A Homecoming

Closing the door softly

2012-01-16T13:18:00.000+01:00

I thought I had completed with my blog, especially as the last and final writing suddenly became highlighted as if by itself. (And I believe in signs.)

But no, every morning when I walk past the house of coordinator Joe Ema, I feel like making a picture of the way he locks his door. This morning I was actually not just moved by the sight but snapped the photograph. It simply touches me as a very special way to close a door! I have never seen anybody close his door this way, as I have I never met a gentler person than Joe Ema.

Strong and gentle...

Does he or doen't he lock his door? When his wife and child have left in the early morning and he closes his door behind him, he puts a branch at the place where usually a padlock hangs. 'Why this way?' 'I like the kids and never tell any child that they are not welcome in my house. But I need to close the door anyway, so I do it with a branch. The twig is strong, it bends but does not break.

An olive branch... Peace and I'll be back soon.

Closing the door gently. Thank you Joe.

Homecoming

2011-12-31T11:36:00.006+01:00

New year’s Eve 2011.

There is such contentment in being back home in Nkoranza. The satisfaction goes beyond what we do or who we meet. It is a basic sense of homecoming and it goes for Bob as much as for me. Life is a journey and will be a journey still but right now we have reached a still point and a sense of completion in returning to our home in Ghana. We have reached where I feel most real and the place is our own Peace of Christ Community in Nkoranza. Not that Holland isn’t home, it will always be so. Holland is recognizable, it is pleasurable, it is on the go and Holland also means security. It is a safe haven for people like us who get older and need more medical and other assistance. Thank you Holland. But in my fatherland there is not enough place for the soul and for the sacred dance of hesitation. Here, in my motherland, the heart beats gentler, softer, warmer. Here is where we can hold hands without looking odd. Here is where on a daily base hunderds of kisses, embraces and meetings of the eyes are exchanged. Here too we are outsiders, but we are strangers whose strangeness is accepted. So we have turned home to our strange land. Loneliness remains but only as the shadowside of our connectedness. Special angels give us strength and love where once we provided them with security and love, by creating this home for them. Once we said welcome home to all these kids, now they say welcome home to us! That's how it should be! Happy New Year to all of you. Be well.

Home again in Nkoranza

2011-12-13T11:35:00.000+01:00

closed and open

2011-11-21T08:43:00.003+01:00

'I do not know what it is about you that closes and opens; only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses. Nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands....'

EE Cummings.

Bob's gift to me 16 year ago, in Chicago. On 21-11-95

Memories...

the sabbath is homecoming

2011-11-19T09:34:00.002+01:00

A hasid asked the maggid of Zlotchow: What was lacking in the created world? Nothing but rest, right? Came the sabbath and so came rest. The words rest and sabbath mean exactly the same thing. So why do we not just say: The world lacked rest untill the sabbath came?

The Rabbi replied: Sabbath means the homecoming.

On that day all the spheres return to their true place. That is what Rashi refers to.
During the week the spheres find no rest because they have been lowered from the place which is theirs. But on sabbath they find rest because they are allowed to go home.
(From Buber, Tales of the Hasidim.)

Yesterday, a dark november fridaynight, Bob and I celebrated the beginning of sabbath. Candle, wine, bailey, the two of us and a story. Bob found the story and read it. What touched us both was the word that has become the theme of our lives for some time: homecoming.

Today is saturdaymorning and busy. But a bit more of homecoming in it then usual, it is still sabbath!
Tomorrow, sunday, another type of homecoming at the catholic church. Sabbath gone, sunday starts.
We do double homecoming shifts these days.

By the way the last of such weekends for some time, for we are soon leaving to Ghana and there the weekends are marked by a routine of some of our kids staying overnight with us.
Making every time happy partytime in our house. Weekends in Ghana:
Home with joy and without rest.
Have to tell the rabbi that is maybe the ultimate way to celebrate the sabbath!

2011-11-16T08:12:00.000+01:00

"You have navigated with raging soul far from the paternal home, passing beyond the double rocks, and you now inhabit a foreign land."
Euripides (Medea) to Bob and Ineke...

home homeless

2011-11-13T10:05:00.001+01:00

"Sometimes i feel like a motherless child, a long way from home", a bit of an alien in Ghana already, and a stranger in Holland. A little odd, a little off, different and most of all homeless.
But grateful, I am so grateful for having lived a passionate life, The wonderful cloud of unknowing that I jumped into and turned into a home, PCC, my own temporal home as well. Now I am 'home' in a little Dutch house and thank God with a man to be with.
But so forlorn at times. And soon on the way again to Ghana. That going back and forth is good but unsettling as well.
Fridaynight Bob and I went to a lecture of Theodore Dalrymple, in The Hague. About spoiled and sentimental society. Another way of looking at things. A sweet and intelligent old man, a doctor like me. He looked old, though much younger than I actually. I went to him to let my book be sigend and he said something and I gave him a spontaneous kiss on the cheeck. He reacted with a little shock and his specs almost fell from his nose. Bob saw it and dived forwards and gave him a similar kiss on the other cheeck. A perfect balancing act! That saved the situation and we turned away from him laughingly and hand in hand walked towards the coffee table.
That is the home I married. It is called Bob.
And then there is God of course, but always devilishly unseen these days.

a little fun

2011-11-10T17:01:00.002+01:00

One of the two ladies who I serve weekly communion at home is far in her nineties and not so strong anymore. Not so strong anymore is an understatement. She hasn't left her room to go outside for many years. She can hardly get out of her chair anymore. With the help of her rollator she gets up, turns, and gets into her wheelchair. Is then exhausted for the next four hours. Does't dress anymore, sits in her dressinggown. Too much energy, and for what! She hates the taste of food and is losing weight rapidly.When you ask her: 'how are you?', she says not so good, weaker by the day. And smiles apologetically. What follows is:"I hope I may go to heaven soon and meet all my family, especially my mother! I pray for that."
"I can see your point", I reply.

"Yes, and if this happens before you come agan I will give you a sign, you will know it! For then I cannot call you anymore to cancel the appointment!"'
"Thanks and think of Bob and me as you are revelling in the joys of heaven. When your meet your mother and all your family, you will be overcome with happiness! You will melt from joy, you will cry!"
"Yes, and I will look for your mum too.
And also, shall I reserve you two seats in Heaven?
Or is it too early you think?"

"Two wonderful big easy chairs! Of the reclining type! For I am tired and want to sit on the first row, with Bob beside me. And a little table at the side with bubbles and chocolates! Please! But wait, reserve it for in about five years or ten, not too early, okay?"

Always there has been a little sadness in her room, but today there is joy and fun. I am grateful for that.

By the way I too would like to meet my own mother again. Oh do I sometimes cry for her, if life is lonely. This is how she looks. No wonder I miss her, warm eyes, warm heart, always warm food on the table.
My Mum, not really dead of course, just for the last twenty years busy moving with the angels.

Soup, and the last few roses in the park

2011-11-06T15:05:00.004+01:00

the wind is cold,but

this might be the last day of the year

to go to the park and see

the last few roses of 2011.

we have seen them, they are still gorgeous

next year same time, sweet roses!

And quickly home to our Bob/made soup

To make one another happy!

2011-10-30T14:01:00.003+01:00

That's what I got from the sermon this sunday-morning. Thank you, Pastor Dolf. Never heard something so clear and simple as the answer to the meaning of life. Not: To worship God and do His will. Not: To work hard and spread the Kingdom. etcetera etcetera. No. Simply this:

"To make one another happier people."

How nice! Thank you! Glad I went today!

what on earth is wrong with Holland

2011-10-28T18:03:00.003+02:00

that we consider sending a grown up African child away as an undesirable alien, after letting him grow up here for years and years.
As if there is a tsunami of illegal children waiting to enter Holland!
Statistics vary, it concerns 'a problem' of between 20 and 80 children per year!
What kind of 'problem' is that?
In Holland we cry for youth.
Look who's walking our street, average age of 50.
CDA (Christian democrats) lost many voters because of, among others, almost xenophobic immigration cuts, caused by obedience to the ultra nationalist Wilders party.
So in order to try to change the atmosphere in a more compasionate one, the CDA minister of immigration wrote recently in their magazine something like this:
"We welcome the stranger, he enriches óur society, we need him.
We just do not welcome the illegal immigrant who has no chance to integrate in our society."

Mauro, the grown up child that all of The Netherlands talks about, is getting to be eightteen and thus adult. And has, after eight or ten years stay in The Netherlands, to leave again for his homeland Angola. Because he came as an illegal child-immigrant and remained illegal all during his stay. Notwithstanding loving fosterparents who tried to adopt him and throughoughly Dutch schooling.
He is as integrated as one could hope for, a perfectly Dutch boy.
But no, after befriending him, listening to his case and playing a game of friendly football with him, in front of the Dutch government buildings, he now has to go, says CDA immigration-minister Leers.
CDA I am ashamed of you! This is the end of your already declined party. The party of family values and compassion...as they say!

loving in autumn

2011-10-24T17:46:00.000+02:00

believing all is well is the art to be practised
as we move into the days of beauty and decline

Autumn Leaves

2011-10-19T17:07:00.002+02:00

Where we now live is called the park district of Scheveningen. Our street is literally called park-street, and there is a quiet meditative park atmosphere here in the neigborhood. You enjoy spicy autumsmells and see the golden-red leaves gloriously on the trees still, as well as dried up under your feet as you walk. They make pleasant small autumn-sounds.

I googeled 'autumn leaves' and got as a first match 'les feuilles mortes', the song made famous by Edith Piaff. 'Dead leaves' doesn't sound good like 'Autumn leaves', but the flair of the french language makes up for the straightforwardness of the description. True, autumn laves are dead, there is no further hope for them then to eventually decompose and disappear.

