Power Miracle Evangelical Chapel

Yesterday I was invited by Lydia, a woman who works for my landlord, to attend Sunday service at Power Miracle Evangelical Chapel International (PMCI).  I had attended a Presbyterian and Lutheran service in Tanzania, but this was my first time at a Ghanaian Church and an Evangelical service in general.  I know very little about what distinguishes Evangelicals from other Christian denominations-only what I’ve seen from the Mega-Church televangelism from the American South- but this experience certainly fit that stereotype. 

Enter the choir and a rousing rendition of a song with only a handful of words.  Jeeeeeeeeesussssss.  Oh Jeeeeeeeeesus.  Oh. Jeeeeeeesus Christ is bo-hhhhhhh-rn.  The song went on like that for another 10 minutes.  The Reverend then asked all those who were attending their first service at PMCI to make themselves known.  Lydia, a real stickler, forced me to stand up.  As the only white person in a crowd of about 400 Ghanaians I did not go unnoticed.  Everyone in my section then eagerly shook my hand to welcome me to the Chapel before the service resumed. 

The morning continued with few more songs, and a reproduction of Jesus healing the sick by a youth group, before the Reverend Prophet Michael Mensah entered the stage.  Amidst the roars and wails from the crowd Reverend Prophet Mensah made his way to the podium.  With the ability to go from a hush to a howl in an instant, and all the voice fluctuations for dramatic effect in between, Reverend Prophet Mensah had the stage presence of a celebrity singer.  As he began his sermon, the Reverend, seemingly so captivated by his own words, tossed his suit jacket aside and exposed his enormous belly and sweat soaked undershirt.  Now, dodging back and forth across the stage, pausing perfectly in time with the music ensemble behind him, the Reverend Prophet brought his voice to an almost uncontrollable pitch as the crowd of people heaved ‘Amens’ at every one of his pauses.  He then invited people to begin their personal prayers.  Personal prayer is possibly the most public part of the service as people pace around furiously, swinging their hands in the air, screaming to the sky while making every possible facial expression and contortion.  After the personal prayer was over the Reverend Prophet took it upon himself to single me out for not being enthusiastic enough and urged me ‘to copy the actions of those beside me’.

Next came deliverance.  R.P. invited people to approach the stage ‘to be healed’.  Wailing women rushed the stage, spastically flinging their limbs about, into the arms of R.P.  R.P. then grabbed each person’s face, poured water over their heads, and threw them back into the waiting arms of two of his assistants.  This happened three or four times with each person as R.P. would run back and forth screaming at the top of his lungs, launching the participants onto their back heels.  Then a man came to the stage with a limp.  R.P., having identified the problem, placed a bandage around his calf, roughly palmed the man’s face, and then threw him backwards, declaring him healed. 

It was now past 11.30am and I had been in Power Miracle Chapel for over 3 hours and the service was showing no sign of wrapping up.  Not being able to endure any more of the deliverance spectacle I made up an excuse to Lydia about needing to be at work for some meeting and I made a quiet exit. 

There was a lot to the Evangelical service that was quite pleasing to be a part of.  When it’s time for the collection, people assemble in two conga lines and dance their way to the front of the stage, sometimes twirling as they make their donation into the heaping box.  The energy and rhythm of the choir and musicians was also fun to observe.  However, I found the experience, particularly the healing and deliverance portion of the service, very bizarre.  Watching this leap of faith- that a man with a loud voice, large palms, and a cup of water can heal what ails you- was watching the theatre of the absurd. 

I wrote in an earlier entry that I had no resentment toward organized religion in Ghana.  However, I admit that lately it is beginning to wear on me.  To me, when religion is at its best, when it makes sense to me, is when it is at its more personal and most humble.  Yet I find Christian Churches in Ghana are always trying to proselytize- never satisfied with their numbers, always needing to convert, to conscript, needing more to be ‘awakened’. This seems to me why Evangelism focuses so much on the presentation of their message- the incredible spectacle of it all- and less on the message itself.  The Reverend Prophet’s comment to me during the service, ‘that I be more enthusiastic’, is an example.  Who prays enthusiastically!?!?!?  It’s as if these neo-missionaries view the strength of Christianity not in its history or doctrines, but in its numbers.  The service had much less to do with the teachings and morals of the Bible than it did with seeming to enlist people in a gigantic recruitment drive.  For a religion with the most adherents in the world, Christianity seems very insecure.        

The Volta

After a week of being glued to my desk writing the first draft of the report I’m working on, I decided to spend Easter weekend in the most Eastern part of Ghana, the Volta Region.

