My Son, My Mirror

I had just returned to Los Angeles from a month in Ghana after making my Baha'i Pilgrimage, and I knew my next story to tell would be about my son Samuel. I knew this story was going to be difficult to write, but I just couldn't quite put my finger on why. And then during a moment of meditation at the Shrine of Baha'u'llah, the resting place of the Founder of the Baha'i Faith, the reasons appeared to me.

I love my son Alex because I see in him the person I am striving to become - positive, quietly confirmed in his faith, optimistic, outgoing and engaging, always giving of himself and always humble to accept the assistance of others. My love for Sammy is just as strong, but it's different. In Sammy I see so much of myself and I realized that both of our characters were defined by growing up in broken families

Alex grew up with the security of a mother and father who expected the best from their children, but also showered them with love and gave them a solid foundation to fall back on as they continue to navigate their way into adulthood.

Sammy and I did not.

Sammy was raised by his mother but his father left the family when Sammy was 12 years old. His primary father figure was Uncle Alex, Sr., Alex's biological father. In the Akan culture, remember that the name for "father" and "father's brother" in Twi are the same, and this manifests itself in the culture such that the brothers and sisters of biological parents step into the role of father and mother to all children in the extended family.

With Sammy's father leaving, he was suddenly required to grow up quickly and take on many of the responsibilities that a father would in a family of 11 children. My experience was similar, surviving my own parents' divorce with I was 17 and thrust into raising my younger brother.

Sammy and I talked about the struggles we had with our parents. One day Sammy told me, "I live with the anger I have towards my father, but sometimes I'm surprised that I feel more anger towards my mother." I knew that feeling. Why didn't our mothers fight for us? Why didn't they protect us and allow us to remain boys instead of turning us into replacements for the husbands who had failed them? Why did we have to take care of them and rescue them when it should have been the other way around? I told Sammy that our parents did the best they could with the capacities they had available to them, but it's OK to feel that anger. Embrace it, get to know its size, and then move on from it so that it doesn't control us. That's called forgiveness. Forgiveness for our parents, but also forgiveness for ourselves. Forgiveness for the little boy who never got to be. We both have been able to support each other in finding a path to acceptance and unconditional love for our parents.

The result of such an upbringing is profound. We tend to be loners, we are comfortable with solitude, we have a fear of failure which makes it hard for us to pursue our interests and passions in life, and we have a hard time accepting help from others when it is offered. We are caught in a world of survival, where at any moment we will find ourselves alone and falling.

A husband leaving his wife and family was a rarity in Ghana when I lived there in 1982. Thirty years ago, traditions and the extended family unit were much more intact. Marriage was seen as an institution providing the foundation for raising children and the safety of a family that included the extended family members. Leading up to any marriage, there were cultural steps taken to ensure that through the process of courtship and engagement the couple was assisted by parents and grandparents to assess the characters of the couple and their compatibility with each other, as well as the compatibility of the two families that would be joined in the union.

This foundation that kept a family together back then manifested itself in different ways. Like Uncle Prince, the eldest living member of a family was entrusted with the responsibility to sort out quarrels and disputes. That advice then became an unwritten contract to abide by, believed to be enforced by the Nananom Nsamanfo, who are the Ancestors in the next world watching us. Juju, or magic, can also play a powerful part of traditional the belief system, whereby cause and effect on a spiritual level play a part in everyone's lives. If you do harm to another person, there will be repercussions on a metaphysical level which could manifest itself as bad luck or illness.

One of my most cherished interests is in the Akan proverbs, which were also used to assist in keeping the bonds of marraige and family strong. When I was a student at KNUST, Akwasi Osei took me to a village outside of Kumasi where I had the opportunity to sit with a fetish priestess and discuss the proverbs with her in depth. Typically, the grandmothers of the family were charged with providing advice, often using the proverbs. The following are a few of these beautiful gems of wisdom:

• Nea oforo dua pa na wopia no. The one who climbs a good tree is the one who is helped. (Well thought plans will bring others who will want to assist you.)

• Nea wonom ho no wonnware ho. One should not bathe in the water others drink from. (Do what is right, not what is convenient.)

• Onipa ye de. Mankind is sweet (No man should live in isolation.)

The origins of the proverbs are not known. The earliest western account of them appears to be by a British explorer named Mary Kingsley in the late 1800's. It can be deduced that if the history of Okomfo Anokye takes place during the late 1600's, then they are at least that old. Okomfo Anokye was one of the Akwapim people from the Aburi Hills north of Accra. It is believed that he was a priest who had supernatural powers, and was responsible for bringing down the Golden Stool from the gods in the sky to the Asante people, resulting in a constitution and a federation among all the Akan peoples. My own feeling is that he may have been a prophet or a seer and the Golden Stool is symbolic of the knowledge he brought in order to form the federation and further civilization. The proverbs also reflect this divine wisdom, bringing order and peace by providing insight about the appropriate behavior of the individual to maintain harmony in the community.

Ghana has experienced political stability and economic growth ranging from an impressive 10% to 14% each year for the last 25 years, and the country has also experienced a shift in cultural traditions as young people are exposed to western values and consumerism. The result has been a fracturing of the extended family system and a weakening of the traditional values. So many children growing up in the cities are not aware of the proverbs and traditions, and their grandparents are rapidly becoming expendable rather than maintaining the role of the moral anchor of the family.

Westernization has brought with it a western perspective on personal relationships. Rather than the cultural norm of being a community member first and an individual second, people are rapidly becoming accustomed to thinking of themselves first, avoiding pain by leaving tough situations rather than trying to make them work for the greater good. With the safety net of grandparents' wisdom being overlooked and the extended family disintegrating, assistance and support is vanishing. Sammy and I are all too familiar with this. Sammy had to fend for himself when his father left for Moree, and I was had to do the same when my mother left me. Parents who had decided that their families no longer mattered more than themselves.

I started to get phone calls from Alex - he was very scared. He told me that Sammy had disappeared. No one knew where he was and he wouldn't answer his phone. He finally returned a few months later, but wouldn't talk about where he had been and what he'd been doing. After a couple months he would disappear again. I tried to talk to Sammy about this, but he would not open up to me about it.

The situation became increasingly alarming, so last year I sat Sammy down outside the wall surrounding Uncle Prince's house just above the valley that the house overlooks. It was strangely quiet that day, only the breeze coming through the valley through the acacia trees and the hawks lazily soaring in circles over the silk cotton trees.

"Sammy? You know I love you like a father - like the father you never had. Well, I want to help, but if you can't tell me what is troubling you then we can't come up with a solution. So, I'm here to listen. No advice unless you want it. No judgment, no criticism. Just to listen."

Sammy looked at me, not sure what to do. He took a deep breath, and then he took a leap of faith with me. He told me that he had originally saved money from welding jobs in order to build a welding shop with his best friend. His friend swindled him out of the land purchase for the shop, and he lost everything he had saved. Since he was now a young man, his mother had been pressuring him to bring money home to support his brothers and sisters. Her pressure became so great that he had to leave home and go to the illegal gold mines, digging knee-deep in mud and caustic chemicals, and sleeping in a cold canvass tent. He was endangering his own life in order to bring home a small amount of money which would buy some time until his mother's pressuring began again. This cycle continued for another year, and Sammy was hardening into a sullen, quiet and broken young man. The spark in his eye had vanished and his wonderful humor was gone.

We had been visiting a friend named Danquah in Yamoransa regularly. He owns a computer repair shop, and he was always busy with customers bringing their PCs for repair. Danquah was open to talking about what Baha'is believe in, so Sammy, Alex, Uncle Prince and I would go visit him a couple days a week to discuss world events and what Baha'is believe are the solutions to these problems. And every time we would visit, Sammy inevitably would maneuver himself to looking over Danquah's shoulder, fascinated with what he was working on.

While we sat outside the wall, I asked Sammy if he was interested in computers. He looked at me in shock. "How did you know, Wofa Yaw?!" I laughed and told him that I had been watching each day we went to Danquah's shop, and it was clear he had a passion for them. I pointed out to Sammy that his work at the goldmines was a dangerous short term solution that would not resolve the long term situation. I told him that if he wanted to go to school to study computers, I will gladly send him. He could have a viable trade doing something he loved, and he could have a future to get married and have a family of his own.

Sammy was stunned. He objected, "But Wofa Yaw, I can't... " I interrupted and said that rule number one in our relationship was going to be that we will never say 'I can't' to each other. This was particularly hard for me to say because I see that quality in myself, always cautious and always afraid that the worst could happen. But as a father, I couldn't show him my fear. My job was to provide the foundation that will always be there for him to jump off of, and to ensure that he would always be safe doing so.

Sammy revealed to me that with his father's leaving, so did any hope to go to secondary school because there was no money. As a boy he would sit on the porch and watch his friends walking to school in their freshly ironed school uniforms while Sammy was left behind. He said he had no education so he had no future, backed into a hopeless corner and giving up. He told me it was shameful to be so stuck in life, like being trapped in adolescence while watching your friends move on, never allowed to grow up and never allowed to look ahead.