Saturday I took a relaxed walk with Bob's cane shopping basket on wheels, walking through the autumn leaves. I had the whole day to do the shopping for that night's dinner. So I decided to walk all the way to the good butcher, a shop about half an hour away from our house. With the best meat and with delicious dishes already prepared by the butcher or his wife. Delicious stuff and simply just to be heated up in the microwave. (My favorite way of cooking)

Half way on my path to the butcher, a woman comes shuffling to me through a carpet of leaves.
May I ask you a question?
Of course.
Do you know the 'Badhuisweg', and she shows me the name of the street on a scrap of paper.
She has a foreign accent.
Yes, I know, I am going that way, shall we walk together?
Yes please, thank you.
So we walk together.
Are you sure you know it?
Yes, right there. We arrive after crossing this lane.
This lane is not it, are you sure you know?
Yes, cross this lane and the next is where you have to be. Where are you from?
From Greece. I now live in The Hague city for over 18 years. Do you know what bus to take to Badhuisweg?
Yes, number 9.
Oh number 9? Oh that is my bus, stops near to my house in town.
We reach the street and I show her the signboard saying 'Badhuisweg'. She is relieved.
Yes, this is it. I need to be at an old age home, 'Deo Gratias' it is called. No number known.
We ask a couple of gardeners. Would you please know...? They want to be helpful but can't be of any help as they know no such home. Their streetplan does not help either and they wave us further in the direction to the right. Try!
Do you think you can find it from here on?, I ask.
Yes of course.
Okay, succes, was nice to meet you.
I turn and walk on towards my favorite butcher but looking over my shoulder see her wander away into a sidestreet, instead of checking out the main street.
I feel myself getting angry, then happen to see a woman on a bycicle and I ask her:
Do you happen to know a nursinghome called Deo Gratias?
Oh yes! I work there, she laughed! There, right there where the flags are, she pointed to almost where we had been standing, asking the gardeners.
So I walked back, into the sidestreet where the Greek lady had disapeared, who has already turned and is coming my way. I wave at her, come! Its there, come! She comes. We walk to the doors of 'Deo Gratias'. I offer to come in with her. Because she is so vague.
No,no. Do not come inside, I know the room. 504. Someone who had surgery, now she lives here. No, I know my way.

Now...I have to buy flowers, where do you think I can buy flowers?
I am taken aback once more. Is she allright? What is wrong? A mental problem, intoxicated, what?
I feel uncomfortable, strange. Want to move on.
For flowers you have to go towards 'The Kurhaus', that huge hotel over there at the end of this street. There is a shoppingmall beside the hotel and they sell flowers.

I go my way towards the butcher with my basket. And get what I want and so on.
But I have been thinking since.
What is the matter with this lady? Who is she...
I will never know, but that she holds a kinship with autumn leaves and des feuilles mortes is for sure to me.

Exhibition of my sister's work and a picknick during the last days of summer

2011-10-06T13:16:00.001+02:00

Steve on his way out from Ghana and back to the US.

My sister's exhibition in the city hall of Goirle, Aug-september 2011

Strange Birds

2011-10-06T12:49:00.001+02:00

Strange green tropical birds, a few years ago still new in the neighboorhoods of The Hague, now nest in the tree outside our house.

Two other Strange Birds, from Ghana, Holland and America, also made a cosy nest inside this home in The Hague.

We are neigbours to the expatriate parrots in the trees outside. Strangers seek strangers!

Soort zoekt soort....

Wé'll be back soon

2011-09-20T14:29:00.001+02:00

rosaries for Anne, made in the workshop

Ema the barber and the 'everything', the miracle caregiver.

Bob in his element and Ineke in her element...

Landed.

2011-09-11T14:48:00.001+02:00

It wasn't a soft landing this time, coming back home to Nkoranza.
An experience of having estranged from the country.
Accra, the congested city, at arrival. Humidity,perpetual tropical rains, bad smells and filth.
Almost as if for the first time in West Africa again!
An experience of having estranged from the land of the community as well.
A new out of tune building in the artistic landscape of summerhuts and circular almost antroposofic designs, the 'living painting' that I designed as I lived here.
(For heaven's sake, what is in the shape of a building?! And people here find it a marvellous new building! Maybe that's what bothered me most, I misjudged my style to be an African style and obviously it is not!)
A new bar with noisy music from the other side of our hill. Grrrr.
Feeling tired and tense and out of place in our house, too big, too smelly.

But now, after two weeks, I am relaxed and fully home again!
Bob by the way was, as usual, home right away.
It is not the country, the weather, even the buildingstyle that makes this 'home' for me.
It is of course the people.
The children, oh the children! Beautiful! Strange and marvelous. Warm laughter, full expression of whatever mood, alive and authentic! Well fed and well looked after.
Not stressed to perform beyond their level, as I have seen happen in indepence-loving Holland. Graceful, humorous,relaxed! Oh the intereactions with the children, big and small, and the sight of them! The caregivers, always resiliant and brave. The wonderful leaders, strong silent Baffo and strong sensitive Ema. Oh sweetly renewed daycare and sturdy old workshop and well designed new educational centre and magnificent old prayerplace in the rocks.
Home! Thank God! It took time but I am home again.

Time to go

2011-08-23T10:22:00.000+02:00

It rains and is dark outside as if autumn has begun.

Jenny cancelled her visit to us today, she is too down to see people. We will call or email while in Ghana.

The warm water supply to our shower has stopped. The repairer cannot come till 22 september! So we heat water and take bucket-baths like in Ghana.

A red light in the laundrymachine winks nervously at me and I do not know what to do or who to ask so I nervously wink back. Tired of technology! Time to go back to a washingbowl and the bar of keysoap!

The first stain in our heavenly blue carpet. It was bound to happen but made me sad. Virginal color has gone.Time for bare feet on the grass outside or the tiles inside.

We had many visitors looking at our new house. It was great. But the apple-pie is making us fat and time to get trim again.

The last flowers are withering, though still beautiful.

Time to go and see our kids before the blues set in.

picnic and dressing too young

2011-08-14T18:48:00.002+02:00

Bob has a friend who is my age and she inspired me to buy my first leggings! I have seen them for ten or twenty years and never see the sense of them, and then all of a sudden I come home with two sets of leggings with matching teeshirts myself. And even a hip little shorts for over the leggings. I say wow to myself and thank you to Bob's friend, Bente.

But will I ever walk on the street in those new outfits? Hmm, probably yes!

The other great thing today was a picnic in the park nearby. Bob, my sister and I.

Just for the occasion the sun came out of the clouds and we sat there like princes and princesses, with our quiche, meat, cheese and wine!

And the dogs who were all curious and heady from the delicious smells.

And the dog-owners who greeted us friendly while losing the command over their dogs who wanted to stick their noses in our picknickbox.

What a marvelous day and as we live in the parc-district of Scheveningen we can do this...yes every day if we like!

going to move, moving , moved.

2011-08-05T18:26:00.000+02:00

Last thursday at 7.30 in the morning we had to move. Packed or not packed, the guys were there, smiling, grinning, joking and chewing gum. The truck stood parked on the sidewalk, with wide open doors facing our house, an old blanket was thrown over the iron fence, all flowerpots were placed out of the way, our gardendoors were opened wide and one by one our beds, boxes, lamps, chairs, cupboards, cloth, everything was carried out of the house and into the lorry. Goodbye to our old house, we did not even have a chance for a last cup of coffee.

At 9.30 we arrived at the Parkweg. I drove in front of the truck with my bike, showing them the way, while Bob went to the Keizerstraat to fill his basket with groceries for the new house.

9.30, Parkweg. The same fast way in again, except that we live on the second floor so all these items had to be hauled in and out of the elevator before they arrived in our place. Where the furniture was much too big and too many. We knew we moved from a grand into a much more modest house but had thought it big enough for our chairs. No. Thank God the movers were friendly and took back with them Bob's big favorite chair, a couple of dining chairs, a table, a carpet, a cupboard, a lot of things! Otherwise we should have called the recycle people to carry the superfluous stuff out for us and that would take a few days and more hassle.

So we were thinner and tidier after that swift and stunning operation. Thinner, tidier and shaken to the bones. The movers helped us, shuffled the furnishings from left to right till finally we were kind of satisfied. Correction, we wanted to be left alone! So we gave them coffee and let them go. Pffffft!

Marianne our new friend was there to help us settle the place and Marianne and I carried the table once more to the big french windows where it has remained. Look.

And tuesday, four days later, all boxes were unpacked again and all pictures hung on the wall and all electricals connected. And we played our usual game of rummikub with Jenny, as we always do on Tuesdays.

It is beautiful, your new house, Jenny said. Not as big as mine but big enough for you and nice to sit and talk together the way the chairs are. I like this much better than your old house, which was uncomfortable to sit in and too large. While the toilet was too small and the hall dirty. Here all is neat. Congratulations! And she gave us a beautiful card and a plant for the new house which we still have to help her choose.

Franca and Jan and Joke also already inspected the place. Nice! Intimate! But what with all these old people?

Well we will have to let Bob joke with them a lot and shake them up a little and give them a sparkle or two! For some (not all) look very sad and grim with their rollators and their scootmobiles. you see, we moved into a 55 plus house. It was there that the angels led us and we followed very eagerly for all about the move was favorable. Except of course the fact that many around us now are so ancient. Not that we ourselves are that young but still...

So we are tired, dead tired. But happy, very happy, for this was an unexpected chance and the right thing to do. Yet we remain somewhat anxious about the senior aspect of our living. We will have to make extra conscious efforts against dullness and pro fun and sparkle in the place. That's all. It can be done.

