2:30am. Thinking, praying, preparing. The packing is done, yet preparations are incomplete.

Twice?  Yes. A first. We are headed to Ghana in a few hours — the second trip this year.  A new rhythm? New directions? The questions hang quietly in the darkness, as I wait for the warm glow of dawn. The silence will break too, and plans made at the dining room table will explode into color, song, exhaustion, and adversity.

Beth and I enjoyed quiet times of reflection this summer. Above the tree line in Wyoming the dawn crept past the peaks, pushed aside the gray, and warmed the alpine meadows. Bees bounced between the purple lupines. What would our next season hold? 

As summer days grew shorter, Ray and Cynthia visited the USA, and stayed with us for a few days. Oma and friends joined us for dinner, and we traded stories, laughter, and then prayer for one another. 

Plans were carefully crafted for an October visit to Ghana – the villages and churches, the planned audio and video recordings, the equipment we would assemble and bring, the training we hoped might enable Cyrus and Clement to record video and audio year-round, from the most remote regions of Ghana.  

On my 60^th birthday, one of the young pastors in Northern Ghana sent these photos and message to our WhatsApp group:

“Going back home ? after two weeks outreaches in Bole! The rains ? were heavy these days splitting the bridge to two! I was able to cross to the other side as some ‘town boys’ used their boat to help me! The Lord is good! Going back to my base!”

Ray responded:

“Oh wow. This is serious. We were planning to use this road with the Beckmans in October oo. So glad you were able to cross over.  Praise God.”

As I stared at the missing bridge on the small screen of my phone, I imagined the canoes carrying our friend and his moto across the swirling ocher waters.  The song “Like a Bridge Over Troubled Water” played quietly in my memory. The simple gospel-style song from Simon and Garfunkel is but three short verses.  The 70s hit describes pain, sacrifice, and comfort. Stepping forward.  Filling the gap.  A bridge.  The youthful voice of Art Garfunkel rises with a powerful crescendo.  

In the decades that followed, the song has been covered by a wide range of artists, each providing their own insight, from a soulful Aretha Franklin to Elvis and Whitney Houston.  Thirty years later, the rough voice of Johnny Cash, with a lifetime of struggle woven into the richness of his singing, provided his own, gritty version.  I love the original, but somehow, Johnny’s version seems more rooted, honest, rich.

Ghana.  The Naperville delivery trucks have moved on.  The gear is tucked into suitcases. Yet more preparation is needed.  Dawn will break, the flowers will bend toward the sun.  The days will grow shorter and new seasons will arrive.  

Yet truth remains.  

Do not let your hearts be troubled.

This morning started with a great breakfast of fresh fruit and fried eggs, coffee, and a ripe headache. I don’t know why the day started with a touch of malaise and weakness, but I found myself walking slowly and struggling to lift the 50lb bags up and into the car. Thankfully, the cloudy skies kept the sun from evaporating any remaining fumes of vigor remaining in my tank.  Seeing our old friend Christian pull up to take us to the airport manufactured an honest and joyful smile, but could not generate the resolve and determination that I rely on to push through. The flight was not particularly hard, but my occasional cough slowed my steps.  Ooooof.  Fortunately, Beth is doing well, and her social skills more than make up for my lack of interaction as we travelled to the domestic terminal for the flight North.

On the flight, Beth and I both bobbed in and out of consciousness.  At times, when I looked out the window to the blanket of uniform clouds, I felt like the jet was standing still, suspended above the green landscape that is Ghana at the end of the rainy season.

The new Tamale International Airport was a surprise.  In fact, Ray and Clement drove to the old airport and then had to circle back to pick us up.  On the way into town, we stopped in on some pastors training, and Ray provided a short encouragement.  By 4:00, it was time for a meal.  As readers of the blog over the years know, Ghanaians enjoy preparing food, eating food, and sharing food.  We pulled into a small place we have enjoyed on previous trips and sat outside in the shade.  Lizards darted across the pavement.  Colorful pigeons flew down to grab morsels from abandoned tables. Nigerian and Ghanaian pop music blared from the radio. A real Coca Cola, with real sugar, sounded appealing.  Food? – not so much.  But it was so great to chat with Clement and Ray.  So much exciting work has been done over the last 10 months since our visit in January.  Clement was excited to learn how to do his own audio and video recording.  Ray was doing Zoom training for young pastors.  Clement shared how important the choir music together with videos brings excitement to a village before the outreach begins.  We started discussing new ideas.