I think my heart broke right then and there, sitting and listening to this young man's story while looking out into the quiet valley. I thought about my own broken dreams and how I had struggled to take care of myself. No child should ever be limited by circumstances, deprived of a future and robbed of having hope.

I put my hand on Sammy's shoulder while he fought back the tears. I told him not to worry about that right now, and that together we will get this all sorted out. I gave him my commitment as a father, witnessed by the Nananom Nsamanfo who sent him to me as their gift, that I will never let him fall again and that no matter what I will always be there for him. We would see this through together, and we'd come up with a plan.

We got to work and soon after that, Sammy found an introductory certificate program at one of the computer vocational schools in Cape Coast that did not require a secondary school diploma. We agreed that this was the first step, and we should pray for doors to continue to open. Sammy was in school shortly after that, and enjoying every minute of it. He told me, "Dad, now I walk with my head up. People ask me what I am doing and I proudly tell them that I am going to school." He discovered he was a good student too. In fact, so good that one of his teachers took him on as an intern for the summer to work at his computer repair shop in town. And later our prayers were answered when Sammy got accepted to a prominent computer college in Accra where he has been able to arrange with the college for him to complete his secondary school certificate along side his Bachelor's Degree in Computer Science.

One of the most profound Akan proverbs is Se wo were fi na wo san kofa a yenkyi. This means, "It is not taboo to return and take what you have forgotten." Sammy is doing just that, cleaning up his past and going back to collect what is rightfully his.

What brought me the greatest joy was during this last trip home to Ghana this summer, seeing that my happy son Sammy was back. Alex, Sammy and I went to visit a friend of mine in Accra where we stayed for a few days. I woke up very early one morning, so I walked into the boys' room to check on them. They were awake but not out of bed yet. I sat at the end of Sammy's bed while the three of us talked and laughed. I wish I could have stopped time and lived in that moment forever.

During the first week Sammy went to classes at his new university in Accra, I called to check on him and see how he was settling in. The excitement in his voice was palpable. I told him, "It's going to happen Sammy! I can see that with a lot of hard work your dreams are about to come true! I'm so excited for you! I can't tell you how proud I am of you!"

Sammy was quiet for a moment, and then replied, "I love you, Dad."

When I pass on, I wonder if God will be smiling when I tell the story of saving this child's life? I've done one thing right in my life.

The Nananom Nsamanfo Are Our Ancestors

One of the reasons why I came to the conclusion that the Baha'i Faith was what I had been searching for was the concept of Progressive Revelation.

What this means is that God being the Supreme Being, is unknowable to us. In order to educate us about our spiritual reality, He sends educators who teach us about who we are and how we relate to each other. As mankind has progressed, we have been able to grasp increasingly complex concepts, including life after death, the soul and our purpose for being  here on earth. In one Baha'i prayer, it is said "I bear witness, oh my God that Thou hast created me to know Thee and to worship Thee."  We are given guidance through these teachers - or Manifestations - sent by God to mankind about every 1,000 years and our responsibility is to grasp these teachings. In Judeo-Christian religious history, these Manifestations are known as Adam, Abraham, Moses and Jesus Christ. Just as we learned as children in school, each class level brought more complex studies. So is it with each Manifestation, each bringing more complex information about our spiritual nature than the previous Manifestation. This is because at the time each appeared on earth, mankind was ready for the new teachings. Additionally, we believe that in the written history of religion there were other Manifestations such as Zoroaster, Krishna, Buddha and Muhammad, all voice pieces for the unknowable God.

Baha'is also believe that the latest Manifestation, who also fulfills the promises of every religion in the past, has appeared and brought new teachings to unite mankind. His name is Baha'u'llah and he lived during the 1800's, persecuted for teaching about the oneness of mankind, the oneness of religion, progressive revelation as I described above, the equality of men and women, the harmony between science/reason and religion, the establishment of world peace, compulsory education for all children on earth, harmony among all races and respect for all diverse cultures. For teaching this, He was imprisoned, persecuted, poisoned, expelled from his country and lived a life in prison.

Now, what happened in Africa and other parts of the world without recorded histories? Remember my discussion about the linguist in the villages? Oral tradition is sacred in all African cultures, so there is a recorded history but just not written down. The eloquence of the spoken word is revered, and the linguist and the elder women are entrusted with helping to keep the history of generations upon generations of the people.

As an example, in 1982  I came across an American woman who came to Ghana with her family Bible. It had the name Dadzie (a Fante name) and the descendants of that name in America, as well as the name of a family village northeast of Cape Coast in Ghana. Her family had been sold into slavery at the Cape Coast Castle, and her American ancestors had carefully kept these two pieces of information hidden for safe keeping.

The elder women in the villages memorize the family genealogy histories, carefully keeping track of each generation of the family - every name, every marriage, every child's birth and every story. This American woman found the family village and was able to make the connection when the family was captured and taken away by comparing the information she had with the memorized genealogical history kept by the elders in the village. She resembled many of the family members and was welcomed back into the family. She flew back to Virginia, packed up her two boys, and moved to Ghana where she lives with her family today.

While I was a student at Tech, I studied the complexity of the traditional religion among the Akan peoples. I came to the conclusion that it would be foolish to believe that the continent of Africa had not been blessed with Manifestations of its own. Their traditional beliefs must have come from Manifestations of God, just the same way that Judaism, Christianity, Islam, Buddhism and Hinduism came to the rest of the world. There is no way that man could have formed these complex societies or value systems. There is no way that man could have perfected a moral code to live by that has survived for thousands of years, based on honesty, forbearance, humility, peace and faith.

The traditional religion is so complex that it is divided into a hierarchy in order to describe the attributes of God and God's relationship to man. At the highest level there is the Supreme Being - one God just like what we westerners believe in. The Akan see everything in terms of balance, and describe God as being both Nyame or the Great God Father and Nyamewaa the Great Goddess Mother. These are aspects of God not to be mistaken as deities.

Below that, there is the Abosom, labeled by westerners as being "lesser gods." But on closer examination, they are allegories for the various attributes of God - and I think they may have been Manifestations, since each has a spiritual teaching attached to their histories. There are many, such as:

• Nana Akonedi whose shrine is at Larteh. She hands out justice and gives the final decision in all societal disputes such as those related to the chieftancy, property and family disputes.

• Nana Asuo Gyebi who is a protector and a great healer. 

• Nana Esi Ketewaa who is an ancestor who died while giving birth. She is a Fante who protects children and women during childbirth. She states that we are all her children.

• Nana Adade Kofi who stands for strength. His sword is used to swear oaths of allegiance.

• Tano, several gods who come from the Tano river. They are healers of spiritual, mental and  physical illnesses.

• Nana Obo Kwesi, another Fante. He is a healer and works to fight those that do evil. 

Under the Abosom are the Nananom Nsamanfo. They are our Ancestors who had lived honorable lives, and because of their contribution to society they are given the station of Ancestor in the next world after the body dies and the soul passes on to being one step closer to the Creator.

Baha'is believe in the exact same concept. Part of our reality is our soul. It is indestructible and is separate from the physical body. We believe that the soul travels on to the next world of God after this one, leaving the physical body behind when we die. Here's a passage from the Baha'i Writings that I particularly treasure:

          "And now concerning thy question regarding the soul of man and its survival after death. Know thou of a truth that the soul, after its separation from the body, will continue to progress until it attaineth the presence of God, in a state and condition which neither the revolution of ages and centuries, nor the changes and chances of this world, can alter. It will endure as long as the Kingdom of  God, His sovereignty, His dominion and power will endure. It will manifest the signs of God and His attributes, and will reveal His loving kindness and bounty. The movement of My Pen is stilled when it attempteth to befittingly describe the loftiness and glory of so exalted a station. The honor with which the Hand of Mercy will invest the soul is such as no tongue can adequately reveal, nor any other earthly agency describe. Blessed is the soul which, at the hour of its separation from the body, is sanctified from the vain imaginings of the peoples of the world. Such a soul liveth and moveth in accordance with the Will of its Creator, and entereth the all-highest Paradise. The Maids of Heaven, inmates of the loftiest mansions, will circle around it, and the Prophets of God and His chosen ones will seek its companionship. With them that soul will freely converse, and will recount unto them that which it hath been made to endure in the path of God, the Lord of all worlds. If any man be told that which hath been ordained for such a soul in the worlds of God, the Lord of the throne on high and of earth below, his whole being will instantly blaze out in his great longing to attain that most exalted, that sanctified and resplendent station." -- Baha'u'llah, Gleanings from the Writings of Baha'u'llah, p. 155

We believe that the souls of all of our loved ones who have passed on from this world will be there in the next world, ready to receive us. It is a better place than this one, free of pain and anguish. Our station in that world will be dependent on what we accomplish through good deeds in this world. We also believe that the souls who have passed on watch out for us while we are here, and they have the capability to intercede on our behalf and assist us with our prayers. I often ask my grandmother who has passed on to help out when I'm praying to get through difficulty.

We don't believe in the concept of physical hell, as this was an allegory told to mankind during mankind's infancy - as one would tell a story to a child in order to understand a complex concept. Hell is a state of being, not a place.