Heavenly blue carpet for the new home

2011-07-21T10:01:00.003+02:00

The carpet is laid, the walls are painted.

The rest will have to happen within the next 6 days. 28th we move.

Our new house will be more like a 'home' than the old one.

But already I grieve for having to miss the sea next to our house.

And the little frontyard which I kept like an beacon of hope against the destructive North Sea wind.

We will miss you, old house, our first house in The Netherlands.

And we look forward to a bit more of homecoming in our new apartment.

Though the one and only home is Ghana, really, after all.

Do I contradict myself?

Good. Very well. So be it.

Bob's Birthday Gift

2011-07-21T09:24:00.001+02:00

It is 17 July 2011 and we are on our way to Florence. Bob's eightiest birthday gift. Four days in Bella Italia! The museums are more than tiring, not really Bob´s or my idea of a holiday, but in Florence you simply have to visit them, for there is hardly another reason for being here!

So we did. And we found some very inspiring pieces of beauty, in fact more than we could digest. And we got in a festive mood while eating and drinking (crazily expensive) outside in the sun, on one of the big piazza's around the cathedral and the museums. We walked over the old ponte vecchio and loved to look over the river Arno which divides Florence in two parts. We saw the house where the Medicis lived for centuries and in the evening we attended the opera. Bella! Magnifico! One day we spend in Sienna, the medieval hometown of one of the patron saints of Italy and my personal name-saint! Yes Ineke is called Catharina and Catharina of Sienna is supposed to be my great example. She wrote great letters to several popes, admonishing them, and she suffered a condition now called anorexia mirabilis. Which means not being able to eat and drink anything but the Eucharist, and every now and then the pus and debris from lepers and other sick people. Hmm. She died of her anorexia at age 39. In those days, 13th century, it was not called by these terms. God took her spirit home with Him.

Is there a connection between the nowadays anorexia nervosa and the medieval anorexia mirabilis? Some say yes, some say no. The first one is caused by a distorted body image while the medieval one is caused by a distorted soul-image. Or am I authorised to say that? What would RC theology say about that?

Anyway I saw Catharine's house and a fresco portrait in a church in Sienna. A tough face!

I saw a lot more in Sienna. Climbing and walking and climbing again I saw the duomo, many palazzas, every here and there a castles, enormous sqares with enormous hoards of tourists and locals walking around and doing their sightseeing. I saw a sweet, almost empty, steep medieval street.

Sometimes Bob just took his coffee and his book in a little cafe and waitied for me to return from my sightseeing escapades. A wise man in his eighties!

saint Catharine of Sienna

the duomo in Florence

the florence duomo

near to the uffizi

The Uffizi

A replica of Michelangelo's 'David'' outside, Bob pointing to him.

Bob tired

Ah, the view over the river Arno...

What shall I eat today?

Unfinished pieta by Michaelangelo

Botalini boy with dog

Botalini

a fresco or panel painting of the annunciation

Michaelangelo unfinished for the grave of a pope

detail of an annuciation picture

Bartolini (a replica? Is the original in the hermitage?)

Bartolini 'Trust in God"

Bob´s hands at the academica museum. More than tired!

Arno again

Often eating at terraces and living it up!

cathedral of Sienna

street in Sienna

house of St Catharine of Sienna

View of the palace in Sienna

annuciation by Giotto, I believe

´The David´ inside in the academica museum. The original.

Bob, your birthday present has made you happy and even moved to tears! Thank you!

An organ concert in an empty church

2011-07-08T21:55:00.002+02:00

It is long since I wrote, because we are too busy. Moving to another house, on the move again! Still Scheveningen so it is okay but all the hassle! And I feel already homesick for my 'old house', even though we have not left yet and even though the next house is better and more practical.

Tonight Bob and I went to a concert at the local protestant church in Scheveningen, the Keizerstraat church. I hate organ-music and in the enthousiasm to get rickets I forgot I hate the music! The organ almost strached me with its overplay. Gives me the feeling of being a little girl unfairly punished and shamed. Dont know where that comes from. But it was a very unpleasant experience, this overbearing organconcert in an almost empty church.
Anyway, the church is nice! Something has to be good in any event, and tonight it was sitting there and looking at the interior of the churchbuilding. That was the good thing. Nice and quiet, very austere and very protestant of course. But... I am quite happy being a Catholic narried to a Jew and lets keep it that way and keep the organs and the severity at bay!
Never mind, just a painful evening and writing reduces its discomfort. And big deal anyway!

Getting too vague to function

2011-06-18T11:07:00.006+02:00

Since two weeks I have a new 'friend', an old Indonesian lady who is living nearby our house. She goes to church every day and in every way the church is her home. Her real home, where her remaining family lives, is Dajkarta in Indonesia. Over the last few weeks the pastor and the volunteers have been increasingly concerned with her. So forgetful that five minutes after uttering a simple plan, like "let's go to the doctor" the plan has already slipped away into oblivion. "What did you do yesterday?" "Oh I forget." with apologising laugther. Kind and serene but getting rapidly lost within her mind.
As her caregiver is away for the month she has become more and more desorientated. Nobody can figure out what and how much she still eats. A 'ready-made meal' given to her ten days ago is still laying in the fridge, though she says she has enjoyed it and thank you very much. Sometimes I take her to lunch in our house, because in that way at least we know she eats. Thea of the diacony has prepared her a nice meal at the church a few days ago and gives her liquid meals to take home. But really, despite all efforts, we know she needs much more help than what we can provide. It is dangerous for her to be alone in this state. The church is concerned, and the church is her family. She has no other helpers in this city, now that her caregiver is on a journey.
I have taken her to the doctors office three times but the memory and awareness investigations have not even started yet. Are they interested? Yes, but the pressure from everywhereis high and the patients are many. Today, eventually, after a long proces of trying hard to get help for her, 'home-care' is promising to assess her situation. The hope is that eventually they will take over the day to day care, such as bringing her daily meals. This is a response of "Welzijn Scheveningen", the social worker there, to the question put to them. All other agencies involved remained vague and seem to pass the buck. But this social worker, Jan, said: "I will help, the indication and all other assessments can come later, we will help. Tomorrow I will send a nurse from "Respect" to you. That same nurse can also fight for an emergency admission in a care center if need be and if no-one else is doing that."
I am so grateful for that handful of people with large receptive souls!
From all the workers of the helping profession that I met in this proces many were adequate, but only few were really ready to listen and help.
It is 11 now. At 2 pm the nurse will arrive.
I have been calling my old friend since 8 am to make sure she stays at home. All the notices in her kitchen and on her table might not have been enough to remind her of the appointment today. In the past she has lost the pieces of paper that were supposed to help her remember. She puts them in her bag where they are safe, and where she will of course never read them again!
I am praying: please be home! Please answer the phone! Please open the door a 2 pm for us! There is no one at home but she herself. Alright it is 11 now. I will walk through Scheveningen, look into the church though today the Mass is only at 5 pm. Call her again. Ring her bell and hope for the best.
Wait in front of her door if need be, till the nurse arrives.
One more day and my new friend may be in a much safer place where a network of care is established.
Will be continued.

3pm: Yes! Thanks be to God! A nurse called Martine will see my old lady every day from now onwards. And help her with cooking and eating, to start with. Jan, the socialworker, will assist with her administration and money matters. She is a professional, this Martine, and she is kind.The safety net is going to be in place and mw Sum will be in good hands from now on.

The trip to France a reminder of another trip, as far back as 1978...

2011-06-02T10:02:00.003+02:00

Hi! Sending them again, since I dont know if they came through the first time! Love, Jeanne '. Thanks Jeanne!
Jeanne today sent some pictures of our trip through the Sahara desert in 1978. The pix are of how we eventually arrived, thorugh Spain, Moroco, Algiers, Niger and Burkino Fasso, into the holy family hospital in Berekum in Ghana!
Where Jeanne awaited us with a barbeque of a piglet ( that we still giggle about as it made its disappearance while we were out for a little while), a visit to the fetish priest and a visit to the palmwine tapper!
Again thank you Jeanne. This is serendipity, synchronicity!

Visiting my Brother

2011-06-02T09:46:00.000+02:00

It was twelve years since I last saw my brother. Too long, of course.
We lived in Africa, they still live in France. How to find time to meet, during the few weeks we are in Holland? Partly the reason that we didn't. Forgettting? Partly the reason, the longer we wait, the more we keep postponing. A few maux words followed by grudges and grumbling? More like it. Silence is not always the golden responseto a misunderstanding in life.
So as all the reasons for not meeting were rather false, we found it natural to plan to meet again. And we did! And it was lovely!
I am sorry,I said. It's alright he said.
How lovely to say these simple things.
And we laughed and felt good and drank a lot of wine...

As I get older, and back out of Africa, I get this new appreciation for family relations and a few close friends. It is natural it seems.
And how these little family relationships can transform the heart into a living thing and the face into a smile!
Not that our trip to my brother in France was so "little"!
We slept at his castle in Mariol, visited the castle of his daugther in Maulmont, took a plane ride into her husband's plane at Vichy and otherwised made a jet-set appearance!
But mostly what counted was the peace and joy regained.
Thank you, brother!

a cow on the wall

2011-05-15T15:19:00.002+02:00

Since yesterday we have a painting of a happy cow on the wall. A happy and watchful cow. A cow always on his toes and aways ready to produce milk from a pink little blob, in case our visitors need milk in their coffee.

The artist is a girl called Manuele. She produces artwork for Paspartoe, a sheltered workshop in Noordwijk.

Recently there was an exhibition of the best of the art from various workshops at a gallery in Noordwijk. Greetje had arranged that, together with the gallery holder and the staff and artists she works with.

