celebrating in a manner customary to Americans is inappropriate, even if it is a bit glutinous. So what that just less than 3 miles away there were young children huddled up under a shanty in a feces infested slum? What would I have us do? Stop celebrating? Stop thanking God that we are not the ones down at Jamestown? Would God have us all go without until we all have enough? But then I realized that of all the people in that room only two were being paid for their work. Everyone else, including myself, had paid their own way, emptied their pockets, and drained the blessings of prosperity that had so abundantly been given them, in order to serve the people of Ghana. And they served them in the best way they knew how: they taught them the Gospel of Jesus Christ. At this humbling thought my vision changed. I no longer viewed those around me as rich, boisterous, glutinous Americans, but rather humble servants who had undoubtedly given up much grander parties, including births, marriages, graduations, first words, first steps, first dates. These were saints. They had come together to remember why they had come to Ghana in the first place. We would that all could celebrate with vaulted ceilings. They worked everyday that one day all can enjoy a wedding feast with much higher ceilings.

On the way home a beggar tapped on the car window asking for some money. As always King Benjamin preached in my heart, "are we not all beggars?" We gave him some cookies.

On Sunday I decided to sleep in and go to the local ward which commenced at 10:30. The chapel is located on the temple "compound" (that is really what they call it). It is a nice building. A two story building, the stairs are on the outside. The chapel itself is located on the second floor and has a modest wood venire. There were 4 pale faces in the congregation, and none on the stand. Myself, a councilor in the mission presidency, his wife, and a BYU nurse here doing an internship. The meeting was nice, but not as memorable as the previous week. Rob might be interested to know that yes they had a Kawai piano, but it was an electronic and doubled as the organ as well.

Well, I don't have the cord to my camera on me right now so I can't post any pictures. But I will get around to it. Here is at least one more from Jamestown that I didn't put on before

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The City Latrine

This morning Elder Woodward and I went down to find a lighthouse we had read about. Along the way we saw both the "sky scrapers" I had read about (it really did look like a modern city) and what I have termed the city latrine. It used to be a British harbor, the deepest in West Africa so I am told. As you can see from the pictures it has become a slum. Ironically the British named the place Jamestown, just like in Virginia. This economic venture however has turned out disastrously worse. Unlike the Chesapeake, this area stinks of sewage and fish. The people were friendly, and some of the children screamed for us to take their picture, which of course we did. I wish I could tell you more about it, but I just don't know. In the picture below in which Elder Woodward is walking away from me, you can see the prison in the center of the picture. Well, I don't have much time to elaborate today. Hope you like the pictures. Love ya,

Jeff

My Little Maid

I got to sleep in today because the Woodward’s had to pick up a nurse at the airport. I took my time getting out of bed. I awoke an half hour before my alarm, but didn't get up until an half hour after. It was nice to finally rest the legs a little after that long journey through the city. I walked into the bathroom, as we all do at this time in the morning, only to discover that I had guest in the house. Most of us, at least those of us in the desert, are used to household visits in bathroom from our friendly neighborhood bugs. But of all the bugs I have ever seen in a bathroom, this was a first. A lizard. I sat pondering what to do. He was no larger than a quarter. A large spider would give him a fight he would probably lose. But for some reason squashing him just didn't seem right. It is customary, almost expected among arachnids that if they are got in the bathroom they end up in toilet paper and down the drain. I wondered if such customs held true of lizards in Africa? I pondered if I had it in me, to kill a lizard. The small reptile wasn't moving much, so maybe my job was already done. Could he have died there throughout the night? I didn't want to touch him, and didn't have any shoes on so I picked up a nearby empty toilette paper cardboard roll and gently tossed it towards the lizard. It bounced nearby. No movement. "It is dead," I thought, partly rejoicing that I did not have to smoosh him. But to be sure I started tapping the empty role nearby, hoping to startle movement. Nothing. That was why it surprised me to see it jump when I actually touched it with the cardboard. Not much, but enough to be sure that it was indeed alive. I looked closer and could see it breathing. It was suddenly very clear that we were both nervous. He knew his camouflage and small size, the natural defenses had failed him. Yet, he seemed confident and did not run. Almost as if he was unaware of my pondering to send him to a watery grave. This of course brought me back to my original predicament. Could I really kill a harmless lizard. But is it really harmless. What if it had diseases? Could it climb into my bed if I left it here? (I don't know why I always fear bugs in my bed, but I do). As the fear was building, I realized I would have to execute the trespasser. I pondered possible procedures which would avoid actually feeling the bones crunch and a mess on the floor. Starvation seemed possible. After all what would it eat in the house. If I did just leave it there, surely he would starve and die. No, there are too many bugs and flies in this house. He surely would not starve. It was this train of thought that lead to my ultimate conclusion. I realized that having a lizard in the house had many possible benefits. I was fairly sick of many of the bugs, the little ones, like fruit-fly size, that somehow had made it into the apartment. Having a pet lizard to roam about the house wasn't dangerous; it was like having a miniature little maid to clean up after the dirty little bugs. I didn't have to kill this guy, I should thank him. In fact, he probably knew he was helping me, that's why he was not scared. I stood up. My decision was made. I would get dressed, go to work, and let him tightly up the house while I was gone. Surely he would disappear into the cracks and follow the food back out from wense he came. With that, I left the bathroom, got dressed, and went to work.

