The Jail Experience

This post is dedicated to our son Blake who is in law enforcement.

(I hope you appreciate the pictures since it was illegal for me to take them!)

It all started when we went to Alice's to paint the wood on the shutters and doors that we had installed for her safety.  Looking back... it was like the 2-hour tour that ended up at Gilligans Island.  I was painting the bottom half navy blue and Lynn was painting the top half pepto bismal pink - as requested with glee from Alice because it reminded her of her grade school.  Alice was happy and serenading us with all the songs she remembered from school.  Suddenly Ishmael appeared. 

Ishmael's mother died when he was 9 months old so his father abandoned him and none of his grandparents would take him... so Alice did.  She has carried him on her back and cared for him like a grandchild ever since.  Alice's husband died almost 2 years ago.  Ishmael is 15 years old now and running with a gang of thieves - no match for a widow.  His occasional disappearances worried Alice because it is not uncommon for "stragglers to disappear" at night, and their body parts sold on the black market to Juju priests for dark magic.  Although he never helped her on the farm and frequently stole everything from her that he could take or re-sell ("spoiling" shutters and doors) Alice continued to try to keep him in school and to stay on a good path.  Then he ran away to Kumasi and had been gone for several weeks.  Alice was actually relieved.

While Alice ignored him, I had a great conversation with him.  Me- "Are you going back to Kumasi?"  Him- "No".  Me- "Are the police looking for you?"  Him- "No."  Me- "Should they be looking for you?"  Him- (smile).  Me- "If you want to be a happy and successful adult you need to finish school.  If you continue on your path you'll either be dead or in prison before you're an adult."  We continued on with how to change and repent etc.  He agreed and rattled off all of the Articles of Faith.  Who knew!  Just as we were finishing, he picked up the pink paint brush and started to "help".  I warned him that if he got the oil base paint on his clothes it would not come off. 

Lynn unlocked the car to put some things in it and didn't re-lock it because we were only a minute or two from leaving.  When we went to leave I discovered pink paint on my door handle.  I opened the un-locked door and discovered pink paint on the seat and on my red bag.  I quickly looked in the bag and discovered that GHC 140. ($70 USD) was missing.  Lynn was furious and asked the dozen or so children; that are always hanging around; where Ishmael was.  They all scattered to find him. 

Meanwhile Ishmael saundered back to the house unaware that he had already been caught.  Alice grabbed him, and I called for Lynn as I followed them into the house.  Lynn appeared and the interogation began.  I was proud of him for not beating the brat even though I know he wanted too!  At first he denied the whole thing challenging us to check his pockets, but when we rehearsed the evidence and the witnesses... he caved and showed us where he had stashed the cash.  Snatching the opportunity of our assistance, Alice insisted that we take him to the police!  We put the child locks on so he wouldn't bail and with the "big dog" next to him in the back seat, I drove to the police station.          

When they handcuffed him to the bars on the window he started to cry and beg us not to turn him in.  The police were not there so Alice rehearsed his entire life story and every single item he had ever stole from her to the event of the day, to the un-uniformed women clerks.  They made the usual scowls and low clicking sounds of disdain and then called the off-duty policeman, who showed up in civilian clothes.  He was huge!  He went over and growled at him, barked a few Fante words at him and then started to slap him around.  Ishmael wailed all the louder.  He told the clerks to throw him in the cell. 

Not accustomed to such police brutality, I started to question the intelligence of the decision to bring him here - although he did need a good spanking.  The clerk assured me that they would not cut off any fingers like they would an adult, but they would beat him "mercilessly".  We were instructed that we had to pay for them to keep him and feed him, so we paid GHC 5 (Alice wanted to only pay GHC 2 so he would be hungry :).  Then we were told that the Inspector would call us and we would return.  Alice snubbed her nose at Ishmael and issued some taunting remark in Fante and we left.

The all-cement cell was 4'x8' and had 2 small holes for light in one wall, a couple of small holes above the door for ventilation and a blanket.  That's it! 

We hoped that a night in the cell would "scare him straight" and that would be the end of it.  The next day we went back to visit with the inspector.  Then he brought Ishmael in - who seemed a little more humble and had stripped down to his shorts.  He asked Ishmael a few questions and he didn't answer so the inspector went over and started to slap him.  He started to cry so the inspector called another policeman to take him to the cell again.  The policeman came to the door bending a cane and started to beat him with it all the way back to the cell.  Ishmael was shrieking and really howling now.  While everyone else seemed completely satisfied, I could hardly stand it! 

We were told to come back the following day to transport the inspector and Ishmael to another village about 40 kilometers away, to appear in court before the commander.  We hoped that 2 nights in the cell would cement the fear of ever landing there again.