            The main reason for tourists to visit Hohoe, the second largest urban centre in Volta, is to find transportation further East to Wli Falls- reputed to be the largest waterfalls in West Africa.  I shared transportation to the falls with two volunteers from Cape Coast, and accompanied by a guide we made our way down a mountainous path towards the falls.  The lush forest and the chirping of thousands of bats masked the sight and sound of the crashing falls that lay ahead.  Without such a preview, when we reached the waterfalls after a forty-five minute walk, they appeared like a beautifully kept secret.  If these waterfalls had been anywhere in Thailand, Vietnam, or Australia, they surely would have been swamped with dozens of tour buses, gift shops, and people competing for photo opportunities.  Yet for almost an hour, seven or eight of us had sole license to this tranquil and touchable oasis.

            The only other people splashing around in the lower falls, a group of Canadians and Americans volunteering with Unite for Sight, invited me to join them on a trek to the upper falls.  Wli consists of 3 different drop-off points, and, while reaching the lower falls takes an undemanding 40 minutes on fairly flat ground, reaching the upper falls is a more ambitious hike at two hours uphill.  The upper falls, while no more impressive than the lower, are certainly worth the effort simply for the view.

            Unfortunately, a very good day was soured slightly when I returned to my hotel in Hohoe and found that someone had stolen $50 from my bag- a considerable sum of money in Ghana.  The lock on my room window was broken and because my room was on the ground floor it was quite easy for someone to hop in.  In a moment of pride and anger I stormed to the hotel management and told them if the money was not returned by morning I would turn their favorable rating in the Ghana Guide Book upside down.  The management was very apologetic, and there being no way to determine if they were involved in the theft, I have no intention of pursuing my threat.  Somewhat of a bitter taste, but also a lesson learnt. 

Saturday morning I set off by tro tro in search of Amedzofe, at 611 meters above sea level it is the highest human settlement in Ghana.  I reached a village called Fume (Foo-May), the closest base to Amedzofe, but was shocked at the price that the only person capable of driving me up the bumpy mountain road was asking for.  ‘Don’t fret’, a friendly local hunter said, ‘You can walk.  There is a path.  It’s steep but it should only take about an hour’.  With my ego nicely massaged from the previous day’s trek, and the enduring hubris from the Kilimanjaro climb, I thought one-hour uphill should be but a pleasant stroll.  With only half of a small bottle of water in hand I set off through the thickets of forest and up the rocky trail.  Very anxious to reach the top before noon I moved at far too quick a pace.  After about an hour of walking, and with the last droplet of water gone, I was certain that I had taken a wrong turn.  Every blind rustle in the forest had me convinced that a predator had strayed from one of the surrounding national parks and was now stalking me.  I continued forward, my pace now slowed to a crawl, the sun baking my skin, and my body dripping with sweat.  When I began to feel dizzy I knew that I was in trouble.  My legs collapsed under the weight of my backpack and I keeled over onto the root of a tree.  For some time I laid in the shrubs around the tree feeling like I was going to vomit, but without the energy to contemplate my next move.  Finally, not confident in the prospects of beginning a life as a bush nomad I used my remaining strength to chart a path straight up the hill.  Stopping every few minutes, calling for help with every third breath, I finally came upon what looked like an abandoned concrete structure.  As I inched myself closer to the building, two young girls came running up to me.  Seeming curious as to my desperate state they asked me questions in their local language before running to find their mother.  Their mother, a kind and caring woman, took me into her home, and told me to rest while she offered me water.  With great thanks to her I felt much rejuvenated and was able to complete the final stretch of the trek without further incident.

            After spending much of the trek cursing the local hunter who had urged me up the path, I was now singing his praises.  Amedzofe was well worth the walk for the view of both Mt. Gemi, one of the highest peaks in the country, and a panorama that stretched all the way to Lake Volta.  Still feeling the effects of heat exhaustion I was very fortunate that it was market day in Amedzofe, and rather than having to walk back down to Fume I was able to catch one of the tro tros that was doing laps to and from the regional capital Ho. 

            I spent Sunday in the town of Akosombo, home to the largest dam in Ghana.  I was lucky enough to meet a family from Cote D’Ivoire who offered me a spot in their car while they toured the dam.  The Akosombo Dam is responsible for 60% of Ghana’s electricity, and in terms of surface area the dam regulates the largest artificial lake in the world-Lake Volta.  After our tour was over the Ivorian family was kind enough to give me a lift back to Accra in the luxury of an air-conditioned car. 

What was for me a considerable fear while lying by that tree somewhere near Amedzofe is also something that draws many others to this part of the world.  The opportunity to get lost, to find yourself completely isolated somewhere on a mountain, is not a prospect that exists everywhere.  Canada is certainly home to a beautiful and rugged natural environment, but the demarcation between city and countryside is far more pronounced in Canada.  For so many Ghana continues to exist as a traditional frontier state, where the natural environment is not something to be viewed as part of a weekend getaway, but rather seen as the crucial provider of resources and life.  I certainly was not thinking this while dry heaving somewhere on that mountain near Amedzofe, but after having chugged down two liters of water, filled my stomach with yam and pepper, I realized just how fortunate the experience was.

