Good evening.  We are still catching up with the Blog.  Sorry for the delay.  

Breakfast at the guest house is simple –toasted bread and a fried egg, neat.  No butter, jam, or other condiments complicate this simple formula, repeated each morning.  Bread on one side of the plate, and the beaten egg, fried thin and folded on the other. Beth produced two secret treats from her hip pack of wonders.  She covered her toast with a packet of peanut butter we brought from Naperville, while I spread on a packet of Nutella.  Oh, how one little packet of processed food sweetened with corn syrup can help launch the day.  Across Ghana, hot breakfast beverages are dominated by Nestlé. We have our choice of Nestlé Nescafe instant coffee with Nestlé Carnation evaporated milk, or a Nestlé Milo packet — a kind of hot chocolate.

After eating, we sat around the table and mapped out the day. To cover all the work, we split the team.  Enoch and Joshua went to the hospital, where the amazing Doctor Priscilla had arranged for community health recordings, including malaria, covid, and typhoid, three common ailments now.  Ray, Beth, David and I went shopping for a spare tire.  Tomorrow we will drive deep into the bush, where there is no mobile phone service or electricity.  It would be foolish to make such a journey without a spare, so today is the day.

Tires and installation are sold separately.  A wall of tires is the only advertisement needed.  Beth watched our gear in the car while Ray bartered.  

Smiles, head bobs, and thoughtful gazes into the sky were followed by a request for a “special discount.” Ray managed to get the price to about $100.  The transaction was completed via Mobile Money, or MoMo.  Long before Venmo became popular, the African mobile phone networks allowed money transfers via text message.  With a couple of taps on the phone Ray had transferred the funds to the shop owner and Ray tucked our new Chinese tire under his arm and we headed out.

Ray dropped us off at the church and then drove the truck to a mechanic to work on the spare. It would be a few hours before the beautiful choir from the previous evening could get a bus into town to finish their songs, so we took some time to learn about traditional weaving. Next to the church, a powerful, broad and tall tree shaded the dry red dirt. A small weaving school had arranged their looms into a row just a few feet from the church. A couple of young sheep occasionally zigzagged through the classroom vacuuming up fresh leaves that had fallen from the tree.

The young women of the weaving school wore smart looking uniforms and nervously smiled and looked down as I approached and began a conversation with the instructor. Some of the ladies wore a muslim head scarf; I’ve learned to be slow to photograph in such circumstances. My broad and goofy grin, sweat drenched shirt, and polite questions, combined with Beth’s reassuring and gentle smiles seemed to break the ice. We began learning about their trade.

Each student must work three years before she graduates and takes home a loom, to start her business. They were confused when I asked how many hours they work each day. Bewildered, they timidly reply, “all day?” Yes, silly question.

A old plastic oil jug, filled with rocks, provides an anchor that can be wound closer as the work progresses.

As we learn more, we realize that one of the women is particularly fast. Her movie (shown below) is wonderful.

The weaving school students enjoyed showing Beth and I how the loom is operated. They then worked to embarrass me, by asking me to try. Or maybe it was the other way around…

My expertise in multithreading and high performance thread libraries provided no help as I struggled to determine which foot pedal to operate and where to toss the shuttle through the threads. The instructor laughed at me and repeated “now beat it, no, now beat it, you must now beat it.” Yes, sometimes things must be repeated three times for me to understand. I eventually sorted out the procedure and pulled the comb beater against the threads a few times. No traditional weaves were harmed, but they quickly realized if I were in the school, I might be part of the 5 year plan.

Choir! A bright yellow microbus pulled up and the church singers (and dancers) practically tumbled out of the jam packed vehicle. They were once again dressed in pure African style. Pastor Isaac was thrilled we were there waiting, with the microphone mounted on the tripod and the laptop in position.

It took only a few moments for the choir to line up and start their praise music. All reservations and timidity were gone, they were excited and smiling. Song after song filled the church. The cement floor and closed windows reflected the sound; the microphone was throbbing with the beat. Wow. These little mini concerts are always the highlight of the trip. The community health, prayers, Bible stories, and testimonies are all important, but without knowing their language, we are just recording sound waves. But with the choirs, we can experience the joy of their worship without knowing a syllable. We can even dance along to the beats.

The exuberant session ended and everyone cooled off outside, under the large tree. Beth had a chance to explain the BiblePlus+ unit to some pastors who had dropped by, and I had a chance to take some photos of some of the choir members listening to the Komba solar unit. Our hope is that one day, they will have a Wali version.

At the end of the day, the weaving school had ended, and cleaned up. We snapped a few final photos and went back to the guest house to make more recordings. However, with Joshua, David, and Enoch so skilled in recording audio, they took the evening shift, while “Mama Beth” or “Auntie Beth” (as she prefers) and “the Professor” went back to prepare for tomorrow…. our trip to Chakali-land.

Oh, if you are curious where we are in Ghana, this is the Wala city.