THE LAST LAP, NOVEMBER 19

Breakfast at the hotel, joined by Joe, Ida and Tully. A great surprise call to the Kipharts (via Peter) from the young headmaster at Krapa school, who was caught in the middle of a political problem, but had spoken very forcefully at our meeting. He had met with the Big Nana (chief), who was above all the people who were giving him problems at the school. When the Big Nana heard what was going on, he immediately said that others had misused his name, that the school at Krapa was clearly intended to be only a middle school. This was terrific news and indicated that things at Krappa might work out fine, in the end. The young headmaster had shown great courage in standing up for what he felt he needed at the school.

We said our goodbyes to the Kwartengs and Tully. Joe said that I was now a brother Kwarteng, and that in fact his brother had the same first name I'd been given by Nana I.

We headed off to Mansakwaa school, a two hour plus drive. Before reaching the school, we encountered a very cute parade of gowned children, with band, marching to their graduation ceremony. We visited the school, but, as it was Saturday, few children were around. Speeches were given, thanks were offered, more was requested, gifts (soccer balls and shirts) were given and the buildings were inspected. A kindergarten is being constructed there, financed by the in laws of Margot Lakonishok. Who had traveled with us to Ghana last year.

I've neglected to mention, except in passing, three important members of our entourage. Freedom and Joseph have driven the vehicles and been enthusiastic helpers at every turn. Jonathan, who like Freedom, is a nephew of Peter, is in charge of workers at all the wells that are built. He, too, was a great help at every turn. All three of them attended all of our dinners and were treated as companions with great respect throughout our trip.

After visiting the school, we drove several more hours to the outskirts of Accra, where we walked around the grounds of the new home that Peter is constructing, with financial help from two of his sons and the Kipharts. He hopes that it will be completed by March or April.

We drove to a restaurant, where Peter had arranged for a very good buffet lunch. We were joined by one of his daughters, Naomi, who is very bashful, by Abigail a cute, zippy young lady who assists Peter's wife, and by assorted other FOPs (friends of Peter).

After lunch, at my request, we drove to the Artists Alliance Gallery, which Carol and I had visited last year and liked. The gallery has a great mix of modern and old art, much of it of quite good quality, and very reasonably priced. Carol and I bought one small painting by an artist we liked a lot. I'd have bought another, and would have been tempted by some of the old cloths, as well, but Carol held the line at one small piece The Kipharts bought a carved wooden pole, called a story stick, and a bowl. It would have been nice to have been able to spend more, less rushed time at the gallery.

We headed to the airport, hearing "You Picked a Fine Time to Leave Me, Lucille" for the 123rd and final time, a fitting end to a fabulous, diverse and enriching trip.

SENSES OF TASTE AND HEARING, PINEAPPLES AND THE DEAF, NOVEMBER 18

Down for breakfast, looking out on the ocean. A most welcome change of scenery.

Off in the car, listening to the country and western music, of which we've had a steady diet, particularly "You Picked a Fine Time to Leave Me, Lucille," a touching ballad with operatic possibilities, which has become the trip theme song. We are an hour and a quarter drive from viewing the first development in the pineapple venture that Dick has invested in, and which is run and partly-owned by Joe Kwarteng.

Started less than a year ago, with the first crop planted only in April, the progress is most impressive. Fields with rows of pineapple plants, neatly laid out, are sprouting.

Young women, marching in a row with bowls of pineapple sprouts awaiting planting on their heads, sing as they walk to the rows where the pineapples will be planted.

 Pineapples take 14-16 months to grow, each plant producing a pineapple and four sprouts, which will be planted to grow more pineapples. These sprouts must be purchased for the first planting and the fields laboriously plowed and prepared; future crops will be easier. The pineapple plants sit in plastic, which holds moisture. They are planted by hand, with people crouching, punching holes and planting the pineapples, under a blazing-hot sun that is uncomfortable just to walk around, let alone work in.