The next part of this story requires an open mind.  I'm sharing these experiences and ultimately I have no explanation for them. Maybe that's where faith comes from, to accept the unexplainable as something personal and holy.

The day my grandmother passed away when I was young, I was at home waiting for the phone call. Her death was inevitable because she had had a severe heart attack and would not recover. She asked that my brothers and I not stay at the hospital. I remember standing in the shower, and a feeling overcame me that I knew she was in the room with me. It was that same familiarity when we walk into an old friend's or family member's home, and we can feel their familiar presence. I had been asking God what I was going to do without her, because she was always the one who looked out for me. Right then, I felt what I can only describe as my grandmother's soul passing through me, and I felt pressure in my right hand like her hand grabbing mine. Then I heard inside my head, "Baby, it's going to be alright. It's going to be just fine, don't you worry. I will always be here when you need me, never far away."

I've found that these kinds of events are actually common, having spoken to many people who've said they've also had spiritual encounters with loved ones upon their deaths or dreams of those who have passed on, but the dreams are so vivid that they could swear their loved one was there with them.

Uncle Prince had explained to me that the Fante believe that the Ancestors watch out for us to keep balance in our lives. They are there in the next world to protect us, to keep us safe from harm and to guide us on the right path. It amazes me that people will dismiss the traditional beliefs of Africa because they are simply not familiar with them. If they were to look with an open mind and an open heart, they would find incredible commonality with their own beliefs. Those that come from the Christian faith have an understanding and reverence for angels. This is no different.

I had mentioned that Nana had visited me in a dream. It wasn't an isolated event. He continued to visit me many times. My feelings associated with these dreams were conflicting because as much as it was great to be with this friend of mine as the years have gone by and my life in Ghana becomes more and more dear to me, my sense of guilt for having let Nana down also magnified.

I spoke to a wonderful woman who calls herself an intuitive, incredibly sensitive to all things spiritual. At first I was apprehensive, but having spent time with her on more than one occasion, I became open to her advice. I shared with her what had been happening with these dreams, and she told me that I was not recognizing two things. One, Nana had already forgiven me; and two, Nana was also laying down the pathway for me to ask for forgiveness, allowing him to acknowledge it, and to put my heart at peace. So she told me that when I got home that night to change all my bedding, take a shower and be spotlessly clean, wear clean sleeping clothes to bed, and in my prayers I was to not only ask Nana to come visit me, but also ask for his forgiveness and to give me an irrefutable sign that he had understood and accepted my apology.

I did just that, and I fell hard asleep that night. Then I dreamed that I was standing at the opening to a huge train tunnel carved into the side of a mountain on the coast, above a  cliff with waves crashing against the rocks below. It was twilight, just after the sun had set. I stood there knowing I was supposed to wait for something to happen, so I stood still looking at the dark cave. Then the tunnel started to become dimly lit, and then steadily brighter. The light got so strong that it was as bright as the sun, but it was a silvery white color and it didn't hurt to look at it. It radiated like a star and it was beautiful. In the center of the light like the lens of a camera spiraling open, Nana walked out and stood in front of me. I watched the two of us from outside my own body. We talked to each other quietly, but I couldn't hear all that was being said. He was happy - it was the joy that comes from being at peace. He smiled, and I felt that everything was going to be alright. He let me know he'd always be around when I needed him, and not to feel alone. He hugged me and patted my shoulder like he always did, and then stepped back into that beautiful light as it spiraled shut, dimming back into the cave. I stood and watched the cave for a moment.

Normally, I am the kind of person who struggles to wake up from sleep. But this time, I awoke effortlessly and I was suddenly wide awake. I sat straight up in bed. It was dark, but I felt like I had had a full night's sleep and I was supposed to be getting up. I turned to check the clock that my iPhone is docked in. It was exactly 3:00AM. And on the cover of the phone was a text message, also time stamped at 3:00AM. It was from Akwasi. "Yaw, good morning. Hope all is well. Greetings and love."

Akwasi Osei is old fashioned. Getting him to use new technology has been a struggle. He never sends text messages, so I sat there staring at the phone and trying to figure out why on earth out of nowhere he would send this text at this time. Then it hit me. An irrefutable sign. We were known at Tech as The Three Musketeers or The Three. Nana had let me know all was forgiven, and he's doing alright. But I also think Nana was conveying that I have a responsibility to now take care of my brother Akwasi. Nana has passed on to a better place, but Akwasi and I are still here in this world. At that moment, I understood the meaning of family. We have a responsibility to safeguard our loved ones and to assist the Ancestors in keeping each other on our true path and calling in our lives.

The Three are still together, even in the different worlds of God and we always will be together. Imagine that.

Nana and I both fell off our paths in life. We lost focus. And in spite of our imperfections, profound changes happened in each of our lives, here and in the next world. This is the saving grace and mercy of God. Who can say that they have a friend who would move heaven and earth to help save us? I know I can say that.

The Akan peoples do not see a division between this world and the next one. There is a thin veil that separates the two, but souls can pass through the veil. I realized that Nana has always been around, it was just a matter of me being sensitive to his proximity. Baha'is believe that these blessed souls beyond the veil work to inspire us here in this world, to be better people and to encourage us to elevate the condition of mankind. How precious and sacred, that I have been able to experience this on such a personal level.

Ancestor worship, a common belief in most African cultures, is no different than the belief that the souls of our loved ones remain in our lives after they have passed on. They are revered and feared among the Akan, but they are also dearly loved and cherished. They protect us; they change the course of life to bring us back to happiness. They use their influence to put balance in our lives so that we are at peace. Nana is one of my Ancestors now and my life is blessed because of it. I have a home in Ghana. I have my Fante people who give me strength and guide me through life. I have family and more love than most people can only hope for, and I have my two precious sons that the Ancestors have blessed me with.

The Nananom Nsamanfo are our Ancestors.

On Becoming a Father

The day after I got settled in at Uncle Prince's house and I had gotten some rest, it was time to get to work.

The Baha'i community throughout the world sees that there are two dynamics happening in the world. One is the disintegration of the old order of the world, whereby nationalism, religious prejudice, racial prejudice, gender persecution and rampant materialism are destroying the fabric of society all over the earth.

The other dynamic happening in the world is the building of a new order based on a global awareness, where all prejudices are destroyed through education and a commitment to humanity, where the differences among cultures are appreciated and cherished, and where the consciousness of mankind is shifting to a concern for the community rather than the individual self.

Something the Baha'i communities throughout the world have done is to work at the grass roots level to create awareness about community service and a commitment to local  neighborhoods. One project is to gather young people - junior youth between the ages of about 11 to 15 - to start their own neighborhood group which they run with the guidance of older people, but the junior youth "own" their group and make decisions about what they would like to do which includes service projects in their communities. These groups are strictly non-denominational and are service-based rather than religious-based. All children, regardless of background, are welcome to join and take part in the group.

Accomplishments include projects such as cleaning up trash on the sidewalks of their neighborhoods, planting trees and beautification of villages, providing assistance with school homework and mentoring children after school, public art projects for youth to express their feelings about their lives in their communities and hospital visits to the sick and elderly who may not have family, among many others.

The amazing aspect that these groups provide to youth is a shift in perspective. Kids are finding interests in life that are bigger than themselves. I hear news of kids who have improved their grades and later go on to be admitted into good colleges to study medicine, education and public health.

My task in Brafoyaw that summer 3 years ago was to work with two young men named Alex Koufie and Sammy Arthur to try to build junior youth groups in Brafoyaw, Moree Junction and Moree.  I also worked with Alex and Sammy to meet with young people in order to discuss and study topics about the soul, life after death and our purpose for being here. Knowing as much as I do about the Akan cultures, I couldn't wait to participate in this.

I was sitting in the courtyard after breakfast, and Alex walked through the courtyard door with his brother Sammy.  My first impression was how serious Alex was. He shows up on time, and he is always prepared. Uncle Prince introduced us and Alex was so formal. "You are welcome," he said.

He was very quiet that day until lunch, when we had fufu. Fufu is the best food that has ever been created on earth. It's plantain and cassava pounded into a dough, and eaten with soup. It fills the soul and relaxes you. It is comfort that is indescribable. I love fufu. But I'm an anomaly in Ghana because almost all white people that I have come across refuse to eat it because of the texture. Forget them - fufu is wonderful! Alex's and Sammy's eyes were huge as they watched me eat my fufu. After that, I don't think five minutes ever went by that Alex, Sammy and I weren't laughing about something.

Sammy was in the middle of getting his welding shop set up, so some days he was there and other days he was not. Alex and I worked constantly though, every day from the early morning until late at night. We'd prepare our plans for the day and then go out into the village to speak with young people. With Alex, it was easy to make connections because Alex seems to know everyone. My first impression of Alex being so serious was so far off. Alex has the gift of conversation, he knows everyone and he has an innate ability to put anyone at ease. He is so well liked and respected by everyone in each of the villages. We'd be riding in taxis and Alex would be yelling hello out the window constantly, waving at this person or that person - all of them his friends. It got so funny that I nicknamed him Managing Director because it seemed as if he ran the villages.