At the opening, two weeks ago, both Ab and Jeanette and Bob and I were there and Greetje was the star of the show, with her artists of course!

I was immediately taken by the painting of the happy cow, could not keep my eyes of him. (Sorry. Her.)Had a conversation with Manuele about her work, as far as she wanted to engage in such a dialogue.

Well the day was a great success. Among others also jewelry made by our kids at the workshop in Nkoranza were sold.

It was only later that I inquiered with Greetje about the price of the cow painting. Oh, sorry above our budget for this month. We left it so and regretted not to have 'our cow'on 'our wall'! Helas.

Then a week later I went to visit Dorrit. "Come to the attic". I followed her. "Look!" I saw my cow! Oh wonderful, isn't it wonderful, did you buy it? "Yes, for you and Bob!"

Nooooooooooo! Reeeealyyyyyyyyy?

I went home in the train dancing and singing with my painting and at home in Scheveningen showed it to Bob.

My God. The painting! How on earth? I told him the story.

Now we have on our wall not only a happy cow but a perpetual reminder of the generosity of a friend called Dorrit!

Thank you Manuele, Greetje, Dorrit!

Sunny Days

2011-05-08T16:34:00.002+02:00

The days are amazingly warm for spring, this year.
The sun is shining all day and we can happily sit in our little frontyard.
To read our books and watch the people passing by.
Because of the nice weather ladies with dogs, joggers, young couples and families with little children pass, as well as all kind of foreign tourists. The Northsea is just behind our house.
We might as well hand out little preprinted maps!
For so many times during the day people stop to ask us the shortest way to the beach.
Or we might serve coffee and wine, and bowls of water for the manythirsthy dogs, and get rich and famous within a week!
But what we did yesterday was new!
A Japanese lady with a camera got apparently attracted (or flabbergasted) by the sight of us sitting with our books between the flowerpots.
She asked to take our picture.
For the sake of the tourist we even tried to look older, age-old, and more endearingly than we already do.

Two white haired old grinning people, sitting hand in hand.
With our "Wedgewood" old teapot, from my grandmother, showing on the gardentable.
Thus we make our own myth while spending the day lazily.
As long as the weather lasts and it doesnt rain we are content.

What the Liturgy according to Saint John Crysostos can do to Bob and me

2011-05-01T15:39:00.002+02:00

It is a bright Sunday morning and, as often, Bob accomponies me to my catholic church for Mass.
Wow, it had been announced and I had forgotten about it. A Byzantine Rite Mass celebrated by Fr Dolf, assisted by the Utrecht Byzantine choir!
Ever since I came in touch with the orthodox rites, as far back as 1982 in Chevetogne, later in Ethiopia while I worked there, and recently in Haifa where Bob an I walked into a Greek Orthodox Mass, I have loved this type of litugy, loved it for its power to draw my soul into the mystical realm, closer to God and closer to the essence of beauty and goodness.
As Mass goes on I get happy in a quiet way while I am drawn into the mystery of it. Were it not that I felt the unease of Bob.
"Liturgy according to St John Crysostom", says the little booklet given to us. From the corner of my eye I see Bob reading and re-reading that name.
"Bob, do you like this music?"
"I love it, supreme. Not John Crysostom, but the liturgy, beautiful. Like Wagner, the music is supreme, not the man. The man is a killer of our people."
After church we walk away in the sunshine and we talk more. Bob tells me how John Crysostom has apparently written beautiful sermons but also produced vicious antisemitic writings, which started the Jew hunt by the Catholic Church in the early days.
After lunch we google him up.

Wikipedia has nothing but good things about the figure. A saint, father of the early church, bishop of Constantinople, famous for his preachings. An ascetic and a brave man who withstood kings and emperors, specifically the then Empress who he publicly and repeatedly chastided for her exagerated lifestyle and cruelty. For which he was banned an died in exile. Not much on anti semitism at all. I'm relieved.

"Bob, nothing about massive antisemitism! Are you sure?"
Then we looked up what the Jewish Enceclopedia had to say:
"..Patriarch of Constantinople, one of the most celebrated of the Church Fathers, and the most eminent orator of the early Christian period; born in 347 at Antioch; died Sept. 14, 407, near Comana, in Pontus. ...Bishop of Constantinople. Having attacked the empress Eudoxia in his sermons, he was banished (403), but was recalled soon after, upon the unanimous demand of his congregation. He repeated his attacks upon the empress, and was again banished in 404, ...but he died while on the way. The name "Chrysostomus" ("golden-mouthed") is a title of honor conferred on this Church father only.... sermons are among the very best products of Christian rhetoric. ... Among his sermons, the "Orationes VIII. Adversus Judæos" deserve special notice, inasmuch as they mark a turning-point in anti-Jewish polemics.
While up to that time the Church aspired merely to attack the dogmas of Judaism, and did that in a manner intended only for the learned, with Chrysostom there began the endeavor, which eventually brought so much suffering upon the Jews, to prejudice the whole of Christendom against the latter, and to erect hitherto unknown barriers between Jews and Christians....It was the existing friendly intercourse between Jews and Christians which impelled Chrysostom to his furious attacks upon the former. "I invoke heaven and earth as witnesses against you if any one of you should go to attend the Feast of the Blowing of the Trumpets, or participate in the fasts, or the observance of the Sabbath, or observe an important or unimportant rite of the Jews, and I will be innocent of your blood"
Chrysostom further argues at length in his writings that Judaism has been overcome and displaced by Christianity.
But he is not satisfied with the derision of all things sacred to the Jews. He tries to convince his hearers that it is the duty of all Christians to hate the Jews, and declares it a sin for Christians to treat them with respect. (Read more: http://jewishencyclopedia.com)

So we both, Bob and I, have something new to think about. Insights to assimilate. Saint John Crysostom is a hero in the Christian tradition and an evil tongue who has cost countless of lives in Jewish history.
"I've never learned that he was brave, and good to the poor", said Bob today, in defense of Crysostom. "I never quite realise yet how much an evil tongue can do more harm than a gun", I said. And I mean it.
I could now talk further about the damage that a figure like Geert Wilders does in inter religious relationships. But that most people would agree with.
It is about controlling my own tongue. And my negative thinking.
That's the insight for today. Thank you for that, Utrecht choir and Father Dolf, and all who made this morning go so well. Always somehting new!

Christmas and Easter United

2011-04-10T14:59:00.001+02:00

It is not yet Easter.
But the sunny spring weather, the flowers in the grass, the blossoms in the trees, they all indicate that Easter is nearing with rapid steps.
With the garden doors open and the sun streaming in, I put the big festive box from the Anthonius Abt Church on our table.
Bob and I, with shining faces like children, take the Christmas wrappings off the box and open it solemnly.
Aaaah!! Oooohhh!
Marshmallows! A bottle of red wine, a bottle of white wine! Sausages and cheeses! Juice, all kind of goodies, chocolates. Toiletries and a dressinggown of wintery rich velvet!
A card:
The pastor and church-comittee thank you for your voluntary work. Happy and Blessed Christmas.
Blessed be the poor and simple of spirit!
But blessed be the 'rich' as well! Those who live in Holland when the climate is pleasant and run away to warm Ghana when winter is approaching!
We skip the snow and the cold, we gain the warmth (in more than one way) of our community in Ghana.
And on top, during Easter, we receive a Christmas present left over from the cold Dutch winter in Holland.
While evening came and darkness fell a few days ago, I sat in my luxury dressing gown at the table and we got intoxicated by the rich wine and the kindness that life shows to us.
Thank you Antonius Abt!

Home

2011-03-25T16:46:00.001+01:00

And now we are home, home in Holland.
Gone, to the background, all the travelling and all the transitions.
For most of this year we will be home here in this house near the seaside.
Regulating the heat in the house.
And on to the dentist for Bob, finally.
Taxes to be filed.
Volunteerwork with the church resumed.
A new life book in the pipeline, weekly intervieuws have begun.
The sun shines, that is the main thing in Holland, the main topic and the main criteria for feeling well or not so well.
I feel that too so I must be home indeed.
Our arrival so much more grounded as compared to last year.
Gone the trembles and the fears!
Home nice and easy.

The story of the disabled angels

2011-03-12T16:33:00.002+01:00

Travelling between Ghana, Holland and America makes me sometimes crave and cringe for home.... 'Let's go home'I say.
'You are home', Bob answers.
It often goes like that, on and on, in a vicious circle or at most in a slow spiral of understanding.
Off late, since leaving Ghana, I have had a number of those 'let's go home' episodes again.
So Bob told me a story:
There are angels who have children and some of these children do not fit in paradise.
It may be a disability, some kind a characteristic that makes them unfit to live in heaven.
If that happens the parent- angels weep and consult each other on what to do.
Eventually such a disbabled angel child is placed with fosterparents on the planet earth.
With great concern the angelic community watches such a child but always they do well.
They just dont always feel so well inside themselves. They keep craving for a mysterious long forgotten home they miss.
Every now and then the craving becomes more acute, till the whole angelic population high above has washed away the tears of the courageous angel-child down on earth and she can move again.
You are such an angel, an angel with a disability.
They have no place for angels with a temper up there, but here... they do fantastic works! They just don't always feel so well.
That's why you crave for home at times. I understand. But your parents and all the angels are watching you and consoling you and urging you on.
Do you know that?
No, I did not know that.
Are you too such an angel?
Ah well no.... only you, my angel!

chagall

2011-03-03T17:27:00.001+01:00

With my dear sister Lynda, my sweet sister Lynda, I have spent today at Chicago's Art Institute. We were together, arms around one another. With Chagall and Mondriaan and Rouault, with sunshine and frost and light, lots of light. Lots of love too. My best day here in Chicago.