Planting must be done in a way that meets the very strict standards imposed by the European market for which they are attended. Pineapples that are too small--or too big--will not be accepted. The color and taste must be right.

Dick and Joe both think that the project can be an extremely profitable venture. One of their primary motivations, though, is to provide employment for Ghanaians, and they plan to plough profits back into the enterprise to employ more people. Among those currently employed are six graduates of the Cape Coast School for the Deaf, which Joe and Ida are heavily involved in, and which the Kipharts have supported. The meeting of everyone held in the field is signed by somebody for the deaf planters. This meeting ends with a spirited prayer offered by one of the planters. Virtually every meeting and meal we have attended begins and ends with prayer.

From this initial several hundred acre project, we stop by at two nearby family homes as a courtesy and to show interest in the few hundred additional acres these families have optioned to Greenfields and Food (the name of the business). An additional 4000 acres will soon be under contract to be developed when the initial field is completed.

This all is a most impressive and interesting operation.

We stop for a quick, very light lunch at Joe and Ida's office, before a short 45-minute stop at the hotel, which I use for blogging. We then set out for the School for the Deaf, which Carol and I had seen last year, as well. The highlight is an amazing performance of four different dances done by deaf children to loud drumming, from which they can sense the vibrations from the floor. This is a truly moving and joyful experience. In between the dances are several short speeches by school officials, Ida and Dick.

After, we walk around the school farm that Joe and Ida have established through their NGO. The children, starved for human contact, shove to grab our hands as we walk around, and plead to have their pictures taken.

After viewing the farm, we all drive to a peaceful restaurant on a beach that Joe and Ida love. There we have a delicious meal, cooled by ocean breezes. Carol, Valerie and I lead Hebrew blessings over the food and in thankfulness for having reached this day, explaining to the others the meaning of the prayers. Carol presents Ida and Joe with a challah cover, and explains the meaning.

We're back at the hotel by eight, in time to blog, shower and go to bed early, another truly amazing day behind us.

JEWS IN GHANA, AND TRAVELING THROUGH A DESERT(OF SORTS), NOVEMBER 17

Over an early (7AM) breakfast at the Inn, we discussed the importance of people in the villages taking responsibility for themselves and their futures, how constantly being on the receiving end was not healthy for the recipients. We talked a bit about the possibility of making grants over a two- or three-year period, contingent on progress during the first year or two, and indicating clearly the limited time frame of the support.

Said goodbye to our hosts, Charity and Chris Scott. Charity is Ghanaian, very sweet and a good cook. Chris is Canadian, a former teacher, I think, and runs the business of the Inn. He said that if they operate at 50% capacity they are doing well. Over the past six years, the Kipharts have been their biggest customer.

We set out from the Inn on what we were told would be a two or two and a half hour drive to Sefwi Wiawso, where we learned through the website of Kulanu, that a small group of Jews lived. Because the drive from one side of Kumasi to the other took an hour, the entire trip took about three hours. The drives afford an opportunity to see the roadside Villages, with their odd signs, and the bizarre assortment of goods sold along the way. It also allows time for discussion. We talked about how the Ghanains have a word for deep, heartfelt gratitude, papaapa, and we Americans do not, perhaps because, having so much, we rarely, if ever, experience those feelings of deep gratitude. We also spoke of the hospitality of the Ghanaian people.

We asked Peter where there was an outlet for art and music in the small, rural villages, and he seemed to think there really was none. We asked about the history of The Prophet and were told that his father had been a prophet and, after he died, there was a split between The Prophet and his uncle. The Prophet left Kumasi to live in the village, and has achieved considerable notoriety and a big following. As we drove into the Western District, where the village is located, the landscape became hilly and green, a great difference from what we'd seen.

