If you were to pick up a postcard from Ghana, it would depict faces that were smiling, tall luscious trees, fruit aplenty.  If you were to simpl land and take a taxi ride to your hotel in downtown Accra, your eyes wouldn’t see what I have seen.  Ghana is no oasis.  It is no place of overflowing happiness or joy.  It is not a city where its people shout with jubilation, but instead it is where noise, confusion, and anger drive through the streets, mosques, and in the shanty homes.  In america, we take for granted that there is food in our cubbards, and a relatively clean place to lay one’s head.  In Ghana the children don’t count on a meal being prepared in the evenings by their mother or father, they are only interested in getting something to eat which will fill their bellies, no matter what it is or where it comes from.  In america we are frustrated when someone uses up all the hot water or when someone drinks your last favorite soda from the fridge.  In Ghana, you must go a get your water from a gutter that is overflowing with trash and bring it back to a public “shower” in which some may even use for a bathroom.  They have little chance of getting a colling refreshment without worrying of where it came from.   In america we get overwhelmed by too many expectations, too little time, and not enough people to do the work.  In Ghana there are little to no expectations for education or career, and there are too many people wanting for jobs.

We have so much, but give so little.  They have so little, but have given me so much.  There hasn’t been one visit or stop that a Ghanain has not offered me their seat…or bought me a drink with the bit of money they made that day, or even to give me food when it would mean that they would have to go without food themselves.  My heart is shattered seeing all that I have, and seeing all that they don’t have.  I cannot fathom that life will be the same when I get home….