Alex was raised in the customary way in which the whole extended family lives together to help with expenses and collectively raise the family's children. Alex told me there were 53 people who lived at his house. As an example of how this works, Sammy's mother is Uncle Alex's sister, so in our culture Sammy would call Uncle Alex his uncle. But in the Fante culture, Uncle Alex is also Sammy's father. Auntie Gladys, who is Uncle Alex's wife is not only Alex's biological mother but Sammy's mother as well.

What I find most impressive is how well behaved and respectful these children are, due to the constant and consistent discipline and love that they receive. They carry their weight in the family by doing chores and helping take care of the younger children. Alex, Sammy and their brother Ernest are often charged with making dinner once or twice a week to help out Auntie Gladys.

What I cherish most about this lifestyle is the sense of security that it brings. Auntie Bea once told me that a psychologist would go broke in Ghana because depression does not exist like it does in the U.S. There are always people around to keep you company and to share in carrying the weight of the burden of life along with you. It's clear in this photo how much love there is in this family. Affection in Ghana is like the air; it's everywhere and it's part of life.

Working such long hours together, Alex and I became very close. It was nice to be this uncle figure to him and to Sammy. Alex asked for my advice on anything from school, to his ideas for starting a business, and even girls.

One day at Alex's house, I asked him about what he is passionate about in life. What did he want to do for a living? He lit up with that amazing smile of his and took me out to his chicken hatchery. Alex raises chickens and guinea fowl, and he has a passion for agriculture.

Alex and Sammy had done the same thing I had done upon finishing secondary school, to give a year of service to the Baha'i community. They left home and lived in a remote village in the rain forest near Sunyani for a year to help the Baha'is there. At the end of his stay there, Alex brought back two guinea fowl chicks and raised them. Guinea fowl are beautiful. They have a smooth grey covering of feathers with a white head. They remind me of small peacocks.

Alex then took me to the side of his house where Uncle Alex had let him set up his own garden. He had aburo - maize, ntoosi - tomatoes, anamuna - watermelon, mako - pepper, adua - beans, bankye - cassava, borof3re - papaya and moringa tree seedlings. The moringa is an amazing tree that has medicinal powers, such as stewing the leaves into a tea to reduce fever and minimize the effects of malaria.

I was so impressed that this young man understood his calling in life at such an early age. He told me he had two passions in life, one was agriculture and the other was to become a teacher. Alex's connection with children is something that comes naturally to him. I watched him with the junior youth group he had set up in Moree Junction and then with another one in the town of Moree. He has an ability to inspire children to be better people.

One day Alex and I had gone into town so that I could buy a few pieces of traditional wax print cloth at a shop that has become one of my favorite places in Cape Coast. Wax print is an expression of culture through proverbs and symbols, and is used for women's traditional dresses with the apron and the kaba - bodice. Men also wear it in the traditional style of a toga over one shoulder. It's usually seen at church, and special occasions like weddings or funerals.

It was actually started by the Dutch in the 19th century as they were looking for inexpensive ways to mass produce batik cloth that uses wax and resist-dye patterns in the Dutch colony of Java. The cloth was a failure in Java but the bright colors and intricate patterns became popular in Ghana as the Dutch established trade with West African ports, selling the cloth.  Soon Ghanaians adopted the technique and a cultural tradition started. The colors are beautiful, and each print tells a story. Currently covering my bed is a beautiful piece of green cloth with a pattern of sparrows flying across it. The proverb for this design is, "money flies from the hand like a bird." Black patterns or red patterns are only worn at funerals. A mother with a new born baby wears white with a light blue pattern to signify to the community that she is carrying a newborn. I have watched men get up from their seats on buses when a woman in this cloth gets on, and sure enough she is carrying a newborn on her back in the traditional way.

I love the cloth for many reasons. I was an Graphic Design and Art major in the university and I love graphics. I love to sleep under a piece in summer because it is light and comfortable when it's warm at night. I love it because it reminds me of Nana. He took great pleasure in showing me his own patterns he designed for school, and he always  asked for my opinion and advice on how to improve his patterns.

After Alex and I got done at the shop, we walked back to the taxi station. While we were talking, I asked Alex about what his plans were now that he had finished secondary school and he had done his year of service for the Baha'is. He said excitedly, "Oh, Wofa Yaw! I want to go to agricultural college to study agriculture and education! But it all depends on my grades which I am sure I have done well, and it depends on money."

I don't know if Alex noticed how quiet I had become during the taxi ride. I knew that his father's finances were tight with raising five children. I asked Alex a few questions, trying to be as sly as possible about what the tuition would cost for the college he wants to study at. When he told me, I knew I had to do something. I had just received a raise at work and I could help. This young man's future was in reach and it could either become a reality or remain a dream forever.

The taxi dropped me first at the Brafoyaw junction, and I paid the fare so that Alex could continue down the road to his house. I walked alone up the path to the road and I prayed for guidance. I felt like my heart was going to explode. I had put myself through the university to get my Bachelor of Arts and later to get my Master's Degree, working nights and going to school during the day. In the U.S., I had the means to do this. Americans do not realize the opportunities that we have in this country. If you apply yourself, you can get an education. It's difficult, but it's possible. For so many families in Ghana, an education is nothing more than a dream because the financial means just doesn't exist.

I decided to talk to Uncle Prince. I told him I could help and I know a lot about the culture, but would it be proper for me to go speak to Uncle Alex? Would it be impolite for me to bring this up to him? Would I possibly insult him? Uncle Prince told me as he patted me on the shoulder to reassure me, "Yaw, this is a wise and blessed idea that you have. Please let me take care of this though. Don't worry, everything is going work out fine."

Several days later, Uncle Alex came to the house. I was reading in my room and Uncle Prince asked me to come, and to put on a nice shirt and some decent pants. I came out to the courtyard and I found that Uncle Prince had set up two chairs to face each other and he had a chair for himself to the side of both those chairs, I greeted Uncle Alex and Uncle Prince motioned to us to sit down and face each other, while he took the third chair in between us.

Uncle Prince took out his Baha'i prayer book and said a prayer for families. He gave a talk about the importance of family, and then he asked the Ancestors to be present at this meeting. That was when I knew what this was about - Alex's education.  Uncle Prince asked each of us to introduce ourselves to each other formally, and to share a little about each of our families and histories. Uncle Prince then turned to me and asked me to speak about my purpose for calling this meeting. I told Uncle Alex that I had the ability to help with Alex's education and if he would accept my offer, we can send Alex to the college he has his hopes set on.

Uncle Alex pulled out his handkerchief, wiping his eyes and he told me that he has been laying awake at night, praying to God to find a way to send Alex to school or otherwise he would have to dash all of Alex's hopes. I could tell that the stress was almost unbearable for him because he just wanted what was best for his child. He said he had prayed for God to recognize that Alex is too fine of a young man for life to be unkind to him, and that now, finally, his prayers had been answered. Now I knew why I was supposed to come to Brafoyaw. I sat quietly, and just let Uncle Alex's tears come. Nothing else needed to be said. Uncle Prince smiled at me.

Uncle Alex asked me to make one promise. Until Alex got his official acceptance into the college, I was not to say a word to him about any of this. Uncle Alex was afraid that Alex may tell his friends in anticipation, and to save him any humiliation if he did not get accepted we could protect him by not letting him know our plans. That was one of the hardest secrets to keep during the last week of my trip!

About two or three months after I got back to Los Angeles, I was running errands during lunch and needed to stop at the Baha'i Center. I had driven into the parking lot and was just about to shut off my car when my cell phone rang. It was Alex, and I remember thinking how strange it was that he was calling me at this time. What we do is he calls and hangs up so that I can call back, so he doesn't have to pay the charges. I called back, and Alex was so quiet. He said hello, asked how all of my family was doing, and then said, "I know. I know everything." I smiled and replied, "What exactly do you know?" He was quiet and then finally said, "I have been accepted to the college and Uncle Alex let me know what you have done for me." Alex's voice began to crack and he started to cry, saying "Wofa Yaw, you don't know what this means to me. You have no idea what this means to me."  I started to cry too, and I felt something inside that I can only describe as healing. I told Alex, "No matter what, I will always be here for you."

The next day, Uncle Prince called me and told me he needed to discuss something with me, and he wanted me to have an open mind. He said that in the Fante culture, the responsibility of the Ancestors is to watch over us and to keep balance in our lives. This is consistent with everything in the Akan perspective on life, where opposites keep everything in balance. They believe in the oneness of God, but they recognize that God has two sides, Nyame and Nyamewaa - the Great God Father and the Great Goddess Mother who together constitute the Supreme Being. Disease, sickness and misfortune come from an imbalance in one's life which may be caused by disobedience to God's laws and the laws of the community, or it can be caused by external forces such as juju - magic. Traditionally the Fetish Priest or Priestess would make a diagnosis and then communicate with the Ancestors to formulate a prescription to bring back balance in order to relieve suffering.

Uncle Prince said that the Ancestors will right a wrong that happened in our past by giving us the greatest gift in life, which is children. These children are specal - they are not born to us, but we recognize them as our children just the same. He said, "I have recognized you as such a son as my gift from the Ancestors, and for all that you have done for Alex and Sammy, the Ancestors have blessed you as well. I want you to see this. I want you to see that you are one of the Fante and that God and the Ancestors have blessed you with these two sons."