Missed the turn off we wanted slightly, but doubled back, drove up the road and on a corner Alex Armah stood waiting for us, a welcoming smile on his face. I had been in touch with Alex through Kulanu and had exchanged quite a few emails with him from where he was studying in Uganda. More recently, Peter had been in touch with him to arrange the logistics of our visit. Alex hopped into the truck, and we followed him to his house, which he shares with several others, and sat in the living room to talk.

Alex asked us "what is your mission," the traditional start of a conversation with visitors, and I explained how we had come to learn about his community. Alex answered all of our questions enthusiastically. He is trying to learn and study the history of how his people came there, but does not know much for certain. Before Catholic missionaries arrived in the 19th century, people celebrates Shabbat there freely, but the missionaries convinced (bribed) the chief to prohibit that worship. Thereafter people converted to avoid persecution, or at least did not practice openly. In the 1970's, the founder of the new community had a vision that they were Jewish and began to practice again, but not openly, because of government oppression.. Some years later, they began to practice openly, and the new Ghanaian constitution guarantees everyone freedom of worship. Alex said they have no problems with the Christians and Muslims, and some of them are interested to know about their religion.

Alex, now thirty-two years old, was introduced to Judaism by a brother as a teenager, and has followed it since. The community now numbers a hundred, from thirteen families. About 30-40 attend Shabbat services every Saturday. Services are conducted in English and in the local language, as Alex is now the only one who reads Hebrew. They have prayer books, donated by a synagogue in Des Moines. They keep kosher, nobody works on Shabbat and they celebrate all of the Jewish holidays.

Alex has gone to Uganda four times, the first time for four months, and the last three for ten months each. He studies in a yeshiva run by Rabbi Gershon, a Ugangan in his early forties, who was ordained in the US. Alex studies everything from Hebrew to history to theology. His dream is to become a rabbi and for his community to grow and become a self-sufficient community that can live and work in the area. He plans to marry later this month, and he and his wife will go back to Uganda.

Alex served us lunch, and then we drove with him to the synagogue. The synagogue is a simple structure with a podium and table with two chairs up front and rows of benches. Nthey have a small Torah. There are bookcases on the sides with books, and a shofar that I noticed. Alex said that he does not blow the shofar, but there is a member of the congregation who does. They are building a guest house nearby, but, unfortunately, we did not see how the work there is progressing?

From the synagogue, we drove to near the tailor shop, where beautiful challah covers are made. We trudged up the dirt hill road to the shop. Clearly, they don't get a lot of walk-in business. I had bought many challah covers through Kulanu, before we left and they have become cherished gifts for those we've given them to. The Kipharts and Valerie each bought four challah covers. We made a combined cash gift to Alex for the synagogue and left, having spent some two hours with Alex. The future of the Jewish community seems to be in Alex's hands. He appears to be very serious and dedicated, so stands a good chance of realizing his dreams.

From Sefwi Wiawso, we had a somewhat nightmarish, or at least very unpleasant, drive, through heavy traffic over a terrible bumpy, uneven, pocked road, encountering a delay for a market day, and ultimately the breakdown of the truck with Jonathan, Joseph and all of our bags, due to overheating. Our supposed five hour drive ended almost eight hours later at the Elmira Beach Resort, a very nice hotel that we'd stayed at last year. There we were met by Joe and Ida Kwarteng and Tully McLoughlin.

Joe and Ida run an NGO that promotes farm schools and Joe, on sabbatical from Cape Coast Ubiversity, where he's dean of the Agricultural School, is Dick's business partner in a pineapple venture you'll hear more of tomorrow. Tully, the son of a former consulting client of mine just completed Yale and is spending a year in Ghana, working with Farm Radio, an NGO funded by Bill Gates to promote farming through radio. Tully is quite delightful (I have to say that, because he will probably read this blog) and has an adventurous spirit, having previously served as a clown in South Africa, with a group called "Clowns Without Borders," which attempts to add joy and laughter to the lives of people in crisis.