Two Obrunis charging a Ghanian with a crime creates quite a stir and everyone was told what Ishmael did.  Many more scowls and clicks of disdain - the public humiliation.  Because of his age, we could send Ishmael to a juvenile detention school in Swedru where he would be beaten every day and made to work hard labor; or release him to Alice with a few requirements.  

By now Ishmael was much more contrite and we told him that Alice begged for us to release him to her instead of going to Swedru - and we would only do it if he would go back to school, help her on the farm and never steal again.  If he slipped up again, he would go straight to Swedru.  He gratefully accepted so we took them home. 

Ishmael told us that he had to "relieve" himself on the cement floor of the cell - just like everyone else that stays there.  They gave him a little water to dilute it and smear it around but was forced to lay in it at night.  He also told us what they fed him - needless to say, he was really hungry by the time he got home.

We had to go to the school to get him re-admitted.  I was surprised that the headmaster (and every one else in the village I'm sure) already had every single detail of the "event".  We had to beg them to accept him back.  Ishmael told them that he wanted to learn and to graduate.  They told him that they would give him one more chance and would be watching him.  They gave us the list of what he needed to get back into school:  a uniform, and a list of school supplies.  We gave Alice GHC 70 to buy the things to get him back into school.  Ironic...this event ended up costing us GHC 75.

So far so good.  He's been going to school and helping Alice...we'll see.                

Wedding Wows

When a man wants to get married here, he pays a “knocking fee” to the parents of the bride.  This fee allows him to sit down with her parents and negotiate the price he will pay them to marry their daughter.   Negotiations also include a lengthy list of gifts that the groom will give to family members.  When an agreement is reached, they have an engagement party.  He may take his bride and begin payments; they are legally married.  Once the entire price is paid, they can get formally married if they want to.  Many Christians getting married now want a formal church wedding and men must pay for years to obtain it. 

It is tradition that the couple move in with the grooms parents – it’s probably financially impossible for them to do otherwise until the knocking fee is paid in full.  Therefore the groom’s mother must approve of the bride.  I’ve personally seen the mother-in-law break up marriages because of disputes with the bride. 

A very high percentage of people don’t come to an agreement before the woman is pregnant and an “out of wedlock fee” is imposed of GHC 200 per child.  This must be paid before the knocking can begin. 

On a side note:  Most old people don’t know when they were born so they adopt a birthday, it’s always 1 Jan 19_ _.   It also used to be customary for parents to cut their tribal mark in the cheeks of their babies making huge scars – it’s illegal now but most old people you see have the scars.

      

It’s also legal and common, for our long robed friends to practice polygamy here (our church does NOT). 

Knowing this, you can imagine how I felt when we got an invitation to a wedding; from the guy on the scooter, who delivers bi-weekly to our office for FedEx.  Oh my lucky stars!  We hardly know the guy but gladly provided the expected gift, in exchange for the experience…and a few photos.  I’m shameless aren’t I?

I prodded Elder Asay along all morning so we could find the place and be there on time – 10:00 am sharp!   When you don’t speak Fante, and there are no addresses or signs it can get a bit tricky!  We found a young girl to show us the way up an incredibly steep and rutted dirt road (it’s amazing where a Toyota Corolla can go).  Although there was no evidence of a wedding taking place, we finally found the place at 10:15.

Did they get cold feet?  Where are all the guests?  Oh I forgot TIG (this is Ghana) so they will all be late…SAT (standard Africa time)!  So we did just that…sat, and hoped I wouldn’t need to use a washroom – there aren’t any.

Plenty of time to take pics of the Pentecostal Church and the glamorous décor.  This is where the nuptials will sit.

Someone passed out the Programme for the event at 10:45.  Suddenly the anticipated 30 minute ceremony looked like it would take a couple of hours when it finally got started.  It kind of reminded me of the English wedding of Charles and Diana – yikes that ages me!  The acknowledgement section was interesting advertising.  Super glad I didn’t drink any water this morning – a tradition on Sundays as well. 

Guests started filing in around 11:00 and finally around 11:15 the preacher welcomed everyone and in true Pentecostal fashion, began the praying and singing and dancing…African style.   To the singing of the guests, the bride inched down the isle with her father in traditional thanksgiving robes.   It was in Fante so I’m not sure what song it was, but not the traditional wedding march.

Elder Asay asked one of the relatives to sneak up there with the rest of those taking pictures of the bride and groom and snap one for us.  She did, 3 feet away from their faces...here are her un-edited pics – we thought the picture would feature them together…I guess we should have been more specific.  TIG.  Both of them looked like a nervous wreck and didn’t crack a smile until it was entirely over.

It was fun to stand, sway, clap listen to their singing and smile with the rest of the guests as the programme unrolled.  Ah ha ha, nearly everyone was swaying – it’s a bit too close to dancing and Elder Asay doesn’t do that!  Sister Fife is right...I look like a marshmallow in a bowl of cocoa puffs.