I was dumbfounded. I could have received this as a flattering gesture on his part, but it made sense. Looking at my past, this made complete sense to me. I went through everything in my past to find my truth, and now this was very real. I was accepted as one of the Fante, entrusted with its culture and history. These two boys were my gift from God and the Ancestors, and I would take on the responsibility of helping to be a father to them. I discussed this with Uncle Alex, and he agreed. He welcomed my help to guide and raise these two young men I had grown to love so much.

I have learned that the love of a father for his sons is like nothing I have ever experienced in my life. It has no ending. There is nothing conditional about it. It's like a deep well where the bottom cannot be reached. I would stand in front of a gun to protect them and sacrifice my life for them. I want their lives to be better and fuller than my own. I want only the best for them. This love has healed all of my hurt in my past, and I owe them for having provided that healing to me.

This experience has taught me what it really means to me to be a Baha'i. We believe in the oneness of mankind, and that everyone on this earth is part of the family of man. It's one thing to intellectually embrace the idea, but it is something else to experience it on such a personal level. Alex, Sammy and I speak on the phone once a week and at the end of every phone call we say, "Me do wo papaapa."  This doesn't fully translate into English, but the closest it means is, "I love you very much."  One day Alex asked me why I say it every time we speak, and I told him that until very recently I had only heard my own father tell me he loved me once in my life. I vowed that if I had children of my own, they would never stop hearing me tell them. 

The night after Uncle Prince told me about my gifts from the Ancestors, I had a dream about Nana. It was one of those dreams that you wake up from and you cannot for the life of you figure out if it was real or not because it seems so real. In the dream, he and I were sitting on my sofa in my loft. Nana had one arm up on the back of the sofa and he had this huge grin on his face. He didn't say anything, he just laughed and smiled. I laughed too, and finally spoke up and asked, "Did you have anything to do with me finding my way home to Ghana? Did you make this trip happen?"

He laughed again and paused, and finally said, "... maybe!"

I'll tell Sammy's story next, but before that - one more about Nana and his visits.

On Becoming a Son

"Oh, this is very fine. Akwaaba! You are welcome! You must be very tired after your journey from Accra. Please come in!"  I walked through the gate of Uncle Prince's house with Akwasi, and we were greeted by the whole family including Auntie Aggie his wife, Jennifer and Araba their nieces and Anis Paa Kwesi their grand nephew. Their son David, named after David Tanyi who I had previously written about, lives a half hour drive west in Takoradi with his wife Naomi and their new baby Maame Esi. As is the custom, Jennifer and Araba took off with my suitcase to my room to get me situated, while Akwasi and I were invited to sit in the courtyard to rest our feet, drink some cold water and eat a meal.

The thing that I love the most about Uncle Prince is his honoring of traditions. He speaks so eloquently, as if he is reciting poetry. In Ghana, one of the highest stations in a community is that of a teacher, so his words really touched my heart.

"We want to welcome you to our humble family. We don't have much but we will exert every effort to make you comfortable so that you can enjoy your stay with us, while you honor our home with your presence here as a teacher of the blessed Baha'i Faith."

I had done my homework before I left the U.S.  Uncle Prince Abaidoo has an incredible history with building the Baha'i community in Ghana. I was the one who was honored.

The Baha'i communities have an elected body that I previously described called the National Spiritual Assembly, but there is also an appointed body that serves to help both  the expansion of the Baha'i community and education of its believers. We call this the Continental Board of Counselors and their support network called the Auxiliary Board - one board to assist with promulgation and one to assist with education and protection.

Currently there are 14 Auxiliary Board Members to cover all 10 regional states in Ghana.  Uncle Prince discovered the Baha'i Faith in 1969 through an old friend Ernest Bentil. The community was so young that he was soon elected to serve on the National Spiritual Assembly and then was appointed to serve as the Auxiliary Board Member for both promulgation and protection for the entire country of Ghana. He bought a motorcycle and rode it all over Ghana to visit the Baha'is.

One of the unique, if not revolutionary, tenants of the Baha'i Faith is that we respect and uphold each of our cultures as being something sacred and to be honored. This is contrary to most experiences with religion, whereby practitioners are expected to lose their cultures, traditional ways and even ways of dressing in order to become a practitioner. Historically African cultures were coerced through either fear, intimidation or even through tactics such education for children - provided that the child's family gave up its own identity to practice the imposing religious dogma.

Baha'is do not proselytize, nor do we accept money from people who are not Baha'is. It is the responsibility of each of us to let people know through discourse and the sharing of ideas what we believe in. There is no monetary compensation. We do this out of love for mankind. 

Cultures in Ghana are not relaxed and informal like here in the U.S. I remember in 1982, Auntie Bea assigned me to be responsible for a road outside of Kumasi that had five villages in a row, all with young Baha'i communities. Each Saturday or Sunday I would take a Tro-Tro and visit each of the villages, serving as a resource for these Baha'is so that they could learn more about their new faith.

In order to take on this responsibility, I had to learn the Asante culture. Nana was the one who taught me how to enter a village and appropriately seek permission to be a visitor in the community. He taught me to first approach the chief's house and inquire if I could speak with the chief. I did not move from the path until I was invited into the chief's compound. The chief would then send out his linguist to the courtyard where I would be seated.

A linguist is the spokesperson for the chief. It is considered beneath the chief's royal stature to speak directly to his subjects or to strangers who do not come from royalty. The role of the linguist is to speak on behalf of the chief with his authority. What is fascinating is that the linguists come from familial lineage to fill this role in the community. From a young age, boys are selected from within the family of a linguist to be trained in the eloquence of the language. They speak perfect Twi. The Akans admire the spoken word, story-telling and the gift of speech.

The linguist would ask me my purpose for being there after he shook hands with me. I was then welcomed by the linguist who would then disappear. Soon after, a group of 25 to 50 elders of the village would gather, each bringing a chair and sitting in a circle in the chief's courtyard. I would then restate my purpose for my visit, and the linguist would pour libation on the ground, an offering of water to the spirit of Asaase Afua, Mother Earth, and to invite the Nananom Nsamanfo, the Ancestors who are the souls of those who have passed on to the next world and watch out for us. The Ancestors' presence was to officiate my meeting.

The last step was for me to stand up and one by one, shake hands with each person sitting in the circle. When finished, I would then shake hands with each person again in the opposite direction as each would welcome me with akwaaba, as this would signify the village welcoming me into the community.

If someone went into a setting like this not knowing the nuanced customs, the potential to insult the chief and the elders was likely, to the point that one would never be welcomed again. Just among the Akan people, there were so many other customs to know as well. Never shake hands, reach for food or hand money to someone using your left hand. It is considered insulting and unclean. Always address an older person as Wofa or Sewaa - Uncle or Auntie - and never by their first name alone because this is incredibly disrespectful. When invited to a meal, eat everything you are offered, because if you don't - you insult the cook.  Greet anyone who passes you on the street, and be kind and welcoming to strangers who stop to greet you and welcome you to Ghana. When greeting a friend, always inquire about the health of their family and their children before discussing anything else. If anyone knocks on the door, invite them in and have them sit down. Offer a glass of water and welcome them to the home. Then inquire about the reason for their visit.

Imagine the task Uncle Prince faced, knowing that in order to be able to reach out and share this message with strangers, and in order to help deepen new Baha'is throughout the country he'd need to learn the other Akan cultures beside his own Fante culture, as well as the Ewe culture in the southeast part of Ghana, and tens of cultures in the north of Ghana like the Hausa, Dagomba, Kusase and many others. This is no easy task, but vital in order to be able to visit a village and share this message with people. Not only did he learn, he mastered the cultures. I can sit for hours and listen to Uncle Prince tell me stories of all the places he visited on his motorcycle. His life inspires me to learn more and to better understand the people of this country.

I remember once being in a village with a Baha'i friend named Kwame Sarpong. He also studied engineering at KNUST with us. Kwame was kind and quiet, and had such a peaceful soul. We had gone to visit some of the Baha'i friends in a remote village outside of Kumasi heading north. Since the trip was long, we knew we would stay the night and come back the next evening. When we got there, we were given a room in one of the mud huts, with a dirt floor and a bed. We had an oil lamp to light the room.

There was a knock on the door, and the wife of our host and her mother came in, crouching down carrying pots of food for us. The custom is that out of respect for a visitor, it is impolite to enter a room with your head being higher than that of the guest. For the most part, the villagers are farmers who work long hours doing strenuous work to maintain their crops, so they eat big meals. That night we had nkontumrie - cocoa yam leaves like collard greens with fish, bayere - white yams like potatoes, and kokoo - boiled ripe plantain. And you eat with your fingers, which helps make it taste so good. The food in Ghana is soul food and I cannot fully describe my connection to it. They love pepper with food, and the cooking reminds me of that feeling of being at my grandma's on Sunday afternoons - food made with love and soul. It's not surprising that southern cooking in the U.S. is so similar to Ghanaian food. Women torn away from their families,  sold into slavery and stripped of their cultures and histories were forced to cook for the families that enslaved them. They drew on what little they had left from their past in order to survive.