2011-02-23T13:10:00.000+01:00

Recently I found the text below, which I wrote as far back as 2004.
The words are no longer applicable!
Someone else did take charge and we are free!
Thank you Ab and Jeanette!

Is there not someone to take charge

After a sleepless night
I was crying softly
Hide me, keep me sheltered from today
He cradled me and held me tight
The pressures are too much
Responsibilities forgetfulness
I’m boss, I’m scared, I’m losing grip
I’m stuck and out of touch
I’m old, I can no longer cope
Find a hand to help me please
Is there not someone to take charge
I’m stiff and tight a worn out knotted rope

My old lover held my eyes
And shined some light in me
Someone will come, he said
Someone will come and set us free

And then we take that boat and sail
With all our children dance and fly
Into our own, our wondrous soft eternity!

Valentine's day smiles

2011-02-14T12:45:00.002+01:00

Young Bright and Nana Bright

2011-02-12T16:51:00.003+01:00

Today I went to Bredie number 2, a small village not far from Nkoranza with a big fetish shrine. I knew the old fetish priest there from my days that I was the only doctor in Nkoranza and had done surgery on his son. This was apparently as far back as 1985, the new fetish priest, Nana Bright, told me this morning. With big laughter he showed me the scar of the operation as proof that he himself followed his father in this spiritual profession, after the old man died. Out of the 82 sons, from his fathers 14 wives, he was chosen to be the successor. He was called back from England where he then lived to become the new 'Akomfo Nana Bright Adyei'.
I was there this morning with a friend from Holland and two of our children, Bright and Kwame Evans. This was on the advise of Charity, who assured me that those two children would enjoy the occasion and not be afraid of a fetish priest. That Bright even seemed to know him. (Bright is so socially gifted that he knows almost all people in town and in the surrounding villages!)
We had a nice and interesting morning, were shown around to the shrines of the five little gods who are living there and empowering the priest in his work. Five gods each with their field of specialty. He told us about the numbers of people coming for consultation, where the apprentices come from and all kind of candid information.
But the story that really amazed me was told at the very end of our visit, while we were relaxing and laughing with the priest, elders and family in the house.
How did the fetishpriest know our Bright?
One day there was a grand durbar where all the chiefs and sub-chiefs and fetish priests big and small were assembled. A number of years ago, maybe ten years. The Ashantehene, the most important chief (traditional king) of Ghana was visitng them during that occasion.
While they all formed a large circle on the durbar grounds in the centre of town, our (then little) Bright came running out of the audience and run straight into the arms of the fetishpriest who was unknown to him. Bright embraced the big Nana Bright and told him,
'Wonderful, beautiful, you are a good man, you are a nice man!'

The event had been remarkable and the Ashantehene had seen the little boy with Down syndroom embracing the fetish priest and had later asked what exactly had happened. Ashantehene was told of the spontanious admiration of the small boy for the big unknown priest and had then gone to the fetishpriest and given him his admiration as well.
'Out of the mouth of babes you hear the truth!'
A blessing of Akomfo Bright Adyei by both our boy Bright and the Ashantehe.
And another amazing thing is that both the young boy and the traditional healer are calledby the same name, Bright.

Bright did not understand the story this morning, (of which he was the author,) but he beamed and danced around from pure joy, after once more embracing the same fetishpriest and again saying
'You are fine,wonderful,my father!'
As far as I know Bright does not fake it, never!
So as Bright got yet another 'father' I got yet another husband,this morning. For Bright's friends are my friends!

Oh and Bob will be delighted!

Uncle George, a local hero

2011-02-05T12:01:00.001+01:00

Yesterday I took Bright and Kwame Evans on ´memory lane´ to Jerusalem, a village close to Nkoranza. With Sister Susie of course, my friend the staunch catholic nurse from St Theresa hospital, who I have been working with since 1983, and who often goes on pilgrimage to 'her Jerusalem' and has often urged me to come along.
Friday morning she commanded me 'Come! it is first friday, so come!'
And I came. Through the dust and the heat.
We walked for almost three hours, from one holy site to the next, and then we attended a long open air Mass. It was 2 in the afternoon before we could buy some food for the kids,who never complained.
They were more than happy, they were in awe. Devout! Dancing afterwards! No complaints about tiredness and hunger!
One of the reasons why I love Ghana-kids so much more than the usually overly pampered Western kids is that in Africa they have kept their sense of awe in life. Not that western kids can help it... it is a by product of present day western society, but anyway...

What is this little bushvillage of Jerusalem about?
It was in 1960 that a worshipper, George, loudly and proudly played the drums. During a Christmas celebration and in the first catholic chapel in traditional animist Nkoranza.
That year the forty days before the annual traditional fetish feast coincided with Christmas. During those forty days the local gods are asleep and all needs to be done to guarantee them their rest. It is forbidden to make loud music and playing drums at that time is a complete ´no no´.
So George was accused with disturbing the sleep of the gods and was brought in front of the traditional court. His punishment was a verdict of exile into the sacred forest of Mpem, nearby Nkoranza. Everyone at that time knew that once exiled into that forest one would certainly die. The spirits would simply get you and kill you spiritually.
George survived and so the traditionalists got worried and sacrificed a cow to the gods, notably the little mean god Ntoa who reigns our region, to be sure to kill George. A second time George returned and now fire was set around the whole forest, from all sides, to help the gods to destroy George. Miraculously he survived again and took his wife and family to settle near the Mpem forest. By that time George was called 'Uncle George' and the place where they resettled was called Jerusalem. Uncle George had visions in many places around Jerusalem and now all these places have been indicated with a low wall around them and a statue to display the type of vision George had. The visions coincide for a great part with the catholic stations of the Cross.
By now, 20 years after I first visited the place and was shown around by Uncle George himself who has now died, the site has become a pilgrimage site. Each first friday of the month a priest comes from somewhere to celebrate mass,and crowds of sick or unfertile or otherwise afflicted people go round praying and supplicating at the holy sites, followed by them all joining mass in a half way completed large structure.

To understand some of the attraction of this place is to understand some of the fear for witchcraft and the power of the local gods and specially the evil ones near and around Nkoranza. George was and is a local hero, he has slain the dragon! By the way the same dragon, the same irrational beliefs, that killed so may of our ´water children´, our disabled kids.
So Uncle George is by the way my hero too!

Children in Love

2011-01-29T12:30:00.002+01:00

Now I know it for sure.
Here, in our community, a beautiful love story is developing.
Pure as can be, children in love!
Two weeks ago, right under my nose because each of them sat on one of my knees, Emanuelle and Kwaku Chairman leaned forwards towards one another and embraced. Emanuelle starry eyed and shyly smiling. Kwaku with tender arms outstretched and hands that played with her hair.
A miracle!
A few days later I heard that Kwaku woke up in the siesta room, took Emanuelle on his shoulder and walked away, to sit separately with her and make a nice private conversation.
Yesterday I sat on the edge of the pool again. Emanuelle called me 'Ineke, come!' She wanted to sit on my knee as before and I allowed her.
And who came all the way out of nowhere? Kwaku Chairman!
This time with a small plastic bag with porridge inside. Kwaku climbed on my other knee and without further ado put the plastic bag with porridge into Emanuelle's mouth. Eat!
Emanuelle just as starry eyed as before, if not more!
Shy, charming, seducing and alltogether lovely, those too!
The miracle happend twice so it is no real miracle again, it has become a habit.
The miracle and the ordinary-ness of first love!
Two children in love with one another.
Something so pure and beautiful that you can dream about it, on a cold and lonely day, to get the zest for life back again if you need to!
Ah our beautiful children!

Emanuelle understands a million things more than I could guess

2011-01-24T17:21:00.001+01:00

After that embrace between Emanuelle and Kwaku Chairman, which I described a few days ago, I have been especially curious about those two children. How to be curious but not appear nosy? Fate helped me.
Sundaynight after supper Mamma Joyce, who is the caregiver of Emmanuelle, adressed the other caregivers. "Please, all of you, never fall asleep or take your task less than seriously if it is your turn to supervise the siesta room!"
This morning I had a chance to ask her what she meant with her advise to the caregivers, had anything happened?
Yes! Kwaku Chairman had picked up Emanuella, carried her on his one shoulder, walked her out of the siesta room and had put her down somewhere to play with her!
No, Emanuelle was not really scared, because she trusts Kwaku Chairman like few other children, but she had been afraid to fall from his shoulder and had cried a little fear. Then they had played together, till Joyce found out what happened and brought the kids in safety.
'Has Emanuelle ever mentioned her having no limbs?'
'Yes. Even en few days ago little Kwabena had beaten her in the siesta room and she had cried for the help of a caregiver. Why don't you defend yourself, Emanuella? 'Because me, I have no arms to fight with!'
Joyce had cried when she heard it.
Was that the first time Emanuelle mentioned this?
'No. Two months ago, in the night, in bed, she asked me why she has no arms and no legs?' And Joyce had been speechless then, and wept till she slept. The child did not weep, it was the mother who wept.
Even as Joyce was telling me she had wet eyes again.
'Is it true, Joyce, that Emanuelle wants to be a doctor when she is grown?'
'Yes. But last week she mentioned to Emanuel coordinator that she wants to be a newsreader on the TV instead!'
But that is quite possible! We both laughed as we admired the idea!
She has a good voice and she is quite a personality already!
That is so clever from that girl, she has been thinking and observing people and situations, included her own.
And suddenly she has seen a rolemodel that is achievable by her!
Let her go for it! Everyone will help. The whole world will help!
All Ghana will help! If only she will keep her courage and the vision.

Tenderness and pride.

