Africa has rhythm. Late in the evening, distant village drums throb. Before dawn, the roosters call out for the first light of morning. As the first golden rays of sunshine wash over the farms, doves and pigeons begin to coo. Life is ordered by the sun: by the intensity of the midday heat, by the slow ripening and drying of the harvest, and by the end of the rains, when the dry season bakes and cracks the red earth.
Crisp breezes refresh the mornings. The stinging and biting insects have miraculously vanished; only the ants seem to be on the job, marching in well-organized columns across the paths, carrying tiny morsels of food. Guinea fowl and chickens scratch for their breakfast.
Each new day I wish the cool of morning could last just a bit longer, so that we could dance carefree with the grasses swaying in the gentle gusts and sing with the doves until noon. But a scant two hours after dawn, the African sun has already driven me into the shade of the shea butter trees to discuss the plans for the day. Nearby, village women and adolescents shuttle water back to their mud-brick huts, the heavy basins carefully balanced on their heads.
Morning Worship
By 8:00, the rhythm of the coursework is well underway. Praise and worship music brings us all to our feet in thanksgiving, clapping and dancing, before the next round of lectures and practice sessions begins.
Visiting the Chief
In the late afternoon, as the sun softens and shadows stretch across the path, we walk back to the nearby village of Tambabu. The chief donated the land for the Philip Centre North, and during our first welcome visit a few days ago, we learned that his BiblePlus had “spoilt.” We have returned with a new unit.
Paying homage to the village chief is woven deep into the culture and rhythms of Ghana. Justice, who is well known to the chief, approaches his sitting area first. His shoulders are rounded and his head nods gently, lower and lower, until he is crouching down and gazing humbly up at the chief. All the while he repeats a familiar, time-honored exchange of greetings and responses. We follow, lining up behind Justice and squatting as low as we can without sitting in the dry, dusty red earth. We instinctively nod slowly and tip our heads toward the chief until the greetings pause and we are invited to stand.
The chief thanks Justice for bringing us to visit again so soon after our first arrival. We present the leader of this Komba clan with a new BiblePlus unit, and as we leave, it is filling the warm air with Komba songs recorded by the team years earlier. It is deeply rewarding to watch these efforts come full circle.
On our way back to the Philip Centre, we strolled slowly, savoring the village and making new friends. The village’s rhythm had shifted, and the sun, deepening to amber, sank toward the horizon. Families gathered their brightly colored clothes from the bushes where they had been spread to dry after a hand washing, and others fetched one last load of water. A Fulani herdsman guided his cattle from the grazing pastures back to the safety of the village, and from the yam fields, men walked home with hoes forged from old vehicle leaf springs slung over their shoulders. Lambs bleated for their mothers as the animals settled in to rest under a favorite tree or beside the family compound. This crescendo of activity would carry on until the people of Tambabu closed the gates to their compounds for the night.
Back at the Philip Centre, insects hopped, jumped and fluttered in confused circles around the LED lights glowing here and there. Large toads crept slowly from their daytime hiding places to find the banquet of bugs, sometimes leaping three feet up the wall to snatch a juicy evening snack. The cricket choir struck up its song, and I suddenly noticed the air had turned cool. The moon was hiding, and the shimmering arms of the Milky Way stretched overhead, a reminder of our small and unique place in time. Here in this fertile land, the Komba live much as they have for generations: listening to the rhythms, planting in season, harvesting, and growing old. It is a beautiful land, thriving on the Good News even as its people struggle with daily hardships. They are strong and generous people, quick to smile, quick to welcome and always ready to join in the labor.