After a very nice diner and conversation, we retired to the room, wher some 45 minutes later, we were joined by our luggage, which limped in with our ailing truck.

PASSION, ENERGY AND CONFLICT, NOVEMBER 16

Using the few minutes before breakfast for reflections. Spent more than an hour last night trying to figure out how to load photos onto this blog from an iPad. Very frustrating. But compare that to not having clean water. Photo-posting problems seem somehow more manageable.

Putting oneself in the position of villagers we've met, it's not hard to understand belief in miracles, or in God, or both. Think about living in an area so remote that you're an hour's walk from a dirt road that's probably not on Google Maps. Your village drinks ground water, which causes serious illnesses. You may well never have seen a white person before and, all of a sudden some appear from across the globe to build a well and bring you clean water, no strings attached. How else to explain this, but through the workings of some greater force?

And seeing the warm smiles on people's faces and their greeting of "you are welcome," welcome in the Biblical sense of greeting strangers, and feeling their gratitude is a great privilege and reward. As Peter said to us yesterday, their gifts to us of food and chickens are offerings of gratitude, not "payment" for what has been provided to them.

Experiencing this makes it tough to return completely to the cynical world we often inhabit back home.nnjust give me a bit of time, though.

We drove through heavy traffic to Dr. Annie's clinic in Kumasi. We chose to visit on one of the three days of the week that she runs the baby clinic, where mothers from all around the area bring their children.

The clinic is an inspired and inspiring beehive of activity, presided over by Dr. Annie.

Mothers and babies are registered, they wait in a crowed room for the babies to be weighed and checked. Two young Danish women serve as volunteers. Another area of the clinic grinds nutritional mixes of grains and nuts, which are fed to the babies. Still another room serves as a temporary resting place for mothers and babies during the first twelve hours of their lives, after which they must depart the clinic. An operating room for delivery of babies, which was financed by the Kipharts, stands nearby. Using the few minutes before breakfast for reflections. Spent more than an hour last night trying to figure out how to load photos onto this blog from an iPad. Very frustrating. But compare that to not having clean water. Photo-posting problems seem somehow more manageable.

From the clinic, we drive to the Kenilworth middle school in Krapa, stopping to pick up some postcards along the way. The school was created through a gift of the land by the local village and construction financed by the Kipharts (and members of The Kenilworth Union Church). A farm school was started at the school through the efforts of Joe and Ida Kwarteng. The ownership of the school, designed to be a middle school, was turned over by the Kipharts to the government.

There have been problems right along caused by divergent interests of the village, the gavernment and the professional staff of the school, augmented by poor communication and finger pointing between those parties and people who were assisting with the farm school. Thrown into the mix was Dr. Adai, a member of the board from the community and a confidant of both the local Nana/chief and the big Nana, in charge of many villages.

These differences came to a head at the meeting at the school that we attended, where the Nana, Sylvester (the secretary of the Board), the headmaster of the school and the Kipharts all epressed their views forcefully. The matter was left to further discussions between the parties, with Peter and Susie both expressing their hope and faith that all concerned would act in the interests of the intended beneficiary of all this, the children.

At one point at Krapa, I thought I had lost all of the pictures from my camera. It was NOT a pleasant half hour before I discovered that, in fact, I could retrieve them.

After, we went by Dr. Adai's new nursing, midwife and medical facility to discuss the situation at Krapa with the smart, but slippery Dr., who said he thought the matter could be worked out without confronting the parties. We'll see. The Kipharts have had it with Dr. Adai, and do not want to continue to be involved with him.

This all was most interesting, if a bit uncomfortable. It reinforced Susie's oft-expressed feeling that wells were easy, schools are not.

Back at the hotel for a brief respite before dinner. Today was MUCH less physically taxing than the previous days have been. Dinner was with a small group, including the delightful and irrepressible Dr. Annie. When she learned of difficulties with Dr. Adai, the first words from her mouth were, "I hope that you'll forgive him.". Dick said that they just didn't want to put yhemselves in the position of having to forgive him again. Annie saying that her Madagascar mother (she was born there) was 80% Jewish gave us a perfect entree into giving her a challah cover.