I had forgotten all about my new maid by the time I made it home this evening. But he had not forgotten about me. When I walked into the bathroom there he was, right in the exact same spot. "Some maid" I thought. He had not even moved one inch. I was so puzzled by his activity that I decided it deserved a blog entry and some pictures. I went through the same thought process all over again. Tonight I would be a kind employer and give it another day. I took some water in my hands and created a small puddle on the floor next to him. I figured he would want to bathe or drink or something. With that I turned out the light. I assume he is still in there, probably sleeping. Maybe I'll see him in the morning. Hopefully he'll quit and go home. If I couldn’t kill him, how am I supposed to fire him?

Ghana Accra Temple

For my presentation I needed some pictures. As such I took the time to wander around the temple grounds a little. Here are some of my pictures I thought you might enjoy.

Love,
Jeff

Ghanaian Hospitality

Today I hit the one week mark! To celebrate I thought I would go on tour. I have been fairly productive at work and felt ahead of schedule. As such I didn’t feel too bad about taking a half day and spending the rest of the afternoon wandering around Accra. I packed my bag with a pair of street cloths, and headed off to work at the usual 7:00 am. Wednesday is “going out to lunch day” for Elder Woodward, and he graciously invited me to tag along. It ended up being EW (Elder Woodward), Me and another expat named Steve, an accountant here for the church. We went to a very western style diner and had chicken kabobs. While we are eating I notice that at every meal I have gone out for so far (a total of 2) I am the only one who uses the local sauces. This one was labeled as “Portuguese hot sauce” and it had a pretty nice kick on it. As most of you know about me, I love mixing and so hey end I had made a fairly consistent and tasty sauce of my own with my Portuguese pepper sauce and American ketchup. It beat even the best article circle fry sauce. The meal was good, and about $5.50, but that included bottled water. It seemed about what you would pay at any such restraint in U.S., but maybe slightly cheaper.
After lunch is when the real fun began. After we returned to the Area office I finished my project that I have been working on (the boss said he was “blown away” by it by the way) and took off into the town. My original intention was to head west into what I have read is “modern Accra” with even “sky scrapers.” Mind you, this was the first time I braved the wild alone and I only had a map from my book that I brought with me. The map didn’t instill great confidence however, because the author himself says that he is yet to see an accurate map of Ghana and Accra. So with that, a bottle of water, and my Lake Powell sandals on, I started west in Accra. I wondered through roads and allies for what seemed like 30 to 40 minutes. I could see from a few blocks distance the “sky scrapers.” (see photo below to judge for yourself). Well, to make a long story a bit less long, I ended up taking a wrong turn and missed Akaraba (modern Ghana) by about 1 km. But lucky for me that I did. I ended walking into the neighboring town of Ossu. Ossu is also a fairly modern part of town, just instead of sky scrapers they have the soccer stadium. As I approached I noticed a small crowd gathering and entering the stadium. I stopped some police officers (actually they stopped me, but all in kindness) and asked what was going on. They explained that Ghana was hosting an Olympic qualifying match. (I later found out that one of the teams playing was named “Olympus” and I think that is what they meant). I thought, it might be fun to take a peak into an African soccer game. I wondered how much it would cost and if it was even worth the walk across the street. While pondering I continued walking, but it didn’t take long until a friendly man dressed in a security guard uniform hailed me down. This is not uncommon, people love to talk to the white’s, usually because they want to sell you something, but also sometimes just to talk and meet someone from another country. He didn’t seem to have anything to sell, and like me, must just be walking home from work. We started talking and introduced one another. This whole time we were walking adjacent to the stadium. After about 