That night so as to not insult our hosts, Kwame and I ate every bite and there was enough food for 4 people. We laid awake in that room, rubbing our bellies and praying for relief. But it was sweet pain. There's nothing better than a full stomach.

Each night at Uncle Prince's house after dinner, we sit under his mango tree where the breeze comes through or in the courtyard until very late at night, just talking. He loves to hear stories about my hometown San Diego. In turn, he tells me stories of the history of Ghana and how he became a Baha'i when you could count the number of Baha'is on one hand.

He rode that motorcycle all over Ghana. He's told me many stories of being away from home for weeks at a time as he visited, encouraged and educated the Baha'is throughout the country. Riding his motorcycle while getting beaten by the rain, on treacherous dirt  roads filled with pot holes and mud in the rain forest in order to get to fledgling Baha'i communities in Techiman, Sunyani and Wenchi. Following the custom in the north of Ghana, sleeping on the roofs of houses to get away from the heat, while visiting the Baha'is in Tamale, Bolgatanga and Bawku. Taking the dangerous water Tro-Tro ferries across the Volta Lake to visit the friends in Kpando, Biakpa and Ho in the Ewe land of eastern Ghana.

Now that Uncle Prince is retired, he spends much more time at home in Brafoyaw. My room at Uncle Prince's house is simple, but I love it for its simplicity. In the morning at dawn, I lay in bed under my mosquito net and covered with my piece of waxprint cloth, listening to the world come to life. Thousands of song birds singing, Auntie Aggie's pet chickens clucking and scratching in the yard, Araba's broom sweeping the courtyard and walkways, the Call to Prayer from the mosque, the laughter of the farmers on the terraced plots in the valley below Uncle Prince's house, children singing and playing ampe before school starts next door to the house. It's magical. There is something about it all that confirms hope for me. It's my glimpse of how good the world can be.

Uncle Prince is a treasure to the Baha'is of Ghana, and he is history. He has lived through some of the roughest times, and the good times too.  He never stops thinking about the future of mankind, and what we Baha'is have committed to do - to establish peace on this earth and to stop the suffering of mankind by building a new world. Uncle Prince was there when there were so few Baha'is. And now he is living in a Ghana where the children of the youth I went to the university with are now adults, sending their children to Baha'i children's classes. Uncle Prince is a legacy and he endures.

And what I cherish the most about him is that he is also my father.

A few days before that first trip ended and I had to fly back to the U.S., Uncle Prince sat me down and said to me, "Yaw - you are not like any other American visitor we have had come to stay with us. You speak our language. You know our culture. You don't require so much attention. You are so comfortable here and you ask for nothing. Auntie Aggie says she does not have to fuss over you about food - she says you eat everything she makes and you enjoy it."  I smiled. It made my heart feel good to hear this. And then he said this, and I will never forget it. "Yaw, I think God made a small mistake and you were born in the wrong place. But isn't it wonderful that He has helped you find your way home to us? You are my son. Yes, you are my son. I pray that you will come back. And every time you come, it will not be to visit, it will be to come home. You will always have a home here with us."

And that's how the second part of my life started. And if you think it cannot possibly get better than this, it does.

Should We Run?

I was thinking about the incredible memories of contrast during 1982.

The reasons for the military coup were many. But since I was not born and raised in Ghana, it wouldn't be appropriate for me to provide opinions on the merits of the military taking over. Historically over many years, there has been a pattern of military coups as a reaction to a corrupt civilian government. Originally British colonists packed up and left, leaving the infant infrastructure to fend for itself. Layered on top of that are issues of expected compliance with the IMF and World Bank, loaning money to a developing country at low interest rates, but also demanding economic reforms which resulted in the public's perception of high interest rates with rampant inflation. Western countries provided economic assistance contingent on their ability to dictate the political development of Ghana. Noncompliance meant its leaders were labeled as pawns of Castro and socialism, or tools of the USSR. Years of corruption, or as we say in Twi kalabule, had created an environment ripe for volatile change. High inflation rates, skyrocketing food costs, soaring transportation costs all lead up to masses of people struggling to make ends meet and to feed their families. The continent of Africa is very complex, and each country has its own stories of hardship and pain at the expense of its people. But ultimately, it's not easy to determine exactly who is to blame.

Unfortunately, the legacy of unjust economic and fiscal reform is still wreaking havoc across the developing world. With the recent economic collapse experienced in Europe and the United States, we are starting to understand the pain that the continent of Africa has been enduring for generations. The error we keep making though, is to assume that politicians will fix these economic problems. Nothing short of a spiritual solution providing for a moral shift in mankind will solve the economic issues that the world faces. According to Oxfam's report "Working For The Few: Political Capture and Economic Inequality" published January 20, 2014, just one percent of the world's population controls nearly half of the planet's wealth. This tiny slice of humanity controls $110 trillion, or 65 times the total wealth of the poorest 3.5 billion people.

Ghana is fraught with examples of extremes of wealth and poverty. Back when I was a student, I stayed at the university guest house when I went to Accra. I could see across Ring Road a one story building and next to it an eight story building. In between the two there was a sign that read Adjeshie Hotel. I never saw anyone stay at that hotel though, so one day I asked why. The clerk who worked at the guest house laughed, pointing out that the reason I never saw guests at the hotel was because the hotel was the one story building behind the hedge, and the 8 story building was the house built by a man who had a reputation for skimming money from his construction contracts with the government.

The military coup was a reaction against this excess and corruption, and an effort to shut down the black market which was the real economy in the country. The official exchange rate, for example, would mean a loaf of bread would have cost me about 50 dollars, but by exchanging money on the black market, that same loaf of bread was 50 cents. It was the only way to survive and people who did not have access to hard currency from a foreign source were hit hard. Since I couldn't withdraw dollars in Ghana, I had to keep my money in an account in Togo and each month I traveled over the border to pull out hard currency called CFA used by the Francophone countries and backed by the French Treasury. I hid the bills in the bottom of my shoes or sewed them into the handle of my suitcase, and then prayed as I crossed back over the border while being searched by Ghanaian soldiers, terrified if I was caught I would be taken into the small shack where I could hear the cries of civilians being beaten for trafficking money. When I got to Accra, I met with a money changer in a dark house to get local currency called the Cedi, hoping to God I would not be discovered because the military would shoot anyone on site for changing money on the black market. Many years later as Ghana's economy boomed, the restriction was taken off the government-imposed exchange rates, so monetary exchange is now conducted legally out in the open.

At one point, there was an attempt to devalue the Cedi by reissuing currency, so everyone was required to bring their cash to a bank and exchange it for the new bills, making the old bills useless. A woman living in Bomso, the neighborhood just outside the university gate, was a successful waxprint cloth seller who used the black market rates for her prices. She was so successful that she had a room filled to the ceiling with Cedis. Rather than take the risk to exchange all her money and be beaten to death by the military for conducting black market business and hoarding, she decided it was better to  hide the evidence, so she burned her house down.

And with the military shutting down the black market, the shop owners and mommies refused to bring their goods to the market to sell at official prices set up by the military government. One auntie told me, "Hmm, mo bo dam, paa. They are crazy. I paid ten Cedis for this, and I need to sell for a profit to feed my children. But now the military wants me to bring it to market and sell for one Cedi? Enye, koraa. Don't mind them. I will sit down and I will stay home." And as the markets shut down,  each day came with an increased challenge to find even basic foods.

Some staples became luxuries, like bread. Bread is not traditionally Akan, it was adopted from the Dutch and the British. Bakers build huge clay ovens at their homes, getting up before sunrise to bake and sell bread to neighbors and sellers who take the loaves to the market first thing in the morning.

As time went on in 1982, bread became non-existent because flour at the official rate was ridiculously expensive and supplies were scarce. One day though, Auntie Afua had heard rumor that the woman who baked in Adwaso village near the Ridge Road gate to the university had found a supply of flour and had started baking again. She asked me to go and see if I could beg her for a few loaves to sell to us. Since I was an obruni or white man, the baker would be more comfortable to sell to me since she would know I was not part of the military government or a member of the "people's revolution." I got up at dawn and walked to the woman's house with a piece of waxprint cloth about the size of a bed sheet which I would use to wrap up the bread. As I approached her house, the smell of the baking bread that came from her clay oven was heavenly. We struck up a conversation and I let her know that there were three children at the house with us, and the bread would help greatly. She was very kind, and let me know I could purchase as much as I liked. Knowing that we would probably not see bread for a long time, I asked if I could buy everything she had left - 25 loaves. She agreed.

I stacked the loaves up in my cloth, tied it like a knapsack, and slung the huge parcel over my shoulder. Walking back to the house and carrying such a huge stash of bread was terrifying. At any moment a military truck could drive through, or one of our neighbors could become suspicious and create a scene. I remembered that there was a gap in the iron rods of the university fence, so instead of going to the gate where I would have drawn attention, I went through the bush and found the hole in the fence. Somehow I made it back to our house on campus with no one noticing.