We discussed timing tomorrow and, at my urging, pushed up our departure time for Sefwi Wiawso, so as to give us more time for our visit there, before we depart for about a 5-hour drive from there to Cape Coast. We paid the hotel bill, and I gave Dick something towards the tip he is giving all of the Ghanaians who are accompanying us.

Each day is fascinating in its own way, and today was certainly no exception, nor, I believe, will tomorrow.

PROPHETS AND OTHER PLANETS, NOVEMBER 15

Seems hard to believe that we've been in Ghana only two full days. Part of it, of course, is that we've packed so much into the days. But it's also because of the richness and diversity of the experiences, which differentiate the days and make them seem to pass far more slowly than those packed with the sameness of our ordinary life, which appear to fly by.

Breakfast at The Inn with the Kipharts and Valerie. Discussed ways of handling the visiting of an increasing number of villages that the Kipharts are supporting in a short trip. Revisited adolescent child rearing discussion of the day before, as well as several other topics, including the pleasant surprise at Anna's midwife clinic and how best to support Regina there.

Set out for Prophet Emanuel's Village, the 97-year old prophet who had joined us for dinner the other night. People come from far and wide to seek his blessings and advice on a wide range of topics. (The prophet also deals with the mentally ill, and with criminals, one of whom was tied to a tree in an open courtyard.)

We were greeted by assistants and elders. Prophet Emanuel then led a blessing in song and prayer, supported by others in the classroom in which it was held. Susie and Dick had spoken of the powerful affect of the blessing/chanting, but this was our chance to experience it firsthand. Carol has part of it on what should be a terrific video segment. Rounds of handshaking and mutual greetings, then a tour of the new kitchen area the Kipharts had financed. We exchanged gifts, and The Prophet seemed to appreciate the challah cover that we gave him and which Peter explained. We took leave of the Prophet, a man of great charisma and obvious wisdom, spirituality and humor.

The rest of the day was long and hot, and in this brief description, may seem rather tedious and repetitive. That, though, misses our experience in trekking into truly isolated and backwater villages--Susie called them another planet--to witness the amazing impact of clean water on the communities and the gratitude and joy with which the wells were met. In some areas, during dry periods, villagers had been forced to move for months at a time because of the lack of water, prior to the wells. Each village had its distinct feel and flavor. We were given gifts of fruits, vegetables and chickens in gratitude. (The heavy. Laden bowls of fruit loaded on women's heads to carry.)

A chief told us proudly that he was a cocoa farmer, and insisted on showing us his fields.

We saw the previous sources of water and heard how each well drew people from many surrounding villages.

Seeing this, one cannot help but question the values that pervade our own society. We walked some fairly long distances through wooded and sunny areas, at times teetering across logs to cross a small, stagnant bodies of water. Even in the remotest of backwaters, Dick was able to conduct business with his son-in-law, Chris, who called on the cell phone. After visiting ten wells, one of which bore our names as donors, we stopped at the church we'd visited on Sunday to meet with the pastor and others in what Dick characterized, in an aside, as the annual campaign. Dick made a cash contribution and we continued back to the Four Vilages, arriving exhausted and badly in need of showers before dinner.