5 minutes he asked if I would like to go to the soccer game with him. Now, I am thinking, he wants me to buy him a ticket into the game. I was not against the idea, but the cost needed to be within reason. I told him I would like to go, but only had so much money I could spend. “How much is it” I asked. He thought for a moment and said, I think around 40 cedis (the exchange rate is nearly 1 to 1 so $40.00). Well, there was no way my curiosity was going to pay that much to go to the game. Disappointed I told him that I just didn’t have the money to spend like that. He said, “that is ok, we will see what we can do, follow me.” I little hesitantly, I followed him across the road, thinking maybe he will try to cut us a deal or something. We walked right up to the front of the line. I noticed that as we walked everyone parted to the side letting us pass by…even the guard at the door, just let us walk right by. Then I noticed the guard and my friend were wearing the same uniform. Then I noticed I had just been escorted (or snuck if you prefer) into a soccer game in the Ghana stadium. He walked me right up to the tunnel leading into the stadium and said, “go, find a seat.” I asked if he was coming. “yeah, I coming, just go do something.” Thinking he was sincere I walked up and took a seat.
I really was surprised when I never saw him again. It was about 20 minutes into the game that I realized that the initial offer to go to the game was an offer to sneak me in, not to go with me. I chuckled to myself how easily he flopped from 40 to 0. I wonder if he just wanted to do it, to prove to himself that he could. Or maybe I really did make an impression on him, and he wanted to just be nice. Well, to shorten the end of this. The game was fairly boring. Anybody who thinks that “flopping” in the NBA is a problem should spend 20 minutes watching African soccer. It seemed like every play they had to stop because someone fell over and grabbed their leg. It didn’t take long until the fans had enough and started booing. I made friends with Sam, a local middle school teacher. He too is Ghanaian, but wants to come continue his studies in America. This time there was no offer to sell, buy, or sneak anywhere, just pleasant company. I wonder if my other friend sent him from his post? I ended up leaving the game just before the end. I spent most of it trying to plot my way home on the map I had. The walk home took about 3 ½ to 4 hours. I walked back up through Ossu, where we had gone to lunch earlier. I noticed a bakery which sold French baguettes and thought I would try one. I was disappointed. So much so in fact that I gave the whole thing away to the first person who asked for it. He asked which country I was from, I told him US to which he responded “I knew it, it is always US who do stuff like this. Not German, French, or anything, but always US.” I admit that made me smile. He soon had a pack of teenager around him devouring the bread. I was a target through the shopping centers, and at time had 5 to 6 vendors calling me friend and begging me to come into their shop. I knew how to get back to my basic residential area, but I was unsure about the exact location. As it got dark and the malaria mosquitoes started coming out I thought I should begin asking for help. I asked a vender on the street if he knew a my apartments. He said no, but immediately ran about asking everyone around, eventually flagged down a taxi and explained to him how to get there. I gave the man 30 cents, and after 4 hours of walking paid 2 dollars for a taxi ride for the final 3 blocks. I simply could not turn down such good service.
If anything, my tour around the city today put me at ease with where I am. Honestly, by the end of the day I felt safer here than in down town SLC. I mean, if I were in SLC there is no way I would get a free soccer game, king like service at every shop, and a personal concierge. I guess that is just Ghanaian hospitality.

A road in town I walked down

A shop: cutting coconuts for drinks
The skyscraper
the soccer stadium

Daddy Day!

I am a bit late in getting these posted, but in lieu of writing I have spent the time talking with Sara and Sydney. I just wanted you all to see, that dispite my being in Africa I still got chocolate cake on Father's Day. Sara and I enjoyed a nice conversation and Sydney sang to me (see Sara's blog for the video). Love you all.