When my guinea fowl and jollof rice arrived, I decided it was time to just go all in with the shito, the spicy chili pepper and ginger condiment of Ghana.  If there was an earthly remedy to add zip to my frame, shito had to be first on the list.  Each bite was a painful awakening.  I could not tell if I was feeling better, but I certainly was feeling.  My head swam in ginger and spices.  My Cola was gone, but there was cool water.  Beth enjoyed a delightful dish suggested by the waiter, coconut rice with guinea fowl.

At the guest house, after the mosquitos had subsided but while the mosques were still playing mixtape, we met Clement to begin preparing for the recordings.  I was feeling stronger, and Beth made sure I was drinking lots of water.  Ray joined us and we relaxed and discussed the week of work before us.  The ceiling fan in the summer hut (a thatched roof that provides shade, but without walls) rocked and whirred.  The high pitch drone of insects was a welcome, familiar sound for us.  Clement explained that the crazy insane rain of three days ago, which was so intense they could not see the road, was the last for the rainy season.  “Yes, I believe it was the last rain for the North.”  Now, the Harmattan, the dry trade winds from the Sahara can begin to arrive.  “It will not rain again until May”.   The roads are sloppy and the land lush with a year’s worth of rain.  We hope our timing is good, and our progress to Sawla tomorrow to meet Cyrus goes well.  I’ll be tomorrow’s driver, to give Ray a break.  I’m feeling better.  Thanks for your prayers, and we thank Ghana for the rescue Shito.

Nature abhors a vacuum – and so do trucks in Ghana.  There is no space too small to tuck, wedge, and jam full with more.  Trucks in the North work hard.  They transport people and supplies while bouncing and rocking their way across the slippery red tracks left over from the wet season.  I tried to help in the packing the truck…up until the point I found a small gap and suggested we could move a box to fill it.  “Oh, I’m saving that spot for the yams” Clement explained.  I realized my novice skills were not really needed.  I took pictures, and prepared for driving…reminding myself of the attentiveness required to avoid dangers driving across cities and the remote bush.

About half-way to Sawla, while jamming to some gospel choirs, we stopped in to visit a friend we met in Ghana several years ago.  She works primarily in Gonjaland.  The wet season provides her with a rich and fertile garden, where she grows fruit trees, herbs, mushrooms, and even catfish.

When we finally reached Sawla, Clement, who is maybe an inch taller than I am, explained he had only bounced up to hit the roof of the truck once or twice while I was driving.  I think I count that as a wonderful compliment.

After unloading at the guest house, we had our meal. I decided to go for the Banku — a dough made of corn and cassava that is fermented like sourdough and then boiled. It was served traditional style for me to eat with my hands and then claw the meat off the grilled tilapia. This time, I decided fork and knife would work more efficiently — but was chastised when I left the head of the fish untouched. “Oh! are you not going to enjoy the head?”. I passed my plate across the table and the head meat was extracted and enjoyed. Maybe next time.

After our meal we dove right into the training.  Cyrus has been working with the Birifor and Clement with the Anufo.  They have learned the needed technical skills to start making their own recordings of the local choirs, pastors, and clinic staff providing health information.  

The recordings can then be shared along with the audio Bible to mobile phones and on solar-powered audio players.  We brought some new recording equipment – wireless microphones, a high-quality mobile phone camera, and a laptop for processing and editing all the files.  As the sun went down, class started.  Beth helped us track all of the plans for tomorrow – the churches we will be visiting, the choirs we will record, and all of the audio tracks needed to finish up the Birifor resources we started recording in January.  Tomorrow will be a colorful, dancing, praise and worship Sabbath.  It will be a 15 hour kind of day. The best kind. I’m feeling stronger, and I know tomorrow’s music will restore my soul.  I love taking photos Sunday mornings.

Sunday morning was a celebration. The small church had no ceiling fans or amplified speakers. No live video feed.  A drummer with a pair of small sticks beat out a rhythm.  Clapping along, a row of young boys sat on a discarded, rough-hewn plank spanning three cement blocks.  The small unfinished building was overflowing with humble, honest, praise and worship.  Like a sweet aroma carried by a gentle breeze, the music began to fill the village. Families approached and joined. 