It was interesting to note that the Brides Maid actually has important duties to perform for the Bride besides taking care of the train and holding the bouquet – like dabbing the perspiration from her face.

The Best Man didn’t dab perspiration, he wiped sweat...and held the microphone for him.

Shortly after the ceremony began, a gang of bikers roared in.  Co-workers of the groom.

The Preacher got after them several times during the Programme for their cat calls, outbursts of laughter and drunken dancing at unscheduled times.  The first time he asked them politely.  After that he rang a school bell until they were quiet.  The groom knew he was already in trouble, so he didn’t even look at them.

Twice during the program, everyone filed past these “offering portals” and pretended like they threw money in. 

The best part of the ceremony was after they were officially married and he went to kiss the bride.  First he slowly rolled up the veil inch by inch – that took a good 2 minutes.  After he knew he couldn’t delay any longer, he gave her a quick peck and the guests went wild with squeals and laughter!  You never see any kind of display of public affection anywhere here.  It's even common to see men sitting on one side of the church and women sitting on the other etc. 

The get away car is only decorated with flowers and ribbons, no smeared cookies or shaving cream.  There is a camera man that captures every moment of the wedding and even drives ahead of the nuptials car to film the drive.  3 hours later, they were ready to get in the car and go to the reception…we were not.  We gave him the gift and giggled all the way home – this experience was almost better than the trip to Mankessim on market day.     

Butterfly Birthday

I actually turned 49 not long ago... wow, I still can't believe I lived to this ripe old age - my mind still thinks like 18.  I found some beautiful, African, Batik, wax, print, fabric and collected flour sacks to make aprons for all my girls.  I was going to have them sewn by a local seamstress, but decided to ask Marian if she would like to become one, so she could be at home when the kids weren't in school instead of working at the stationery shop all day.  Since she already knows how to sew (her mother and sister were seamstresses) she was very, very interested.  So we did a Family Home Evening Lesson on creating a business plan and then went shopping for a brand new, made-in-The-Peoples-Republic-of-China, Butterfly sewing machine, for my birthday!  I will sew the aprons myself and then give the Butterfly to Marian when we leave.    

This thing is sooooo cool!  It weighs about 40 pounds and is 100% iron and steel - I didn't think they made things like that anymore!  And you can store all your thread and stuff under it, in the wood box.  Look ma...no power needed, you just crank the hand treadle.

We met Comfort at Alices.  She came to have Alice fix her Butterfly.  The "black poly" is full of "patching" (mending).  Alice told me that a seamstress who patches makes a lot more money than those making new clothes.  They carry their machine around on their head through the village calling out "patching" and people come "rushing" to her.  She does the work right there, and gets paid right then...no overhead!  I've been surprised how inexpensive notions are here.  

Of course Alice is an excellent seamstress - and mechanic!  Alice says that I have "surpassed the master" in my bread baking skills, so she surprised me with my official bakers dress for my birthday.  It is made from flour sacks and is awesome in a sentimental kind of way.  She never took a single measurement, but it fits me like a glove.  Now if the town council comes around while we're baking bread, they won't punish me for not wearing one while baking - it's the law!

Alice's Bread Recipe:

6 eggs

10 nutmegs

1/2 bag flour (5 kilos?)

1/2 bottle pineapple essence

1/3 kilo salt

2 gal. water

2 T. yeast

1 c. dry milk

1 c. margarine

1 T. baking powder

1 t. baking soda

4 c. sugar

Mix like other bread dough, form loaves and rise overnight - bake.

Alice made a few adjustments and Comfort was mending again, right there, in the wind!

I have just finished my "tedious work" of snipping the designs into the bread dough with small scissors, and we are shooting the breeze while we wait for the oven to cool slightly before baking.  Every Saturday when we come to help Alice, we spend a good deal of time in "conversation" usually she sits where I am in this picture.  While she sits, she scrapes  the melted wax from the corner of her table.  She has no electricity, only candles.  I took a picture of the wax on the table and will frame it when we get home.  It is my reality check to get a broader perspective about what is important in life.  I'm really going to miss Alice. 

Alice's Poems:

He that is low, need fear no foe

He that is humble, no pride

But ever shall have God, to be his guide

God bless this house, from thatch to floor

The 12 apostles guard my door

Four good angels watch my bed

Two at my head, two at my foot.  Amen 

Fettish for Funerals?

When a person dies, their body is taken to the mortuary to be imbalmed and put on ice (literally - the complete description is a little morbid).  Or they are put in the  "refrigerator" to wait for the funeral - which is usually anywhere from a month to a year later!  (If you are a long robed friend then the burial is the day they die, or the day after, and then a memorial is held later.)  Once enough money is saved for the funeral, then they have it.