"Thou Shalt Have No Other Gods"

Ghana has two missions and several stakes. The Woodwards (the senior couple that live below me) invited me to attend church with them this week in the furthest remote ward of the stake. That is the ward to which they are assigned and go to every week. Always up for some adventure I accepted the 7:00 am whistle and traveled to the city of (well I don’t remember, but it was an hour drive west). The ward building (pictured below) was standing room only, and those who showed up late (many did) often endured the embarrassment of wondering around the small room. The church rents the building for them to meet in and a new chapel will be completed by the end of July. It was a fun meeting and I enjoyed all three hours. I found the title of the first talk interesting “Thou Shalt Have No Other Gods Before Me.” Once again, I was taken back by the boldness of the sister declaring that there was too much worldliness around us. I couldn’t help but wonder “if she only knew” or “what is she talking about?” I guess it just goes to show that worldliness isn’t what you have, but what you aspire to have. I found the setting for the talk most enjoyable and enriching. I would have never have come away with the same message had I been sitting in my Provo ward. After church I tagged along with the Elder Woodward as we went on Elder’s Quorum visits. I think only 1 out of the 5 we tried to visit were actually home, but I never went up to the door. I just walked with them down the streets (mud paths). Elder Woodward drives one of the only 3 cars in the entire ward. So when he comes down they try to use him to get out and see some members of the ward. I actually had a partner who decided to endure the extra driving in exchange for a ride home. 20 years old, he too had been a member his whole life. As we crossed over a mud washed road he commented, “not like in America, where everything is clean and proper.” I told him that it is true that the roads are paved but the families are often falling apart. “What do you mean” he asked. I attempted to explain the best I could some of the failings of capitalism. The marking mantra that more products equal more happiness, and the extent people go to try and buy happiness with things when the "things" happiness requires is right in front of them. I tried to explain that people spent money they did not even have. At this is mouth literally dropped. “How,” he gasped, “how can someone spend money they do not have?” I don’t think he quite grasp what I meant by “sub-prime,” and I didn’t want to start pointing at people as examples. I admitted that America did offer more “opportunity” to people of all classes, if they are willing to work hard and take some risk, but that sometimes, people have abused this opportunity and suffer great loss.

I am not sure what he thought of America by the end of our conversation, but I hope he felt maybe a little less envious of the image that we sometimes portray. In truth, I wish there was more I could do for him. He thought I was rich. I told him I was $16,000 dollars in debt for school. He asked if I had two meals everyday. I blushed and walked on.

The Road the Church Building is on

A literal "tree house"

Over packed truck

The Church Building

Going in Visits

Crazy, Cool African with his Cart in a Roundabout

“The Less Fortunate”

Today I headed out to what the abrunies (the white people) call "the pit." The area is aptly named in meaning and literally. The pit is a roughly 100 yard square impression off on the side of an off-ramp to a major road. We simply parked on the side of the off-ramp and took the stars down into the pit. You will see from the picture below that we descended a small hill into a mall much like Gateway. Ok there were some differences, such as pavement, music, and well electricity. But the service was excellent. Every owner came to his door (opening) to personally escort us into their shop. We haggled and bartered. I ended up buying an ebony hippo for Baby Syd. (Thanks to Uncle Luke Syd loves hippos). I looked for nativities but was not pleased with any that I saw. The highlight of the trip was meeting Samson. A shop owner in "the pit," Samson makes women's bags and but also sells paintings, rugs, and jewelry made by his sister. But what makes Samson different from all the other owners is that he accepted the Restored Gospel of Jesus Christ a little over three years ago. Like the other owners Samson met us in the front of his shop and showed me around personally. As we inspected the merchandise, I began asking him about the Church. Tears glistened as he shared his testimony with me in the back of his little shop. With mud on my feet and tin over my head the Spirit of God flooded the small shop and we shared a precious moment together. Samson told me of the missionary who found him and introduced him to the Book of Mormon. In his own words, "the book that has brought more happiness into my life than anything else." He beamed with joy and gratitude to have been baptized a member of the Kingdom of God, to have learned to find joy through the atonement. I think that is what struck me most about Samson. He was so happy. It was clear that nothing meant more to him than his membership in the church; or, perhaps better said, his newfound oneness with the Savior made possible thought the principals and ordinances accessed through his membership. Here we were, two twenty-something's, born into incomparably different lives. The rich and the poor, the white and the black, the American and the African. Together we wept in the back of a small shack with mud for a floor and scavenged tin for a roof. We cried because we both knew that material things faded and perfect joy was freely offered to all. For a brief moment there was no such thing as "less fortunate." At that brief moment life was perfect; perfect in Christ.

I will write more on this in a while but I wanted to get them posted now.

