It's impossible for me to escape God in Ghana, or at least, impossible to escape mention of God. I've been preached to by screaming self-ordained reverends on 5-hour bus rides, sung to by gospel choirs in the courtyard of my dormitory. Pictures of Jesus or the Virgin Mary are everywhere: on tro-tros (large vans for public transportation), in shop windows-- I even met one man who wore a suit made out of fabric with Jesus's face all over it.
I have never seen so much Jesus at one time.
That said, knowing what I know about the typical Ghanaian's dedication to all things Christian, I figured Easter ain't no joke in Ghana.
Now, two days post-Easter, I can say with certainty that Easter is HUGE here.
It's a public holiday. All public/private universities get four days off. Everyone celebrates. Those who have the ability travel to one place: the Eastern region, arguably the most luxurious region in the country. There are mountains, oh so many mountains! The air is cool, the mosquitoes few, the roads paved and free of trash. The streets turn into one big party, causing traffic backups. The alcohol flows freely (well, not literally.. you still have to pay for it), no one works, and every one lets go of all responsibility for the occasion. Azonto (the preferred dance of my Ghanaian peers) finds its way into the streets as well, any time, anywhere. Big bandstands even hold Azonto Dance Competitions for all who think they are just THAT good at Azonto-ing. Fights break out, sometimes about trivial things, other times due to family drama. People stay up late, eat a lot of fufu and goat meat, dress up to the nines.
You know, just your typical Easter.
I spent Easter weekend at my friend Ruth's family's home in Kwahu-Pepease, a small rural town in the Eastern region, with some friends from school and Ruth's Auntie Amma-- aka the best Ghanaian cook known to man.
Timeline of events:
- FRIday: travelled to Pepease. An all day affair, on horrible roads in a big orange bus. I swear one time we hit a pot hole that sent me flying three feet up from my seat. Three feet, I tell you. It was so much fun. Held a woman's baby when she got out of the bus to pee on the side of the road. For the first time, I wasn't nervous to hold someone else's child. Victory.
- SATurday: happily ate DELICIOUS food, met lots of people and saw great sights in the mountains, went to the Paragliding Festival. Crashed a party that night. Attended Azonto competition. Took a bucket shower.
- SUNday: Easter Sunday. Awoke early, perched precariously between two options: go to church or go hiking? For those of you who know me well and know my restless tendencies even better, I think you know what I'm going to say...
The way I saw it, I could either: go to church which is something I've 1) already done in Ghana and 2) done for the past 20 years of my life on Easter Sunday *OR* go find this awesome trail I learned about from a Peace Corps volunteer. In the spirit of the Ghanaian Easter, which I perceive as "anything goes," I chose hiking. (An aside-- afterward, I didn't feel bad for choosing the hike because I learned church was officiated all in local language, and it lasted like 5 or 6 hours.)
The adventure started out well enough. We caught a cab to Mpraeso, a junction the Peace Corps guy had told us to catch a ride at. But from there on, the plan failed. No one knew about this town or hike I was talking about, and the phone number we had gotten from the Peace Corps guy for directions was disconnected. We were lost. But, this one taxi driver mentioned the town of Obo and I had a good feeling about it, so we got in a taxi anyhow and to Obo we went.
We were in the taxi, driving on winding roads for a LONG time in the middle of nowhere. Though there were mountains all around and they seemed to call out to me, "Meredith, come hike me! Choose me!" there was also bush-- aka scraggly vegetation not suitable for hiking-- and Ghana doesn't exactly have parks with designated trails as America does. Thus, we were at the mercy of the cab driver and a girl in the front seat named Ludeis. Ludeis invited us to her home; she said knew of a hike near by. With no other better option and no where to be, we ended up on her front porch and met her whole family. She asked us if we wanted to go party (it was 10 A.M. haha) but we said no, we really wanted to hike...
Another aside---Ludeis led us to none other than the Ghana Hiking Festival, a festival on top of a mountain, with a hike into a cave, that only happens once a year on Easter. I got to wear a headlamp (!!! I was sooo happy.) and hike up this huge hill using a rope. The cave was awesome and cold and so large; it was used by one thousand Ashanti warriors in the 1700s to hide from Kwahu warriors during their war for territory. After the hike, we ended up dancing tribal dances to drums, and then Azonto-ing, with random Ghanaians in the middle of a forest.
This is Ghana in a nutshell. Well, this is MY experience in Ghana, in a nutshell:
NOTHING EVER ENDS UP AS PLANNED. In fact, IT ENDS UP BETTER THAN PLANNED.
Random, you say? Such is my life.
In Ghana, there are three phrases I've picked up (among others) which I'll probably never stop saying:
- It is finished: means something is gone, no more. Instead of saying, "We're out of beans," or "There are no more seats left in this cab," Ghanaians say, "The beans are finished," or, "This cab is finished."
- I am coming: used to reassure or express delay; replaces the American English phrases, "Gimme a minute," or "Wait, hold on a sec."
- You're invited: means, "You're welcome to join" or "Help yourself." Especially used at meal times, since people customarily invite one each other to their meals. I.e., my roommate literally invites me to her meals of rice and sardines every day, even if I'm just getting out of bed and haven't opened my eyes or brushed my teeth. "Meredithhhhh, you're invited!!" is something I hear quite often. Sharing food has become normal. ..Hoorah sanitation!
The bottom line:
It is finished. Christ died for us, and rose again, offering to us undeserved grace and a reason to hope. But beyond that, He is coming. He is walking before us, and will return to this earth to bring it full-circle. And not only that, but you're invited to get in on the action; to pick up your cross, lay down your burdens, and walk confidently in the incomprehensible love of the Father. After he rose again, Jesus promised in Matthew 27.18-20:
"All authority has been given to Me in heaven and on earth. Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I commanded you; and lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age."
Where are you walking? Take the first step, even if you don't have a specific destination in mind-- 'cause I assure you, He does. The Bible says we may plan our ways, but that He directs our steps. We have freedom, authority, and responsibility to walk boldly and make disciples, wherever we are.
The crazy thing is that I deserve death. You deserve death. We all do. I deserve to be six feet under. I am the chief priest, the elder, the scribe-- the one who mocked Jesus and told him to climb down off the Cross and save Himself, if he was indeed the Son of God as he claimed. I deserve death, and I always will.
But He gives me life.
Grace is an invitation to be beautiful. We are covered by His blood, and invited to a beautiful story. I never would've thought my steps would have led me to Ghana, but here I am. Here I was, on Easter, in a cave, learning more and laughing more and loving more than I ever thought possible.
Where is your story? He walks before us, He's established it to be. So, go.
I've learned so much while abroad that I often can't articulate it, hence the reason for not blogging since February. But if anything, Ghana has taught me that things work out. They just do. It's not luck, or coincidence, or chance. It's providence. There may be pain or confusion or miscommunication along the way, but God's walking ahead of us and there's nothing any power of this world can do to stop Him. He walks before us, constantly switching things up in His perfect way, tangling us up in a beautiful mess of dependency on Him and purpose in him and relationship through him.
Wherever you are, celebrate. Celebrate the death and resurrection of Christ. Celebrate the new life He's given us sinners, at the cost of God's only son. Whether the Ghanaian way, the American way, the Polish Dyngus Day way, celebrate.
That is what I've learned this Easter.