Dancing in celebration, men and women took turns shuffling across the smooth cement floor. Each tribe, each people, with their own beautiful language, movements, and rhythms.  Bringing our unique and colorful threads, we are embroidered into a single, united choir, the children of God, singing and praising God. One church, one family, praying together, rejoicing together, and at times, mourning and suffering together.  We thank God today for our brothers and sisters, the global church, coming together unison.

In the afternoon, we bounced over muddy red paths to a small homestead and set up in the lush green studio of a clearing sheltered by a woven grass roof and blue tarp.  We arranged the small choir, drummers, and marimba and prepared for our first choir.  Each of the songs was authored by the lead singer.  As their energetic praises started, so did the first rain…we frantically shuffled around the equipment as leaks began to pour through the tarp.  I slammed my laptop shut, and we surveyed the damage.  I was ready to scrub the whole session, as I looked up at the uniformly dreary and wet sky.  Timidly, the choir suggested, “We should wait.”  Last night, wave and wave of fierce and relentless rain had pounded our guest house, beginning at 2am. I tried to be optimistic, but instead imagined everyone randomly grabbing microphones, laptops, and cameras should the skies unleash a last declaration of wet season fury.

The drizzle began to wane, and my optimism improved. The choir reassembled and the mellow tones of the marimba began to once again join the choir of crickets singing from the verdant jungle surrounding us. Each time I looked up from my laptop I could see Beth smiling and nodding to the beat.  I closed my eyes and took in the fresh, cool and moist air.  How wonderful that Beth and I can vacation here in Ghana, teaching Clement and Cyrus to record the joyful songs of the Birifor, Bible stories, and prayers, and spread them across the most remote villages in Birifor-land.

We returned to the clearing late in the evening, to record one more choir.  By 8:00pm, we were set ready, looking up at the starry sky, Jupiter slowly rising above the horizon.  The cool night air refreshed the cats and dogs who had slept the day away in the shade. Puppies and kittens energetically chased moths and small beetles.  It was time for Clement and Cyrus to move from watching, to leading.  Clement and Cyrus stepped forward and gathered the choir, drums, and marimba into formation around the tripod.  The music began! 

After Clement and Cyrus had their first end-to-end choir recording, we celebrated, prayed, returned to the guest house to wind down and wrap up with observations and suggestions for our next outing.  We completed 31 recordings today, adding to the recordings we did in January. This will complete the Birifor language. Whohooo!

We enjoyed a flurry of wonderful and hard work the last two days.  We apologize for being slow to update the blog. Late into the night we assembled all of the audio – energetic choirs, new health information from a local Birifor clinic worker, and messages from the pastors.

We recorded the clinician providing heath information for more than an hour.  The track on Hepatitus was almost 19 minutes long.  The Birifor will have important practical health information along with praise music and Bible stories.  The recordings will show on their cell phone with this spiffy embedded MP3 album cover I created.

Curious about the prevention and treatment of Malaria in the Birifor language? Here you are :-)

Each night, the cold shower rinsed off the salt and grime of the day. Often, we were too exhausted to stay up and edit photos.  But here is a quick catch up with photos….

We realized that a more traditional shirt with a more neutral color would be needed to video record Paster Emmanuel in one of the Birifor villages. So I suggested a temporary shirt swap. The pastor was a little stunned at the idea, but eventually agreed, and I stripped off my shirt and we swapped. Some of you might recognize my blue batik shirt. Beth made it clear, however, that yellow was not my color.

Clement and Cyrus, who are now calling themselves “C & C Productions” :-) moved Paster Emanuel into position and a prayer for the Birifor people was recorded. Before we return home, we hope to train C&C on some video editing, so they can produce a final version.

While C&C did their work practicing, Beth and I walked around the village and made friends.

At Golden Hour, we walked through the village and took some photos of daily life in the Ghanaian country side. At this time of year, food is abundant — watermelon, tomatoes, corn, and other fresh vegetables and fruit are are cultivated in the fields surrounding each family compound.

At the end of the walk, it was time to once again swap shirts. As I pulled off the yellow T-shirt, I noticed the Ghanaians wide eyes and curious smiles staring at my pale white chest. No, my muscular frame did not draw their eye, but it was my attractive chest scar from 2017. I explained how my new artificial heart valve worked, and together we thanked the Lord for the additional time I had been given, and that as brothers and sisters in Christ, we are siblings. Borrowing clothes is just what siblings do.