Little Ester Adventures

This is going to be a short one b/c the others have been so long and I didn't do much different today. At the advice and consent of my supervising attorney I took the morning off… it turned out I took most of the day off. I needed to get caught up on the sleep so I slept in. Then I needed to figure out how to finally get some money and go to the store. We are not advised to use credit cards anywhere other than at ATMs due to security reasons. So, not knowing how to get anywhere I called over to my supervising attorney's wife and asked her directions to the closest ATM and grocery store. To make a long story short she decided to drive me around and we ended up going to wrong direction on a 10 mile freeway without any off ramps. So I left the city today and saw a brief moment of countryside (which is much more poor than in the city). I took some quick pictures but we were so busy trying to find our way back that I didn't get any good ones. My job on the trip was to take care of their little adopted African girl Ester. Ester has a very sad story. Sister Westerby (the lady I was with) volunteered at an orphanage a few months ago. One day the manager asked her to take little Ester home because both of her parents had died within 2 months of each other. No one really knows how the parents died, it is presumed from illness. Ester tested negative for AIDS, but she too struggles with health at only 10 months old. So when I got her to smile sister Westerby was very pleased. The story is that while Sister Westerby was tending Ester, her Son and his family came to visit them. They fell in love with her and are now applying for the adoption. It is a happy turn of events for such a tragic beginning. So I got to hang out with Ester as we traveled around Accra running errands for both Sister Westerby and myself. I didn't mind and actually enjoyed the time with the little one. It did make me a little homesick for my own little Syd. But also very grateful for how healthy my little girl is. I did get some looks from the locals when I was walking around with Ester. I am not sure if they have feelings about interracial stuff yet, but the one lady who boldly asked if Ester was my own seemed almost envious that she was being adopted by Americans. I could have read that wrong, but that is just the feeling I got. But I don't think even she was envious of having lost both parents at 10 months old.

Well I found my new favorite part about being in Africa. All the cheese comes from France!!! It is very expensive, but I have found stuff I never found in the US. That will keep me smiling for a few more weeks.

My bag finally showed up tonight. It seemed to be in good order and nothing was disturbed or missing. I was thankful for that.

Well here is a some pictures from the day and a video of little Ester.

Love you all,

Jeff

This one was taken on the 60 mph freeway. These ladies had just set up shop here.

1st Day on the Job and w/o a Boss

After being awake for nearly 42 hours I went to sleep last night around midnight. Because one of my bags got lost in the 2^nd world (between the 1^st and 3^rd) I am currently without an alarm clock. Possible replacements are slim. I have my i-pod touch, which has an alarm on it, but no speakers (at least not ones loud enough to wake me after 42 hours awake), and my Verizon American only cell phone. Well to make a long story short, I thought I had it all figured out. I had manually set my i-pod to Ghana time and had counted out the hours to correspond and my alarm on my cell phone. What I didn't know is that my phone is capable of keeping time in one time zone and displaying a different time. I guess because I couldn't connect to a wireless network the actual display would not update, but it had actually changed time zones. So even when I set the alarm to go off at 1:30 am (thinking that would be 6:30 Ghana time) it actually went off at 1:30 Ghana time (but remember it still showed Utah time). So at 1:30 this morning my alarm went blaring off and little ole me pulled myself out of bed just after an hour and half of sleep to get ready for the day. I picked up my i-pod to check the time and I suddenly became very confused, it told me it was only 1:30? In my half awake now 44 hour daze I actual began thinking I had actually travelled in time or something weird. After several minutes trying to figure out what time it actually was, I wondered over to my computer to try and log onto some world clock or something (all at the same time worried that I was going to be late for work which started at 7:00, I had anticipated just getting up and going straight there). Of course my computer struggles to find a connection and then I can't find a site which will tell me what time it is in Ghana. So, hoping my computer time had not failed me I checked my windows clock. It read 1:45 am. Thoroughly confused I took my odds and went back to bed. I set my phone alarm at 6:30 and just hoped it would all work out right in the end. Sure enough, the alarm for 6:30 went off when the phone showed 12:30. I don't know who made that screwy software, but I hope I never meet them.