The spouse always wears black and is "in mourning" for at least a year.  During that time, most do not work - but are provided for by family and friends.  There is no such thing as life insurance here.  After the year, they wear white for a year or two.  If this protocol is not followed, they are criticized by the community.  If the surviving spouse is a man, he can re-marry immediately after the death; if a woman, she must wait at least a year - in case she is with "seed".  If the person that died is young, or considered to be taken before "their time", people will wear red as a sign of extreme sorrow.  Many superstitious people also pay the Juju Priest to "determine" who killed the person by performing rituals on the body, so a proper curse can be applied to the killer.     

Funerals are a huge part of social life here, and therefore BIG business!  We've seen several casket shops along the roadsides with very unique shapes, sizes, colors, designs and materials of caskets ie: chickens, rockets, bibles etc. 

   

The family places billboards on the street corners and glue large posters to every feasible surface, announcing the death of the person with details regarding the funeral.  (Billy Johnson's funeral poster is pictured below but the following funeral pics aren't his.)  The family pays the expenses for other family members to come to the funeral and stay as long as they want. 

On Friday, the body is "laid in state" at the person's house, for viewers.  They are displayed in the casket if there is room for it in the house, or on the bed if there isn't and the casket it proped up in the corner for display. 

On Saturday morning, they carry the casket to the church they attend, for the funeral.  This person's house was at least 1/2 mile away.  The men carrying it were drenched in sweat by the time they got to the church.  There is always a huge procession and sometimes a band.  Everyone wears black, red and brown (men in our church still wear a white shirt and tie and were found here carrying the casket for the family - no honorary pall bearers here). 

The funeral service is done at the church and varies, depending on the church.  The one we went to was pretty normal, except for a couple of wailing women.  Then the casket is taken for burial.  This one was placed in a flat bed truck and everyone just piled on top.
 

We followed the truck, and gasped when the tail gate fell off, along with several people - because there were so many people on it!

There really aren't many defined cemetaries here, you see graves everywhere along the road.  You must have permission from the chief to bury in your chosen place.  There was a small foot trail off the side of the road, and corn was growing where they buried this one.  Many of the wealthier families have headstones with a stone slab the size of the casket which makes it easier to find and a little harder for the jungle to grow over it. 

Although this casket was placed in a vault of sorts, it was covered with dirt - no wonder there were sunken spots around - just like Idaho City Cemetary.

Immediately after the burial, the party begins - and everyone is invited.  There are several parties to choose from every weekend, just wear black and red or brown and bring cash.  Pop-up tents and plastic chairs mark the spot!  There is always local home brew, food, loud music and a large "donation" table.  The party lasts all day, all night and all day on Sunday too.  The bigger the party, the more donations received - sometimes its a money maker. 

On Sunday the party continues all day, except people wear "thanksgiving" colors of black and white.

Pra Ewusi

My friend Staci has been following our blog since we came on mission.  She noticed several pictures of children in Alice's village and wanted to do another service project, but this time for the children instead of the missionaries (like she did last Christmas).  As you can see from the pictures below, they can use it!  I gave her several ideas and she ran with them.  It was quite a system of handoffs to get the items she generously donated into our hands.  Here is the rest of the story...

We decided that in order to eliminate a mob, we needed to do this "kid-style" in a good old fashioned game of fish pond.

We told Alice our plans - she had never heard of a fish pond before, but she was over-the-top excited because we were bringing the Mission President and his wife to help with it!   

Elder Eldredge and Elder Hansen helped by pumping up all the "foot balls" (soccer balls), organizing all the "skip ropes" (jump ropes) ...

and the "slippers" (flip-flops).  We added a couple of bags of "toffee" (candy), "biscuits" (cookies) and pencils.

The usual group was waiting for our arrival.  They knew something was different when the Shulzs were with us.  We knew something was different when Alice immerged donning pants - we've never seen her wear anything but a dress.  AND she had her hair braided - we've never seen her with her hair uncovered!

Soon the group grew...

and grew...

and grew...

and grew... to over 100 children!

Nearly all of the children were pretty serious about the whole thing, but I coaxed a few smiles.

A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity or something?  I was shocked how quickly most of the children squirled their loot home!  I guess it's safer there?  

President Shulz and Elder Asay made the newly finished wash house the fish pond.  Alice helped identify families so one child in each family would get a ball.  Somehow it was like loaves and fishes multiplying - every child got something! 

Sister Shulz helped Alice pull the bread from the oven and played games with the children.

President Shulz also had fun playing with the children.

After the pond closed, we saw the smiles...

and some playing or wearing their loot...

Then Alice wanted all of us to visit her mother - only a stone's throw away.

Her mother is 95 years old.  This sweet woman doesn't speak English.  She lost her teeth long ago and is starting to lose her memory.  Alice is her only daughter and she dutifully takes care of her every day.  The other little girl is Charity, somehow she appears in every picture!  What a fun day - THANK YOU Staci and family!