The new President of Ghana (the Vice-President was sworn in after President John Mills died) visited Sunyani. It was as if the President of the United States had visited St. George. Absolute traffic nightmares, parades on every corner, chiefs from all the neighboring villages being carried into the city on their litters with drums following and huge umbrellas leading their processions. Flags and brightly colored banners were on every street corner and they had even hurriedly painted all the curbs white before he arrived.
The very next day, President James of the Estates Branch called and asked if we could drive him and his counselors to Dormaa, a little town about an hour west of here on the Cote D'Ivoire (Ivory Coast) border. One of the members of their branch was there, tending to his dying mother and he had asked for them to come and give her a blessing.
We of course said yes. None of them drive or have cars so it was either with us or they would have had to take a taxi. President James and his counselor Pax are both unusually large and well-built African men and their Executive Secretary, Brookman, is a slight-built young man, more like the usual Ghanaian physique. Pax is a prison guard and James works for the government as a planning engineer. They proceeded to get into a lively political discussion which as typical Ghanaian discourses go, became very elevated, loud and somewhat contentious. Poor Brookman, who was wedged between them in the back seat, was caught in the middle of two roaring African Alpha males expressing their opinions, both talking at once at hearing decimals that would be banned in the US. It was interesting, animated, and extremely tiring.
We finally arrived in Dormaa and stopped to pick up the young man we had come to visit. I waited in the car and slipped some small children playing on the street next to me some candy we keep in the console of the car just for such occasions.
Two young men came out with them and for a second I thought I was seeing double. Ellis Senior and Ellis Junior (same name) were identical twins and they were identical! They both even wore the same shirt and both had the same tribal scar on their left cheeks. This time it was a "T" on its side. They hopped into the "basket" (back of the pickup) and we drove to the hospital where their mother had been convalescing for several weeks. Their sister was already there waiting for us.
I was not prepared for the scene that unfolded before our eyes. The hospital was much smaller and older than in Sunyani and not nearly as clean. We were all led down narrow hallways or porches that opened on one side to a central courtyard. When we reached the women's wing we entered through a narrow doorway into small musty rooms lined in rows which were connected by doorways. There were small windows on one side of the rooms and the walls were painted a dingy, dark yellow-gold color. Mold and fungus (common in Ghana) discolored the paint and crept up the walls like eerie monsters on the walls. Each room held six beds, three against each wall with a narrow aisle down the center, barely wide enough to allow one to walk between the beds.
The boys' mother was curled up in a fetal position on one of the cots. She wasn't much more than a dried up shell. It was as if someone had stretched black leather over a skeleton. She looked up at me, our eyes met, and I felt the human soul behind those sunken eyes. In rather surprisingly good English she said, "Thank you for coming"--a corn husk who could speak. She kept coughing and spitting mucous into a bucket.
Her daughter sat on the bed next to her and all of a sudden a flood of memories came screeching back into my mind as I remembered how just a little over a year ago, I too had sat at the bedside of my frail, dying mother. It was almost more than I could bear and tears welled up from deep inside.
They helped prop her up and then Brookman annointed her head and Gary gave her the simplest, most lovely blessing--that she would have peace and comfort. The entire room, which was filled with people, became immediately silent--not a sound was made. When he had finished, a small, dwarf-like woman across the aisle asked if he would bless the entire room. He of course complied and again the spirit was so close--so special.
As we were leaving, a beautiful young African woman who was visiting one of the patients approached me, took my hand and said, "Please, I want to be your friend." I assured her that we are all Heavenly Father's children and that of course, I would be her friend. "Someday,think of me", she whispered. We hugged--two total strangers--brought together for just a brief moment somewhere in rural Africa. And she was right--I will think of her.
The drive back to Sunyani was uneventful. But this time the car was very quiet as we were all just pondering the spiritual experience we had just encountered.
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