Granted I was slightly late, but since the boss was in the Republic of Congo for the week no one really noticed. (he sent me an email and told me that I could take naps if I needed to, so I don't feel so bad, he actually was impressed that I made it in when I did). My work is thoroughly interesting. With the history of tribal customs marriages in Ghana are usually done independent of state influence. The state does have a procedure that one can follow, but it also recognized tribal customs as sufficient. The Church is not so forgiving. For policy reasons that I am still learning, the church wants it in writing and fortified by a binding legal contract. While, to facilitate this the church is attempting to register all the Bishops as marriage officers who are empowered by the state to perform marriages. While they have been largely successful in this endeavor, the challenge now is to make sure the Bishops do their job properly for the benefit of the couple as well as the church. That is where my job comes in. I am working on two projects. (1) I am making a power point presentation that can presented to priesthood leaders that simply but comprehensively explains how to be a marriage officer. (2) I am forming possible legal strategies in convincing the Ghanaian government to recognize temple marriages as legally binding. Right now our Bishops can marry people, but our sealers cannot. This is complicated, but it mostly revolves around the fact that the Minister of the Interior has to inspect a building and declare it a "public place of worship" in order for it to qualify as a place where marriages can be solemnized. Needless to say the Church has been hesitant to declare it's temples as "public" worship places. So I am working through possible legal solutions to get this accomplished. I think some of the best scenarios will come through making friends rather than pressing the issue through legal means. But we will see.

Well this has been a really long post but I am sure you all want to hear what the country is like. Well, I honestly have not seen very much yet, though I am starting to feel more comfortable in my surroundings. At first being a very very stark minority in a sometimes menacing and, less than a decade ago, a war torn country, made me feel a little uneasy. I felt that every one was starring at me and just waiting to pounce on my wallet. I have found this to be only half true. They are watching me, and they want to pounce on my wallet, but they want to do it legally. They will offer to sell me just about anything I want. Actually, street vendors try to find traffic jams and then walk down the middle of the lane. When they see our car full of whites we become our own little attraction. They come right up to the window, and it made me a little nervous. I mean the doors were not even locked. But when I asked if they have ever attempted to open a door, the senior couple, sensing what I was getting at, made sure I understood that the people are not like that at all. They simply hope you will roll the window down to buy something. They are just like pushy salesmen, of which the biggest risk is annoyance and never any real harm. Once I realized that this really is just a cultural thing and relaxed a bit, it became really fun to drive down the street with people waiving and pointing at the car full of whites. I was going to take a picture of it, but I felt weird pulling out my camera and shooting pictures. I will have the courage up soon. Oh, and what they say about people carrying 4 or 5 foot high baskets on their head IT'S TRUE!!! It is the absolutely most incredible thing I have ever seen

Here are some pics from my day. Sorry I don't have anything better yet, I am still waiting for some time to go out into the city. The first one is the my office, the second the view from my office and the third is me enjoying my first African pineapple.

Love you all,

Jeff

Going North to Get South

Have you ever watched somebody go about an action so wrongly, but you just don't know how to tell them? Like when you all pile into the car to go to the local rec center, museum, or even just another friend's house, and the driver takes off in the wrong direction? Of course they eventually arrive, but you know and harbor the guilt (or pleasure) in knowing that you could have made it there much faster if they would have just gone the route that you know? Well, that is kind of how I feel right now. While I am writing this I am flying over the North Pole on my way to Western Africa. Yup, I'm headed north to get south. I am not sure what it says about capitalism (or maybe socialism since I am on a European airline) that the cheapest ticket to West Africa flew over the North Pole? (it was $700 cheaper). But, being the thrifty scout and law student I am I had to take it. That's not to say that the detour has not been without it's rewards. Greenland is absolutely stunning from the air (I can only imagine from dog sled (I didn't see a single sign of civilization)). The sun has now been setting in the northern horizon for a good two hours. Its normally evanescent orange, illuminating the snow capped peaks, has failed to leave us behind. Truly this day will never end. The 96 year old Grecian sitting next to me has forgotten at least ten times that I don't speak Greek, and had told me at least five times that she makes her own bread and milks her own goats in Greece. None of this junk Macdonald stuff. I will spend a total of 18 hours in a window seat where I stare at all of God's wonderful creations. (I will also have spent, by the time you read this, 11 hours in airports watching many of God's less wonderful work works). But still, in spite of all these great benefits of going the long way around, I still feel like I am going to wrong direction. I mean, have you ever seen a bird fly north for the winter?

T minus one week and counting