2011-01-20T12:35:00.004+01:00

It was pool-hour, yesterday afternoon, and as I was a bit bored and had nothing to do, I went to sit at the edge of the pool to enjoy the sight of the children playing in the water.
Emmanuelle was laying as usual where the water was shallow and she was calling me, 'Ineke, Ineke'. And louder, 'Maame'. Finally I heard her and called back, 'Emanuelle, how are you?'
It happened that she wanted to sit on my lap and so I lifted her out of the water and on to my one knee. I started to sing a song and she joined in and danced on my lap. Nice enough as it was, but what happened next?
Suddenly Kwaku Chairman, the autistic 7 year old boy I am playing with this week, climbed on my other knee and grimaced like an emperor after his conquest!
Emanuelle had made my left side wet, Chairman soaked my right side with his wet small body pressed against mine.
I felt the closest thing to how a grandmother feels. Not so sure what they feel, grandmothers, but the feeling must have come pretty close, tenderness and pride.
But that was only the opening phase of a next development, which made me sit absolutely still and breathless with awe.
Emmanuelle turned her attention from me to Kwaku Chairman and before I knew how it happeend she had laid her beautiful face against his chest, right before me and in a precarious equilibrium on my knees.
Emmanuelle has no arms and her leaning into Kwaku was a definite act of surrender. If Kwaku had not accepted her, she would have tumbled forward into the pool.
But he did accept her, he leaned into her for the sake of counter-balance, and with his two hands he started caressing her hair and scrutinizing it for lice. People often do that as a sign of affection and indeed it is a wonderful feeling to be touched on the scalp like that, a thourough head massage!
I had never known that Kwaku was capable of such an act of tenderness and moreover I had no idea that Emanuelle had such a confidence in Kwaku as to give herself to that extent...
Emmanuelle is rather standoffish and is choosy in giving and receiving affection. You may say she is also spoiled! She looks down on all the kids, as far as I know, who have a mental disability and only allows the intelligent ones to get close to her!
Such an act of surrender!
I sat absolutely frozens still for the full half hour it lasted.
Spirit elated and muscles aching and all.

Salamata and Araba

2011-01-10T12:10:00.002+01:00

It was a most peaceful weekend the way it was, but Sala's visit on Sunday afternoon made it a weekend to savour and to store for keeping sake!
Salamata arrived as an 18 year old girl at the community when in 1999 we needed a caregiver for Araba and Nana Yaw. I remember up till now the intervieuw we had with Sala. And we laughed about it yesterday.
"Can you live here and look after a paralysed girl? And a boy who is wild and does not talk and smells and steals food for over a mile away if he finds out about it? Who likes to be naked and hide in his room but can suddenly jump in your lap when you least expect it?"
Yes!"
"Do you know how to cook and clean also?"
"Yes!"
"So you can do anything, everything?"
"Yes"
"Like you can paint also? And drive a car?"
"Yes I will learn!"
She was so young, so enthousiastic and so eager to get away from her room in town, where she lived with seven people of her own tribe and a perpetual fight among them.
Sala stayed with us for over five years, she was one of the best caregivers we ever had.
Then one day her mother showed up and told Sala to marry at once, as there were younger sisters after her who could not marry unless she did first. And the name of the family was at stake, of course, because of Sala being unmarried... and they had found a husband for her already...
That was agony for Salamata but she left us and started 'a life'.
However she did not marry the one that was in the pipeline for her. Rather she decided to learn a trade instead and became one of the apprentices of a baker in the neighbouring Techiman. She was adament to be financially independent in case a marriage would fail and having a trade would guarantee her that independence.
Her mother had left her without any schooling at all, in fact she was given as a 'girl-servant' to an aunt right after her birth. Her mother dropped her there as she continued her course through life from here to there, from one husband to another and with many children in a similar situation, fatherless.
In fact Sala has a father but the wife of the father does not accept her as a dependent.
All life-experience has been a lesson for Sala to 'be different', to mistrust men en women alike and to become independent. All her life she has vowed not to make the same mistakes as her mother.
Till now she hasn't.
But it was not easy to refuse the first husband, a teacher who she did not trust at all. The family who anyway never cared for her much, turned further against her. She had to face life alone. She had her room and her day and night job as an apprentice baker but she had to stay an apprentice for ever it seemed, while the baker used her as unpaid labor. (Just like her aunt had done when she was a young girl servant.) To set up her own bakery in Techiman was overwhelmingly difficult. She tried once with help from outside but she failed. The market was already monopolized by other bakers like her former boss. She started trading in shoes instead.
Now in this branch she has reached somewhere, has her own kiosk and her own trade with a steady though minimal income. Sala is accomplished!
But now Sala has to face, at the age of 31, the continued need to find herself a good husband. How do you find a good husband in Ghana, she asks herself. Everybody is cheating, everybody is telling stories, everybody is out to get you.
'Through the church?', I asked?
The church too is out to get you, money,money,money, all about money.
What Sala would really have wanted is to remain an independent woman. To have a profession and remain alone. If only she had had schooling she could have gone into nursing, or teaching, and at the age of sixty she would have received a small pension. Decent enough to live on while remaining single, her own boss and her own person, keeping her calm, her own kind of happiness. But once she is uneducated, only a trader, she will need a husband and children to cater for herself in her old age.
Understood. What a dilemma, what few choices in her life.
'Who is close to you? With whom can you talk about your problems?'
"Nobody."
"Nobody? Nobody in the past too? Surely there was a friend, a rolemodel?"
"No, except Araba!"
Sala then started radiating and talked faster and with pride and pleasure about the paralysed girl that she looked after while caregiver at our PCC Hand in Hand Community.
Araba with her cerebral palsy, who was couragious, who had a more than normal intelligence, who had such sense of humor, so much laughter, such situations! With her Papa Bob, who loved her and did all kind of funny plays and games with her, like playing jazz together most seriously, with the help of a record of Chet Baker or the like.
How Araba developed liver-cirrhosis and started bleeding from her stomach, the admissions at the university hospital in Kumasi, all the medical situations, always courageous. Always trying to smile.
Her bleedings in Nkoranza, later. The change of the color and texture of her hair, her premature wisdom and maturity. How she eventually died at the age of... of what? 14?
Wise, peaceful, beautiful.
A rolemodel for others. A rolemodel for Salamata as it turned out!

The frustrations of Salamata's difficult life suddenly faded with the beautiful memories of Araba!
Our community with its special children and special spirit, specifically Araba, has provided the most meaning so far in Sala's life!
Remember that, Ineke, the sheer inspiration of this beautiful place. In the eyes of unexpected persons as Salamata as well!

Newyears Eve

2010-12-31T13:10:00.002+01:00

The old year was thrown into our traditional bonfire to burn away, as we danced around it, with 80 children and 40 or so caregivers and visitors.
What a way to live! How happy we are to be back here, especially during these festive days!
Also looking forward to the normal days to return, after 10 days of celebrations, for whatever we need, the kids need structure most of all.

Baptism of the Newcomers

2010-12-29T10:58:00.000+01:00

The Day of Games

2010-12-28T11:17:00.000+01:00

Football match, daycare one against daycare two (1-1)

And the popular poolgames to cool off.

New Pyamas

2010-12-27T11:13:00.001+01:00

See the kids in their all African new pyamas! Thanks to a gift, of course.

Christmasplay, the day after Christmas

2010-12-26T11:49:00.000+01:00

The shepherds watch their sheep (above)

The court of King Herod with the queenmother, second wife and chief linguist (below)

Christmas day

2010-12-25T11:53:00.001+01:00

Lisa in her new Christmas dress

Father Christmas (Daniel) with assistant Santa Klaus (Bright)

Christmas Eve

2010-12-24T22:01:00.003+01:00

Charity hangs the Christmas decorations in the restaurant

The first Christmas party, grandpa and grandma are also present!

The Fra Fra dancers with their energetic show

Almost like a volunteer

2010-12-17T13:27:00.001+01:00

For a week now I have spent two hours a week doing volunteerwork with the kids.

Only two hours, but still. Next week Ema will give me two more kids to play with and so on, till we leave.

With Philo I had no problem filling the time. She is not interested to learn, why should she, and so the matchting of the name of a color with the color of a pencil, or counting one two five, did not mean anything to her, it bored her. Come on, let us go to business of playing together, she seemed to urge me on.

Showing off with her çatch' and loudly calling the attention of caregivers who would pass by with her 'hey' to them, smiling proudly and winking them to come nearby and see us play. The caregiverswould do according to her wishes and say: ‘Oh Philo, are you learning with mamma?’ and then Philo would be satisfied. Till the next one passes by.

We did have fun together, not with learning lessons but with singing, dancing and interacting together. Interacting with for example the help of the color book. This means that she puts a scratch in the book and then I put a scratch, and when I am not quick enough I get this ‘hey’ indignant warning sign and furious looks. She is possessive? No....!!!

It was fun with Philo and she made me feel ten years younger.

Spending an hour with Cynthia is another matter. Cynthia loves her routine and don’t you dare come between her and her daily schedule. Rightly so of course, that is why structure was built in, almost religiously, into the PCC daily activities. I go to Cynthia while she sits at the autistic table at the workshop and sit beside her. Cynthia, like all the others, are encouraged to put large beads on a rope (door curtains) between 9 and 10. She sits there silently on her bench around the table, with a needle in her one hand and a bead in her other hand, usually half asleep or as if absorbed into some inner vision.
Afia, Balloo, Yaw Hillal, Marielle and Boadu also sit around the table, usually equally or more frozen than Cynthia.
Regina roams around and tries to almost creep into the caregivers arms as if to creep back into the womb.
Yaayaa and Peace are asleep on the mattress. Despite the efforts of the caregivers and volunteers present the atmosphere is almost as if in a still painting.
I arrive into this still painting and greet them all and sit down beside Cynthia. My invitations to her to get up and go outside for a walk have already been ignored so I do not suggest it anymore. As I said she loves her routine. And this is the time to sit at the table.
So I sit beside her and call her name gently many times. Sometimes she winks, sometimes there is a grimace as if the sound of her name pains her. Sometimes I call the other kids in between, to make my special attention to Cynthia somehow more available to the others as well, but usually only Balloo responds. He responds with his great sentence ‘Eh, eh, eh!’. Yaw Hillal is the only one who actually talks and sometimes he is willing, but apparently at great personal cost, to tell me the food he likes to eat. Otherwise silence in the hall. Some talking between the caregivers themselves and sometimes similar attempts from them to the kids.
What works with Cynthia is massaging the center of her scalp, she loves it. So I sit for an hour massaging her scalp with one hand while helping her put the beads on the needle with the other hand. I have now done that for five days and it was nice and… humbling!