Buduburam Update:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/7311507.stm

and 

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/7302243.stm

Religiosity

Ghana is a very pious country.  Islam is growing, as is demonstrated by the call to prayer that blares from mosque speakers throughout the country five times a day, but overwhelmingly the country is Christian.  Sunday I traveled to Kumasi, Ghana’s second largest city, and reputed to be one of the busiest cities in West Africa.  The Kumasi I arrived to on Sunday felt abandoned.  I disembarked from the bus and had the freedom to slalom through the streets without even so much as a tro tro or street vendor to impede my way.  As I walked up one of Kumasi’s many hills I came upon the reason for this beautiful and unusual quiet.  The city’s residents, dressed in their best clothes, smart and neat, packed Church after Church listening to men scream the day’s prayer and lesson out of raspy microphones.  When the service ended, after 4 or 5 hours in the Ghanaian heat, everyone poured out onto the streets to socialize and then car pool home.

The degree to which Christianity is embedded into Ghanaian society is apparent everywhere.  Tro tros and taxis are named, “Genesis I” and “The Eucharist”; chop shops are called, “The Lord Commeth Diner”; and stalls bare the name, “God is Faithful Store” and “Jesus is Alive Vocational Training Center”.  On my return bus trip from Bolga to Accra the driver proceeded to lead the bus in prayer, only to be halted by a man, who, speaking on behalf of those minority Muslims, Animists, and Agnostics on board, yelled, “stop preaching and drive the bus”!  Televangelism dominates cable channels, and on all days of the week you can find someone with a microphone and an amp preaching somewhere in the city centre.

Outside of asking me my name or where I’m from, one of the most popular questions I’m asked is, ‘what is my religion’.  The series of questions typically goes something like this. 

-What religion are you? 

I was baptized Catholic, never confirmed, and don’t practice.

-Oh. But what Church do you go to?

I actually don’t go to any Church.

-But then where do you pray?

I don’t actually pray.

-Ok. But then how do you communicate with God?

Ummmmm. Well, I don’t actually believe in a god.

(pause)

-I don’t understand.

            I have no antipathy towards organized religion in Ghana, nor do I take any pride in expressing that I do not believe in God.  However, it is the truth.  I believe in a lot of things.  I believe in karma.  I believe that humans are always evolving and are not all knowing.  I even believe that there could be life on other planets.  But I do not believe in a god that is all knowing, all good, and all powerful.  I’m currently reading Michael Ignatieff’s biography of Isaiah Berlin.  Berlin, Jewish, describes, in reference to a Hassidic ritual, his religious skepticism;

 "I wish I could lay claim to having similar religious feelings or experiences- ever since I persuaded myself that a personal God- an old man with a beard- the Ancient of Days- or anyway some kind of individual conceivable in human terms-was unlikely to exist, I have never known the meaning of the word God; and I cannot even claim to be an atheist or an agnostic- I am somewhat like a tone-deaf person in relation to music- I realize that others are deeply inspired by it, and I respect that, and I have great sympathy for religious ceremonies and works of poetry: but God?"

  Yet in Ghana, as I’m frequently required to answer the question, saying the phrase, “I do not believe in God”, has stopped people in their tracks.  People are very kind with their follow up questions, more curious than self-righteous, but disbelieving nonetheless.  The other common question that results is, “if not religion, where do you get your morals from”?  I also do not believe that being religious makes you more virtuous than those who do not practice.  Just like believing in democracy doesn’t grant you authority on rights and justice, being religious does not make you the arbiter of what is moral.  History has been the judge of this as often the most pious countries have been the most violent.  Regardless, these questions are testament to the degree to which many in Ghana look toward the Church for leadership.

            It’s remarkable to me the time and energy that so many here put into religious acts.  Good deeds are constantly justified in the name of God and chance encounters are often declared to be “God’s will”.   I’ve been toured around town at no cost, even been given bus fare by a stranger when all I did was ask directions, all in the name of brotherhood.  Perhaps it’s this argument, religion as a good conscience, which gives the impression that morals are derived from religious devotion.  I’m not sure, yet I tend to believe, perhaps more controversially, that for so many religious observance never began as a formal choice.  Not necessarily an imposition, but children certainly seem heavily influenced by family and culture to participate in religion at their earliest age.  In any case, Christianity is engrained in the Ghanaian culture to an extent that I have not witnessed in another country.  I have yet to meet anyone who has spoken ill of the religious influence, and it would be only cynical to assume that this was for any other reason than because of its relatively benign affect.  In time this may become clearer, but as is commonly stated in Ghana, “only God knows”. 