One thing I've failed to comment on is the incredible logistical skills of Peter Eduful in planning this trip, which makes the invasion at Normandy look like a piece of cake. Let me just list some of the balancing acts. A schedule thrown off by a day due to our flight cancellations and delays. Daily schedules subject to the vagaries of roads and traffic, and the whims of chiefs and prophets who have their own ideas about how much time we should be spending with us. Two vehicles to cart around The Chicago Five and The Ghanian Six, consisting of Peter Alex, drivers and two others to help with matters such as tying ribbons on wells or arranging a CD player and electricity for the Mayim dance. Dinners involving any where from 12 to 25 people, a number that shifts as a day progresses. The schedules of busy people such as Dr. Annie, Dr. Addai and others I'll be mentioning later in the trip. Attending to periodic requests from members of The Chicago Five. Making sure the people in remote villages are expecting us, when we don't know ourselves when we will be there. Routing us as efficiently as possible through all of the places we visit. Acting as translator, facilitator and producer of all of our visits. I'm sure I'm leaving many things out, including, of course, doing all of this with complete calmness and good humor.

Dr, Annie arrived early for dinner, and reported on the visit of Sandra, the 7-year old girl we'd seen with the broken arm. She had been treated "in a traditional way," by doctors and contracted serious infections that might necessitate amputation of her arm. This was most distressing, but Dr. Annie is on the case, will see the girl daily and says she has faith that Sandra will be healed.

Among others at dinner were Dr, Addai and his girlfriend. The doctor dropped off pictures taken by students at Krapa school which he had promised us a year ago. We'll look them over to see what we've got, and whether they may be used with students in Evanston, as we'd planned to do last year.

We said our goodbyes to Alex, who is a wonderful, kind and spiritual person, as we won't see him again, this trp. Carol and I gave him a challah cover, which he absolutely loved and we know that he will cherish and use it.

Carol, Susie, Dick and I all wore the Ghanaian shirts that we were given by the pastor at the "annual campaign" meeting at the church.

I should probably be keeping notes during the day, as many of the details are lost by the end of the day in the large number of visits and/or are absorbed by the heat. Still, I think the principal feelings come through in even an abbreviated description, and it's those that are most important. We retired to our room early, and I've completed this by 9PM, which will leave time for some reading or, more likely, an early collapse.

BECOMING A CHIEF, NOVEMBER 14

Day started with a long conversation with Peter and Alex over breakfast at the Four Villages Inn regarding the messages in yesterday's church sermon. I noted that Peter had been taking notes, and asked what he'd found particularly noteworthy. He said that he was interested in the pastor's comments on youth, and how they must be taught to follow the word of God from the beginning and at each step along the path so that they do not do something that "will ruin their lives." Susie talked about how in our culture we accepted that during adolescence children would need to separate themselves from their parents and experiment. It was clear that Peter did not accept this inevitability and saw it as his duty to see that children knew right from wrong and did not stray, even if it meant caning, from time to time. Peter said that he did not use caning after the kids were ten, and always took care not to injure them. I came away feeling that the combination of the word of God and the fear of having the crap beat out of them had been potent forces in the moral development of Peter's seven children (this may be unduly harsh, but it is my take on it). Very interesting discussion.

We set out on a long drive to Bonkwaso. On the road, we pass a mix of now-familiar storefront-type booths, signs combining the religious and commercial, huge stacks of watermelons or other produce for sale and the seemingly-bizarre displays of washing machines, leather chairs and sofas, TVs, large iron gates or refrigerators that appear irregularly by the roadside.

We reach Bonkwaso, which we visited last year, as well. In this village, the Kipharts have built schools, since they already had a well. Many school children wander about, and chairs are set out on a long portico. The Kipharts meet with the new chief and a weaver in the village who presents Dick with a woven warrior shirt and Susie with a wrap-around skirt. Carol, Valerie and I are presented with woven scarf-like clothing and the chief or Nana announces that I am now to be Nana Oduro Kwarteng II, his senior chief. As indication of that new office, I'm given a carved orange-wood walking stick, as well as a hug and a kiss from him.

Several rounds of handshakes ensue with people and elders of the village on the porch/patio, followed by speeches in the normal form of praise, thanks and requests for more help. Valerie again passes out lollipops to the children, we tour the classrooms and say our goodbyes, amid photographs. Carol and I give Nana I one of the challah covers, and Peter explains its significance. My fellow chief seems pleased with the gift.