Auntie Afua's reaction to my having bought all 25 loaves was a mixture of joy and rage. Joyfully happy because she knew she would have something for us for breakfast for awhile, but at the same time just as angry as anyone's mother would be, scolding and reprimanding me for having taken such a risk. She yelled at me, "Yaw, you could have been caught and the whole family would have been taken to the barracks and beaten!" I sat at the dining table, taking my punishment while Auntie Afua yelled and cut the loaves to store them in the freezer. By the time she was done, she put her hands on both my cheeks and gave me a kiss on the forehead. "Ayekoo, Yaw! Well done!" 

Finding provisions continued to get more and more difficult in Kumasi, so one day Kwaku and I decided to take the bus to Accra and see what we could find for our families. We braved the checkpoints with the soldiers, and when we got to Accra we hit the streets to start combing the shops. Imagine how surreal it was to walk into a grocery store, finding nothing. Everyone was as quiet as we were, looking at the bare shelves and realizing the gravity of the situation.

We continued to systematically hit store after store. We found a French government issued 4 litre container of corn oil for cooking. We found a sack of Soviet rice. We found a 2 pound tin of processed American cheddar cheese, stamped "Compliments of the United States of America." 

We heard rumor that a shop a few blocks away had powdered milk that they were selling in rations. As we came around the corner we saw a queue of probably a hundred people meandering down the street, all waiting their turn. We shrugged at each other and got in line, knowing that this was going to take some time but we were in no rush to get anywhere.

We stood and waited in the hot sun, wiping our brows and getting drowsy in the heat of the afternoon. Suddenly, I heard the sound of trucks revving their engines, shifting gears to speed up, and the rattling sound of "pop! pop! pop!" My stomach sank and the hair on the back of my neck raised up. Kwaku and I spun around, and my heart stopped as everything turned into slow motion. Four huge flatbed trucks were barreling down the street with what must have been 100 soldiers, all armed with machine guns shooting over our heads to get the crowd to disperse. Everyone was scrambling and screaming. I turned to Kwaku and yelled as loud as I could so that he could hear me above the chaos, "SHOULD WE RUN?! SHOULD WE RUN?!" He looked around, and then pointed over my head and yelled back at me, "YES! LET'S GO!"

I have never run so fast in my life. We were dodging through the crowd, jumping over people who had fallen while trying to escape the machine guns. Screaming people were running in every direction, while babies on the backs of women were crying in terror. Kwaku kept pointing, and I then realized he was pointing to the doorway of an office set back a few feet from the sidewalk. The door was locked shut, so we turned and pushed our backs into the door, trying with all our might to disappear. Kwaku motioned to me to keep quiet. I stood so still that I was not breathing, terrified to draw the attention of the soldiers who were now passing us in the trucks. People were running everywhere with the deafening crack of machine guns firing.

We stood motionless. After a few minutes, it was quiet. Bending over, I gasped for air. The trucks and soldiers were gone and the gunfire had ceased. We slowly came out of the doorway; I tasted blood and realized I had bit my lip. As we peered out of the foyer, there was no one around, no signs of anyone. We walked out alone into the street. It was eerie to see it completely deserted. It was as if no one had been there at all.

A month later Nana, Kwame and I were out on the grounds of Tech. We had gone to the post office on the campus so that I could check for mail from the U.S. It was a day off from school, so we were not in a rush. We decided to go for a long walk.

The grounds were beautiful. There were expansive manicured lawns, carefully groomed by the Langa Langa men who used long grass cutlasses to keep the grass tidy. I remember how their work was like a choreographed dance, with deep knees and graceful swings, a rhythm of trance-like movement as they sang tradtitional songs in Twi to keep time. Beautiful acacia trees that bloomed with thousands of yellow or red flowers, and Bodi trees with white bark, filled with dark green leaves that stretched far over the lawns. Orchids, plumeria and anthuriums grew in carefully planted flower beds. It was peaceful with just the sounds of song birds singing and the chatter of monkeys in the trees.

As we walked, we saw that the clouds were coming in from the horizon, and soon thunder and lightening would promise wonderful tropical rain. Growing up in Southern California, I missed out on the spectacle of thunder storms, so each one was an event for me while living in Ghana. The homes at Tech were built with concrete block, and yet the thunder was so powerful that it could make the entire house shake. I learned to know when the rain was coming, because the wind would pick up and there was a scent of fresh water in the air.

We kept walking, keeping an eye on the horizon. But this was strange, there was no wind coming with this particular cloud. No rumbling of thunder in the distance. This cloud was too low, and not the usual army of towering thunder clouds. There was something very odd about it and it was moving very quickly.

The cloud steadily approached us over the canopy of the rain forest at the edge of the campus, and as it got closer we noticed the color was strange. Thunder clouds are white on top and dark grey on the bottom, with flashes of lightning that jumped from cloud to cloud. This cloud had none of that. It was silver grey throughout.

And it had become silent. The birds had stopped singing and the monkeys had stopped their fussing.

Our curiosity was soon overcome by concern. We stood still on the pathway at the edge of the vast lawn, and watched what was coming towards us. It got bigger and bigger, moving very quickly and changing color. It was no longer grey, now it was a pale blue.

Frozen in awe, I whispered barely loud enough to be heard, "Should we run, you guys? Should we run?"  Nana whispered back, "No Yaw, not yet. Let's see what happens."  We stood still. The cloud was now an iridescent bright blue, and was shifting and churning like flowing water. Soon it was upon us. And then we were completely engulfed in it.

It must have been a million sparkling blue butterflies. Thousands landed on us while the cloud circled and enclosed us, as if to greet us and tell us that there was nothing to be afraid of. We started to quietly laugh in disbelief. Each of us stood with our arms outstretched, covered head to toe with blue butterflies, each resting their wings.

The silence was incredible. It was so quiet that all we could hear was our breath and the breeze rustling the leaves of the silk cotton trees high above us. Nana whispered, "Aren't you glad we didn't run, Yaw?" I whispered back, "Yeah."

It was impossible to tell where our bodies ended and the cloud of shimmering blue light began. I felt as if I was part of the cloud, and that my body had dropped away. I'm sure Nana and Kwame felt the same. Millions of glittering wings, catching the light and reflecting the sparkling blue.  

The moment seemed to stand still. Just the three of us in a pool of blue light, a  chorus of tiny wings softly lifting and falling, lifting and falling. Once they were rested after a few minutes, they took flight just as gently as they had landed on us, joining the circling cloud which then continued to float towards its destination in complete silence, up and over the forest canopy. We didn't move. We didn't say a word. We just stood and watched the cloud disappear into the distance, wondering where they were going to. We had just witnessed something sacred, as if the essence of joy had just past through us and we had touched the spirit of God; a moment imprinted on each of our souls, witnessing the perfection of nature and our Creator. This was beauty that could only be created by the divine. As we looked at each other, the words to describe what had just occurred would not come. Nana smiled and motioned to us, and we continued on our walk in silence.

For many Ghanaians those were years of unbelievable suffering. Hunger, danger and political chaos were part of our daily lives and yet we endured. We found our strength through our families and in our faith, carrying on with life as best we could while maintaining our human dignity as we struggled to take care of those around us.

And yet in spite of great hardship, the human spirit seems to blur those horrible memories over time. And the treasured memories? They get clearer and more vivid as the years go on. I look back and I can't remember the faces of the soldiers. I don't remember the hunger from rationing food into two small meals a day. But I do remember every single moment of joy I felt when I first met my brothers Nana and Kwame, of the serenity listening to a choir and the beat of the talking drums calling out in the quiet night during my visits to the villages to meet the families of my friends at KNUST, and the humbling sacredness I felt when Nana gave me my naming ceremony and the name Yaw under the full moon in a clearing in the rain forest.

I realize looking back that we endured the suffering because there were moments like this, receiving a glimpse of eternity in a cloud of a million butterflies, confirming our faith in such a simple, exquisite and profound way.

 Euphaedra Medon Medon

Native to Liberia, Ivory Coast, Ghana, Togo, Benin, Nigeria and Cameroon.

Finding My Way Home to Oguaa

Things started to come together very quickly after I made up my mind to go back to Ghana to assist the Baha'i community. Akwasi advised me to write a letter to the National Spiritual Assembly and also get in touch with an old friend, Mawushi Nutakor who was now serving as one of the Auxiliary Board Members to the Continental Counselors. These institutions work to support and assist the local Baha'i communities to develop and grow.

Mawushi and I were also close friends when I was at KNUST in 1982. He's another friend with an amazing story about how he became a Baha'i. A couple years younger than I am, he was a student at Mfantsipim Secondary School in Cape Coast. A fervent believer in fundamentalist Christianity like Akwasi, he planned on proving that the Baha'i Faith was false and contrary to Christian doctrine. His father was a lecturer at KNUST, so when he was home on breaks from school, he also attended the firesides at the Shapiros. And let's just say he was far more head strong than Akwasi.