Buduburam Refugee Camp

 Yesterday I traveled with Women’s Initiative for Self-Empowerment (WISE), a Ghanaian NGO that councils victims of gender based violence, to the Liberian Refugee Camp located about an hour’s drive away from Accra.  WISE is one of the NGOs that are partnered in the project I am working on, and my mission in the camp was to speak with one of their local partners.

 I mistakenly have this conception that every refugee camp will look like those I’ve seen on the news out of Darfur.  The image I have is of open plains littered with makeshift tent encampments sandwiched between communal dining and sanitation compounds.  This camp was nothing like that.  Tin shacks and mud huts sprawled over red sand slopes, one could be forgiven for thinking this was any other urban Ghanaian village. 

             The camp is currently undergoing what the camp manager described as a “crisis”.  Driving into the camp you are greeted by hundreds of women gathered on the dirt by the gate, some holding up placards, others chanting, others sitting peacefully.  The women are protesting the repatriation package that the United Nations High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR) has proposed.  The Second Liberian Civil War ended about four years ago and UNHCR and the Ghanaian government have made the argument that it’s time, either for the Liberian refugees to return home, or to fully integrate into Ghanaian society.  However, many of the Liberian refugees do not want to return home, looking instead to be resettled in a third country.  Their recent letter to UNHCR states their three claims.

1.     They oppose integration into Ghana. 

2.     Those with a well-founded fear of persecution should be resettled in a third country.

3.     Those who repatriate should be given $1000 US in support to begin their new lives. 

       The problems are many.  These are simply a few.  First, many refugees want to be resettled in the US due to the historical ties (Thousands of freed U.S. slaves settled in Liberia).  The US government, however, has stated that it is no longer accepting refugees from the camp.  Other developed countries have also made that decision, and UNHCR has made it clear that the refugees should not expect resettlement.  Secondly, many still maintain that Liberia is not safe for them and old ethnic conflicts will resurface.  Thirdly, UNHCR has offered a repatriation package valued at about $150 per adult, which the refugees have deemed insufficient. 

The other, perhaps most compelling case that the refugees make is, “what home do I have to return to”?  One of the volunteers at the WISE office, herself a Liberian refugee, lost her parents, her uncle, and her brother in the first of the two civil wars.  She has been out of Liberia for eighteen years, almost half her life spent outside her native country.  The sense of homelessness she conveyed was palpable; for her even the new Liberia will forever be haunted by the ghosts of her family’s killers.   

UNHCR has pulled their staff out of the camp, and the situation is showing no signs that it will be resolved soon.  In the meantime, children have been withdrawn from the camp schools, and the hundreds of women at the camp gate who have not moved for 14 days are determined to continue the protest.  For our sake, the car that we drove to the camp was donated by UNHCR, and thus bore its emblem on the side doors.  As we were leaving the camp, a teenage boy, mistaking us for members of UNHCR, turned sharply to his right, rapped in the side window, and yelled; “I do not want to be a refugee forever”!   

Anti-Americanism

             As a Canadian working abroad I am constantly mistaken for being American.  It’s not all-together surprising.  There is a large American expat community in Accra, a significant Peace Corps presence in Ghana, and often there is no discernable difference between a Canadian accent and that of an American.  Am I offended by this inaccuracy?  Am I hurt?  Judging by the reactions of those I correct, the litany of apologies that follow to remedy this apparently ghastly error, I should be quite insulted.  Well…I’m not.  I suppose I would prefer people to inquire where I’m from before simply assuming I’m American, but really I just don’t care.  In fact, let me make an even bolder statement.  I like Americans.  I also like Belgians, Laotians, Swedes, the Irish, Ugandans seem quite swell, and, while I’ve never met someone from Fiji, I’m sure they’re nice too.  Now there are some really lousy Americans out there (I’m certainly not too fond of those who roughed up three of my friends and I after a hockey game in New Jersey a few years back), but there happen to be some real rotten Canadians around as well.  What’s unfortunate is that some people are unable to separate U.S. policies from American people.  Discounting the myriad of mistakes and crimes (Guantanamo Bay is a crime) that the current rogue regime in the U.S. has committed, perhaps the worst thing they’ve done is to sully the reputation of the American people.  However, the responsibility still lies with the individual.  It’s become so popular to be anti-American these days that it has become a merchandise industry in itself.  Sadly, a lot of nice Americans that I’ve met in Ghana and elsewhere are subjected to smears, not based whatsoever on their character, but solely on an anti-US doctrine.  It’s really unfortunate and it’s really unfair.   So call me what you want, I’m a person before I’m a Canadian, and I suspect the same is true for Americans.