Sometimes I see Baffo passing purposefully with a checkbook, or Paul with his laptop and his smile and I remember how it was to organize and lead, and tell others to please do this and that. Especially at the autistic hall, with the most vulnerable kids.
Now I am sitting there myself and see how fast I dream away and get bored. How hard it really is.
I am glad and very curious about which kids I can play with next week. Ema keeps me in suspense till next Monday morning but my first week as a volunteer is over.

I am younger and humbler for it.

Home again in Ghana

2010-12-10T12:59:00.001+01:00

It took about a week to fully feel ‘returned’ to Ghana’. That long, but it was worth the working through and waiting for.

A real warm welcome home in Nkoranza, where we arrived at 4 oçlock last Saturday. It was pool time and when the staff and kids saw us driving inside the compound, they raced out of the pool and into our arms, wet bodies and all. So warm! Everything about PCC so warm!
What was unexpectedly stark? To meet again with poverty. Portrayed among others in the condition of our protege Sunday. He is suffering from a very bad cellulitis of his left foot, which started with a neglected pinprick two weeks ago. Sunday is a diabetic. Bob and I send him through school and in return he look after our dog. The dog looks beautiful but Sunday looks ill and desolate. He was hospitalised for some time, cannot go to school anymore, may need a skingraft when the wound is clean. In short it messes up his whole young life. That’s how delicate the balance of wellbeing is for most people in Africa.
Many other inner movements that made me initially shadowy instead of happy, after arriving here. The fact that once again I have to face building up an ‘unemployed life’ after succeeding rather well but at considerable cost in Holland. I miss my volunteer work in Holland and our new and old friends! Now to start volunteer work in Ghana? Yes, I will dosome little volunteerwork with the children. But how do I do that, playing with children? Do I know how to play? And
i want to write but can I write as I want? Can I fill my days visiting and reading?
Trust but also doubts, they go hand in hand.
Next week I start my 2 hours special attention work with the kids, it should be fun, even and exactly for someone like me who hardly knows how to play herself!
As I said during the last week, with the unpacking and settling in our new house, the meeting and talking with people and especially the holding hands of the children, the reconnnection with the sweet life here has reoccured. Yes we are now home again.
PCC looks awesome and wonderful! The compound is neat, the children are fat, the caregivers smile and laugh, there are new buildings arising everywhere and we meet appreciative visitors. It is a blessing! And what great relief to go around at the sheltered workshop and everywhere else, in the hospital also, and know that I no longer have to solve problems and feel responsible. What an inmense new freedom, such a big hurray for that renewed sense of liberation.
The filling in of the details of a new lifestyle in Ghana too will work out. I am confident again.
Welcome home therefore to ourselves, us the strangers (as the people here called us after nine months away). Strangers no more or strangers everywhere, who knows. But for the time being very contented again.

Santaklaus and Black Peter and oh oh the snow!

2010-12-01T17:33:00.003+01:00

Snow on 30 november 2010, too early, too cold, too vicious a northern wind. But we love the blanket of snow once we are safely at home and can view it from our window. Time for wine, candles and awesome conversations...

On the first of december, a day before flying, we went to 'Kommunika center to ENJOY the Sinterklaas party there and give my lifebook to Gre and Teun of Scheveningen, who were there as well. How nice to give them their lifebook through Santaklaus!

The Santaklaus party with the kids was also so very moving! See the pictures above

Tomorrow, Ghana!

37 degrees.and oh to meet our gentle people!

Getting ready

2010-11-28T21:10:00.000+01:00

Three more days and we will be off to Ghana. A good thing for it is really getting too cold for comfort here in Holland. So it is farewell- and packing time. In one corner of our house a pile of 'things to pack' is rising steadily. Mosquito repellents, strings of christmaslights, tee-shirts, balloons, nice perfumes for the caregivers, books and books again, so many books. Balls, three large balls for our kids, given by the diacony of my church. All ready to be packed to land, with us, in Ghana, this coming thursday.
Mixed feelings. Regrets of having to go from here as well as happy anticipation of arriving there.
With the packing comes looking back at this episode. Reminiscing about how it was, being in Holland after so many years away. Elation and loneliness, both in equal measures. As expected.
Today my Cuban friend Emilio, who now lives in Chicago, and I talked a long while over the phone.
We talked about love. I from my side told him about the major developments in the relationship between Bob and I, during the nine months we lived together here, in this small apartment away from our ordinary busy life in Ghana. It could have gone either way, putting ourselves in the same room for nine months, but miraculously our relationship blossomed and made us soft with new love for one another. I gave him this example. Bob is the cook in the house and every night he fries potatoes with the rest of the meal. He is very proud of his cooking and I...really enjoy eating. The last two days we were invited out and both times we enjoyed delicious meals, awesome meals. With golden potatoes smelling faintly of the quality butter they were fried in, so tasty. The days before, and toninght also, Bob's potatoes. (Somewhat dry and quite blackened. I even know how this happens, too high a fire and not enough butter).
And I told Emilio truthfully that I actually love Bob's burned potatoes better then those beautiful ones of the last two days. That the succesful potatoes even make me slightly uncomfortable as I think Bob is the best cook and that is all there is to it. I made Emilio laugh because he knows I am dead serious about defending Bob's potatoes as the very best, regardless the actual taste. Hmm. Just one story about how we have grown together over the last few months.Now back to the country where...there are no potatoes so noone can outdo Bob, the guy I love.

Innocencia

2010-11-18T13:05:00.001+01:00

Mondaymorning we received a phone call to inform us that Inno had died. Four days admitted in the hospital ,with an unknown condition involving ascites, after which she died peacefully on Sundaynight.
Inno is one of the firstcomers among the children admitted at PCC-Hand in Hand community.
I remember that, when Bob and I had our wedding festivities in Ghana as far back as 1997, Inno was sitting there proudly in her wheelchair, in a beautiful white silk dress. Araba sat at her one side, Kojo Evans, John and Kofi Asare stood behind her, and Nana Yaw was at her other side. A pioneer, Innocencia!
During the first five years with us, she went through hard times, though not as hard as before her arrival at PCC. (Of which we can only guess. She was found deserted in a parked trainwagon. What happened before that fatal day? At the orphanage where she was initially brought, she was grossly neglected.)
Innocencia was a girl with severe cerebral palsy, epilepsy and mental retardation.
Mostly she was withdrawn into some inner world we did not know of, but when she was frustrated, which was often, she would rock her chair and bang her head to the extent that she would fall from her chair on the ground. Which she repeatedly did, especialy in the beginning of her stay at PCC. The caregivers were afraid of her and changed in rapid succession, one after another. Noone really wanted to look after Inno and if the supervisors (me) were away for some time she could sometimes be found laying naked on the concrete floor, crying and banging her head. Ugly. Poverty is ugly and spiritual and social poverty is of the ugliest type. People still would see the 'demon' in her where they had given up such beliefs with other, more attractive, children some time ago.
It was only when Joyce came in 2002 (I believe) that we found a caring and mature caregiver for Inno. After the dismissal of the last bad caregiver we placed Inno in one of the round huts right at the center of the community, so as to better keep an eye on her, and Auntie Joyce who stayed with her helped her gradually get some sense of acceptance and love. Her increased welbeing became slowly evident from small signs. The banging of her head and uncontrolled epipleptic fits were less frequent and more subdued, and the corners of her mouth were no longer so much pulled downwards as if she was in a perpetual state of weeping. Joyce taught Inno how to sing and how to laugh. Joyce would carry her each morning from the bed into the bathroom for a bath and then into her wheelchair for breakfast. She would join the early morning physeo activities and have an extensive daycare programme worked out for her. Volunteers would give her that extra bit of attention that she craved for. During parties in the evening she became one of the regular stars and after singing her one or two special songs she would smile wonderfully like a diva while receiving the applause of the group.

When I reflect on the children that died before her, I hesitate.
Araba left like a grown woman, alltogether awesome of spirit.
Nana Yaw left like a 'nature-boy', like a Mogli of Junglebook.
Francis left like an angel.
But Inno, how did Inno leave us? Mother Courage, I've got it.
Thank you, Mother Courage Innocencia, you are the strongest and humblest of us all.
Fare you well.

Auntie Joyce, the masterful caregiver of Innocencia, here with Emmanuelle and John.

The first day of wintertime

2010-10-31T16:29:00.003+01:00

Today lasts one hour longer then all other days of the year. That is the reason that I think I have all the time in the world, an extra hour, to write an entry into my blog. Not that I am so busy, and to be honest I get nervous with people who let each other know about their full agendas, but all the same the days are over before you know it. And one friend chastised me about talking about my full agenda myself!
Well we are off to Ghana in about four weeks and that means that the round of friends who we are going to say goodbye to has started again so it does get busy this coming month.
Anyway. This morning I attended a gorgeous churchservice for 'all souls' at the Ant Abt church in Scheveningen. My church and this morning I really felt it to be my church. A homecoming experience. The singing was so beautiful, haunting almost, requiem music by Mozart and Faure among others. For each person who had died during the year a candle was lit up and their name was read out loud.
The church was filled up, that also adds to the full experience.