Before we leave, the Kipharts inquire about the young girl, Sandra, who had broken her arm and who last time they had paid to get her to see Dr. Annie. Dr. Annie had reported that the girl had come twice, but then stopped. Peter talked to the mother of the girl and Dick gave the mother money that would allow her to take Sandra in to see Dr. Annie again. (At dinner tonight, the Kipharts alert Dr. Annie to the situation, so that she'll be on it.). This is typical of the individual, personal attention that Dick and Susie apply to what they are doing.

We drive a short distance to the village of Abasua, which a few years ago was flooded by overflow from the bordering river. Under the guidance of a chief who is one of Dick's favorites, they have made great progress.

After discussions under a tree in the courtyard, we walk to the river and then to the classsprooms. The Kipharts seem interested in rebuilding and expanding a small kindergarten built by Delores Holmes, a friend in Chicago who introduced them to Ghana, which would be used to house teachers at the school.

From there we move on to visit the midwife clinic, that had been run by the wonderful Anna the midwife, who we had met last year, and whose sudden death during the year saddened us all greatly. Peter had lost track of what was happening there, so it was with great joy that we learned that the young woman who had assisted Anna, Regina, had stayed on and wanted to become a midwife. She'd stayed with her son, 7, and daughter, 6, though that had meant leaving her husband in Kumasi.

Even more surprising was that a midwife, Vivien, who the Kipharts had met years ago, when she was working at one of Dr Addai's clinics, had moved to head this clinic some two weeks earlier. She seems terrific, with a manner that appears to be like Aana's, so this was wonderful news. Clearly, the Kipharts will help to see that the good works of the clinic continue.

We took the long drive back to the Inn, where I worked on yesterday's blog, before we went next door to the Inn for a dinner with about fifteen people, including Ida Kwarteng, who we met last year, and her two sons, Daniel, who is interested in business and who came over to our house in Evanston with the Kipharts, and Joe Jr, a medical student in his residencies. Dinner was quite good, with many of the Ghanaian men distracted by a soccer game on the television. Back to the Inn to write this blog, and then to sleep.

PENTACOSTAL JEWS, NOVEMBER 13

We may have been delayed in starting, but we certainly began the "real" trip with a bang. I had hoped to post photos with these blog entries, but, so far, have been unable to do so.

After breakfast at the Four Villages we drove about half an hour to the Pentecostal Church in Kumasi. Held in a large corrugated iron and cinder-blocked structure adjacent to where the old church roof had recently collapsed. Some 150-200 joyous attendees, women on the left side and men on the right, sang, danced, prayed and shouted amens during the pastor's sermon. Women wore brightly-colored dresses; some played tamboreens. Everything was alive with joyous prayer and dance. Everyone seemed engaged and self-possessed, participating without reservation.

Three times during the service, people paraded up to place offerings into containers at the front, which immediately after each time were taken to the side, separated and counted by two women. (Some of the people only appeared to be depositing something.)

We were special guests and Dick, Peter, Alex and I were seated up on the "bimah" with the pastors. The pastor delivered/shouted his sermon in English, so that we could understand, and it was immediately translated into Cre for the others. As this was the conclusion of Youth Week at the church, the sermon had to do with what the congregation, youth and adults, had to do in order that the youths might be pure and good. The content of the sermon seemed rather didactic and, if I was reading the body language of the congregation correctly, the sermon did not transport them in the way that the rest of the service did.

The service lasted a couple hours, after which we set off in our , thankfully air conditions, SUV, towards our next destination, the village of Nimpa Nnkae (the translation of which appropriately enough, means, "man does not remember"), to dedicate the well that Carol and I donated "from Jewish friends in Evanston, IL.". Eight of us were a bit snug, but not too uncomfortable, in our vehicle.