Auntie Bea introduced us. I was taken aback because Mawushi immediately started asking questions, quoting scriptures and passages from the Bible. Auntie Bea practically threw her hands up in the air and told me that since I was raised Christian, I was now responsible for carrying on these discussions with him. One night we got onto the subject of the Holy Trinity, and this was one of my favorite subjects. Baha'is believe that the concept of the Holy Trinity is like the reflection of the sun in a mirror. The Father is the sun itself providing light and heat for life, the Son which is the Manifestation that I had previously referred to, is symbolized by the mirror having the ability to reflect the knowledge of the Father in the same way the mirror reflects the image the sun, and the Holy Ghost is like the rays of sun reflected from the mirror - redirecting the heat and light from the rays. At about 3:00AM in the morning, he finally got very quiet. I think I had finally exhausted him.

As Mawushi tells the story, he went back to Mfantsipim and would not stop talking about the Baha'i Faith. His schoolmates were so astounded that one actually said to him, "You talk so much about this Baha'i Faith that you should become one of them."

When he came home for his next break, Mawushi came by the house to visit. He was very quiet. His animated quoting of Christian scripture and proposing arguments against the Baha'i Faith were no more. He told us that he wanted to be a Baha'i.  And with that, Ghana was blessed with one of the hardest working, most well read and charismatic Baha'is I know. His dedication is tireless. He travels in his 4 wheel drive truck all over the Accra and Central Regions, meeting with the Baha'is and encouraging their efforts to spread this amazing message.

Back in the 80's, soon after I came back to the U.S., Mawushi left for France for many years to continue his education, returning to Ghana with his beautiful wife Cecile and their wonderful children.

So, about my trip home. I decided to leave it in the hands of the National Spiritual Assembly and Mawushi to decide where I could be the greatest assistance during my month long trip. I secretly hoped that I would be able to go to Kumasi and revisit all the villages that I had grown to love there, but they decided that it was best that I go to Brafoyaw to stay with Uncle Prince and Auntie Aggie Abaidoo, and their  family.  I didn't even know where Brafoyaw was. I looked it up using Google maps and found it was just east of Cape Coast near Moree Junction, the town of Moree which is a 400 year old fishing town, and the town of Yamoransa  - all within a 5 minute ride by taxi.

The Fante people have spent centuries in the area, and the actual name for the city is Oguaa in Fante. Cape Coast is actually a name given by the Portuguese and later translated to English by the British who took over the Cape Coast Castle. It was originally built by the Portuguese in the late 15th century and later taken over by the Dutch in 1610, the Swedes in 1652 and then the British captured the Castle in 1664.  The British staged much of their slave trade from the Castle, as well as El Mina Castle further west of Cape Coast along the beach. I'll tell the story of Alex Koufie and I touring the Castle in a later post. It was the most heart-wrenching thing I have ever experienced, witnessing the depths that mankind can sink to.

Before I traveled to Ghana, there were a lot of details to cover. A mosquito net, a yellow fever inoculation (ouch), a prescription for Malarone, reading materials, shorts and t-shirts, a new pair of filp-flops that we call "charlie wortes" which is slang in Ghana for "Charlie, let's go!", and a crash course in the Baha'i guidance on how to establish Junior Youth Groups. The Baha'i community all over the world has been working to assist young people to come together and form their own non-denominational service groups which provide service projects to their local communities. This can be anything from mentoring children to neighborhood beautification efforts. My friend Al Cadena put me on a marathon course to be ready for my trip. The request from the National Spiritual Assembly of Ghana was to have me assist a couple of Baha'i youths, Alex Koufie and Sammy Arthur, who were working in the area with Uncle Prince to try to get these groups together.

My flight to Amsterdam took 11 hours, and I remember feeling that Ghana was a million miles away. I had a lay-over in Amsterdam for several hours. And then it hit me. I was waiting in the terminal for my KLM flight to Accra, and a couple sat next to me speaking Twi. I had not heard the language spoken like this in 24 years and just the sound brought everything flooding back to me.

As I sat there, the clock slowed down. It seemed that the announcement to board the flight was taking forever. I became anxious, wondering if Ghana had changed so much that I would not recognize it. Or worse, had I changed so much that my memories were distorted in time? I had never been to the Fante land. Would I love these people as much as I loved the Asantes in Kumasi?

We boarded the plane and I was one of the first to be seated. I watched Ghanaian business men filing into the plane, impeccably dressed in suits and ties. Women in the traditional kaba, skirt and apron assisting their small children to get to their seats and settle in. A woman sat next to me and I recognized that she was wearing a gold necklace from Ghana. There is no other color of gold like the gold mined in Obuasi, near Kumasi. It has a beautiful rich hue from the yellow side of the gold spectrum.

I introduced myself by saying, "Awuraa, wo ho te sen?" "Madam, how are you?"  She laughed and we were immediately friends. The thing about Ghana is that there is no "trial period" for friendship like we have in the U.S., where we painstakingly take small steps over months and months to establish a friendship. In Ghana, there are strangers and there are friends. And the shelf life of a stranger is a matter of minutes. It felt like everything was going to be OK.

After 9 hours of flight through the night from Amsterdam south over Europe and the Sahara desert, we finally woke up as the plane flew over Ghana approaching Kotoka International Airport. I peered out through the window. It was my Ghana. Forests and plains of a thousand hues of green, cut by dark blue rivers and bright orange clay roads. The plane landed and we disembarked to the terminal. It hit me as I got off the plane. Not only the familiar humidity and tropical heat, but the intangible relaxation of life slowing down, as if there was a collective sigh that every human being was part of.

I got through customs and immigration, and then walked as fast as I could along the long hallway with my rolling suitcase, knowing that at the end of it Akwasi and Mawushi would be waiting. What would they be like? How different was I? Did I remember everything exactly as it was?

"Hey! Yaw!"

There was Mawushi with his head above the others who were waiting for their family members to arrive. And there was Akwasi. I walked up to them. Akwasi and I just stood still for a moment looking at each other, saying nothing, only smiles of disbelief. I touched his cheek, and then his head of gray hair. Mawushi just kept laughing. It was as if time stood still. 24 years were reduced to yesterday. I was looking at my two brothers, seeing ourselves as we did in our youth, but also realizing that many years had gone by - each of us with a few extra pounds and the wrinkles we collected with our responsibilities of adulthood.

"Menua Yaw, akwaaba," Akwasi said, welcoming me as he teared up. "Yo. Me da wo ase, menua," I replied in thanks. Hugs were passed around, and a group bear hug too. I think we were trying to express the permanency of this special relationship, as if there was an unspoken promise that this bond must be cherished and protected for the rest of our lives. It was bittersweet because Nana was not there, but I wouldn't trade that meeting for anything in the world. No gold, no amount of money could replace that homecoming.

Akwasi's wife and children were still living in Cape Coast while he was transitioning to his new position in Accra as one of the regional heads of the Ministry of Mental Health. He stayed at the hospital while working in Accra, so I stayed the next couple days with Mawushi and his family. Mawushi has done an incredible job with improving his house in Accra, near the Lincoln International School where Cecile teaches and the University of Ghana at Legon where Mawushi is a lecturer in French. He has a whole zoo of animals, including a monkey named Gringo, a pet pig, ducks, geese, a couple fish ponds, cats and a dog named Floppy.

After a couple days, it was time to head to Cape Coast. We loaded up Akwasi's car with my luggage, and we were off. Getting out of Accra in traffic is indescribable. It is like nothing I've ever seen in Los Angeles. In 1982, Accra was still a sleepy town, but with the stability Ghana has experienced for 30 years there has been a boom in a middle class, and whole neighborhoods of beautiful houses, office buildings, high rises, hotels, restaurants and even a shopping mall with a state of the art multiplex movie theater have been built. I was impressed that I got to see the second half of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows" with digital projection and Dolby sound. There is a saying in Ghana now, "Accra is Ghana and Ghana is Accra." And while I enjoy the conveniences that have developed there, this isn't my Ghana.

We got out of Accra, driving along the coast westward. The roads are vastly improved with very few potholes and excellent asphalt providing a smooth ride. This was far different than the 80's.

And then there was the beautiful countryside that had not changed. This was my Ghana. The wide open fields of tall grasses, palm trees and immense forests of Acacia trees with thousands of bright yellow flowers as far as the eye can see. Villages appearing every few minutes with houses of brown clay walls and thatched roofs, with small boys chasing a bicycle wheel as they roll it with a stick, laughing and waving at the car as we drove by.

I was home. My soul was home. It is a feeling that cannot be forgotten. Your spirit reconnects with this land, your soul sends roots down into this precious soil and everything becomes familiar, comfortable. I was very quiet during that ride. Akwasi had Highlife music playing on the radio. We talked a bit about our lives that we had missed out on, but most of all I took in all the sights and sounds of home.

By the time we reached Brafoyaw, it was late. We drove past Moree Junction and then turned left on the small bumpy road up the hill into the village. Small kiosks were still open selling toothpaste, soap, sponges, onions, tomatoes and mangoes, each lit by candle light and attended by villagers sitting and visiting each other, catching up on gossip and news.  We finally stopped at the gate to a house, and out came Uncle Prince with his family to greet me, "Oh, this is very fine. Akwaaba. You are welcome."

My life was about to change forever.