Arriving at the village, we were greeted by the head of the village and the assemblyman in whose district the village was located. We walked over a dirt path through brush to see where water had been gathered before the well, which was a still puddle of dirty water. Returning to the village, we sat with a small gathering of villagers, who listened while Peter read the translation he'd done of the short piece that Rabbi Rosen had adapted for our use from a mikvah ceremony,which spoke of joyfully drawing water from the wells of salvation, and asking The ahoy One of Blessing to carry us to new shores, new beginnings and new life, speaking of this as a new cycle of rebirth and asking that from the Well of the Living One our eyes may be opened to new possibilities, to comfort and healing. I added a few words about the privilege we rely in being able to share this and of the respect we had for their religion and the service we had just attended.

We were thanked by both the head of the village. In a familiar pattern, first thanks was given to God, who was responsible for all this happening. Then profuse and sincere thanks were offered to us. Finally, requests for more help, in the form of additional wells, health facilities or schools was requested.

We then all walked over to the well, which Peter had had decorated with blue ribbons, which Carol and I cut with a scissors. We then removed the dedication plaque and pumped clear water, which flowed easily from the well.

Carol and I had spent half an hour with Laary Marks, who taught us the Israeli song and dance to Mayim (water), which we had planned to teach to people in the village. We had brought a CD, and Peter's men had arranged for a CD player, which they hooked up to electricity. I was concerned about whether the dance would work, since, though the village people had listened attentively to the short service, there had not been any particular energy. When Carol asked people to get up and form a circle, and began to teach them the steps, everyone participated regularly and with animation, and soon we were circling to the music and dancing Mayim, with gusto. We hope to have this all (and dancing from the church service) captured on video.

Before leaving, we gave the head of the village a challah cover made in the Jewish Village of Sefwi Wiawso, which we will visit on Thursday. Peter translated our description of what the item was and what it was used for, and the leader seemed to appreciate it.

After leaving Nimpa Nnkae, we drove to other, even more remote villages over very poor, bumpy and rutted roads. Only once did one of the vehicles (not ours) require pushing. We lunched on granola bars and trail mix in the car. Each time we got out of the car, the shock of going from air conditioning to extreme heat was great. At all of the villages--Nkwanta, Enohene, Emelia and Nyame Bekyere--we were greeted with great warmth. Love and joy. God was praised, we were thanked and more was asked. Susie and Dick brought pens and Chicago hats for chiefs and soccer balls for the children. Valerie was swamped with children clambering for the lollipops she brought with her, some of which the kids began to eat with the paper on, until helped to take ut off. The lollipops were a huge hit.

At one of the villages, we were all moved by Alex, the contractor, who is a close friend of Peter, has built schools, wells and clinics, and, Peter tells us, is regarded as a prophet in his church. Alex spoke passionately and extemporaneously about how he marveled at what we (the Kiparts) had done for poor people, and how they continued to come back and give more. He said that surely we all would be blessed for this great work.

As we walked through and observes these villages, we were struck by the apparent joy and thankfulness present for what seemed to us quite little. It is a stark and continuing lesson about what is important to people, and how the simple gifts of life should be treasured.  This may be an appropriate place to include a few of the many photos of beautiful children and people we encountered along the way.

Before heading home, we visited Alex's village. The village had the feeling of a compound, an altogether more appealing settlement than the other's we'd visited. We were greeted warmly, with a huge smile, by his wife. We also met three of his lovely daughters. It was so nice to get this brief glimpse of Alex's home and family.

We returned to the Four Villages, exhausted from a long, hot day. We had little time to recuperate before joining the dinner party of more than twenty-five assembled at the Inn by the Kipharts, ranging from drivers to doctors to teachers to chiefs to a prophet. All were treated with equal dignity and asked to introduce themselves. Clearly the most notable was the 97-year old Prophet Emanuel, who looks and acts about 75, and who blessed everyone, twice, with great fervor. We will visit his village on Tuesday.

It was a truly remarkable, inspiring and totally exhausting day.