Unfortunately I had to leave early, because Bob and I were to attend a midday concert in Scheveningen. Which was much less inspired!

It was also national museum-day today, so after the concert we saw the exhibition in two musea in Scheveningen. At the last one, Beelden aan Zee, there was so much inspired stuff on exhibit that we forgot the cold experience of the concert and closed our 'out-day' hppay again. An exhibition called 'Unwanted Land' was intense but what I really liked seeing was the work of Henri Gaudier- Brzeska, a French/British sculptur of around the turn of the century. Because I will not even try to describe what we saw I add one or two pictures of his work from the internet. Hopefully not illegal.

That's it for today, happy winter time to all who read this. Whatever that means, something to say!

'reclyning figure''hope'

'hands'

On a bench in a parc

2010-10-23T08:58:00.004+02:00

Yesterday we sat on a parc bench wrapped in sweaters and coats, with a low october-sun shining almost horizontally into our faces. People strolling by in front of us. Further away a bunch of ducks swimming in the canal. We felt contented. It was a mild autumn day and the leaves of the trees had turned to gold.
Carefully we caressed each others faces and traced with our fingers the lines that time had engraved into our skin. We pecked at each others lips and then traced our wrinkles again with gentle hands.
Who thinks caressing and petting belongs exclusively to the young?
It must be many who secretly think so! For the people who passed us by, with their dogs and their little children, would almost without exception stand still a moment, look at us and smile before they resumed their walk.
Golden leaves. The beauty of it. The tenderness and the smiles. Caressing fingers. For everyone. For you, for me, for ducks, dogs and little children, even, such moments of tendernes.

Compassion

2010-10-19T10:56:00.000+02:00

I ask for mercy
For the times
I saw colorless shadows
Where living people were
May pain not prevent me
From carefully looking
Outside myself
Into the beauty of people
Who pass my way

Hold me up with strong hands
And lift me high
Send your spirit in my heart
So I can see with your eyes
If mine do not see so well
Raise me up on your mighty shoulders
If myself I cannot reach that high
God, have mercy on me
Rebirth me from the ashes of despondency
Lift me up out of the pain that shrinks me
And grant me a new view in life
Lord, have mercy

Uprooted, the other side of it

2010-10-14T13:08:00.000+02:00

This is the text that Bob was reading to me this morning.
It reveals another side to the process of uprooting which we both experience these days.

When a person is uprooted from his habitual environment... there come to light certain traits of his inner character as they are in their purity, undistorted by the expectations of society. Often, these traits reveal the hidden good in this person, of which perhaps even he himself had been unaware, because they were hidden under the layers of “manners” and social conventions. Fortunate is the person who does not allow these traits to disappear when he subsequently settles down and finds tranquility.

- From a 1944 letter by the Lubvitcher Rebbe, recalling his days as a refugee in Vichy France

A Life Book completed

2010-09-27T16:39:00.002+02:00

Since June I have been writing a first lifebook and I am about to complete the process. This morning I went for my last visit to Teun and Gre Hofland, who live very close to us and whose life stories I have been listening to and have put into writing. It is a difficult process but it gives a very good feeling to eventually formulate the story on paper, let the people proofread the concept and get an enthousiastic feedback. I received such enthousiasm this morning! It was also the last cup of coffee that we shared, at least for the time being. What is left now is to transfer the book into pdf file and make it ready for the printer.
(There is a 'foundation life-book' in The Hague, where volunteers like me are trained and guided to help people, especially but not only senior citizens, to tell their lifestory and make it available to others in bookform. A great volunteering concept, i think.)
What happened while this morning I walked, for the last time, to their house? Some woman walking her dog saw me and starting waving and shouting 'How are you?' and 'You look so young and slim!'
I did not recognise the woman and when we came closer to eachother she became flustered and apologised, she had mistaken me for someone else. 'I thought you were Gre Hofland', she said. I was very surprised for that was the one I was heading to, and very disgusted for Gre is well into her eigthies and I am 65.
I told the woman about my 'life-book interactions' with Gre and Teun, over the course of the last three months, and joked that I had heard so much of her story that maybe I was turning a little bit into Gre Hofland myself...

I will miss the monday-morning intervieuws, the coffee and the cookies. I will miss the long afternoons and evenings writing and editing the story. It is done. What is left is waiting for the end product and hand that over to Gre and Teun. And witness the smile of their satisfaction. And with that my own smile.

A green Card for Holland

2010-09-19T16:45:00.000+02:00

Since four days it is a fact. Bob has received a green card for living in The Netherlands. We are happy and relieved.
Initially the Immigration and Naturalisation Department had hesitations because of questions around the validity of our marriage certificate.
We married in Ghana and our papers are Ghanaian and therefore not immediately accepted outside Africa. We have started a process of legalising our papers at the Dutch Embassy in Accra which is a complicated process that will take over a year.
But... thank God in the meantime Bob has not been put on hold but has received his residence permit. Now his other Dutch papers will follow, most notoriously important his enrollment into a Dutch Basic Health Insurancea plan, which give him full and affordable coverage in Holland. A sigh of relief.
Thank you Holland here we come!

The Singing Jew

2010-09-11T17:56:00.000+02:00

Bob has a special way of meeting other people. He sings to them! He sings to people passing bye on the Keizerstraat, the village shoppingstreet in Scheveningen. He gets inspired by a face or an appearance and positions himself right in front of that other person and without further ado bursts out in a song! Songs from the 50's, Gershwin, Cole Porter or Chet Baker, soulful songs. About a loving encounter, a glimpse in an eye and a sweet memory. His voice is melodious and his manners inviting 'to the dance of the moment'.
People mostly do not know what to do, they are caught in surprise, they smile and melt down as snow in the sun. The song is over and he kisses their hand and on they walk!
It is so great to see this happen as I witnessed today
And so 'un-Dutch'. But it works. For a moment the street becomes a place for the community of people rather than a road where strangers remain strange.
Only for this, Bob, only for this you already deserve paradise, and much much more!
Well done my old partner, stranger in this land, my singing Jew!

Three steps for one day

2010-09-02T16:23:00.000+02:00

Still on our house. The garden is about one meter lower than the floor of the apartment and when you open the garden doors you can let the sun shine inside but it is very hard to climb into the garden. And very unelegant to climb back into the window again! The landlord has been promising us steps from the door to the garden and every time we see him he repeats the promise and complains about the laziness of his metal-workers.
This has been going on from April till now and is a topic that makes us smile.
But yesterday, while we were out, two carpenters suddenly materialized a staircase for us. Wow. Wonderful!! Three steps to outside, a heavy wooden frame that reminds you of an all-American outside verandah. I was delighted and there and then we all had coffee and cake.
What a day, the day of the dream come true, a staircase to outside.
In the evening a knock on our door, the girl below who lives in the basement. (Our house contains 6 appartments, mostly students and young adults) 'I have to talk about the steps, it is not possible, I can't get light anymore'. 'Ah sure but this is not our private enterprise so find the landlord, okay?'
Well she did. This morning the landlord stood there, in the garden, coming up hesitantingly on the stairs. Embarrased, I thought, and yes, he was embarrased.
'She called me twice, crying. Her vieuw is gone. She has no fire-escape. She threathens a courtcase, what should I do?'
'Jerrell, you promised us a steps and another of your tenants is promising you a courtcase. We don't know how to advise you. We like the steps!'
He went down to talk with the tenant in the basement and returned pale.
I have promised her to remove the stairs but she agrees when I make one on the side. However, then I have to take the side window pane out, remove the heating, install a new second glass door and what not. That is a lot and not in my budget really, but for you I would do it. For I really like you and you have done so much for the world, for the people in Ghana.'
Thank you. But do not destroy this beautiful bay window! No. Leave the steps away till next year, when she is gone! The winter is coming anyway. And next year we will just start planning all over again. Or rather, keep the stairs in your house and next year, when summer comes, and the law-enforcment lady is gone, give the stairs to us then.We enjoyed it for one day.
It was the first of September that we had three steps leading to our garden, a one day previeuw for next year.
He went home satisfied.
It is true, the winter is coming and in three months we will go to Ghana. And who needs three steps leading up to our frontroom when the house is deserted. Inviting burglars and all that.
Still, I regret.

The Treadmill

2010-08-26T16:18:00.000+02:00

When I am restless I go to the healthclub, which is just around the corner, and spend an hour or so walking on the treadmill. I like it because it is a way to rest the mind while exercising the body. Today while outside it was raining cats and dogs I was there. I pace myself for 4,5 miles an hour, refuse to enter the weight or look at the heartbeat, set the time to one hour and start walking. While I walk I conjure up the faces of our staff and children in Ghana. I walk with Cynthia, greet Shalomina, urge PaaYaw on with his computerclasses, embrace Bright, talk thoughtfully to Kwame Evans about the flowers around our house, visit Charity for a cup of tea, walk into the office of Baffo, sit with Ema and greet Janet in her kitchen. I even greeted the four new kids whose names I have not yet memorised, one of them is called Aisha. From Ghana I move to America and greet my inlaws, Bob's children and Emilio. Then I move back to Holland and revieuw a stream of people, included my two old communion-ladies at the parish. One made a fall and is now sitting with one leg up, the other recently had a fun day with her grandchild. I think of the next dentist apointment and of my old lady of the lifebook. How her stories always transgress and bring me to all over all the places in her life at once. But also how rewarding it is and what great stories she has told me. And how to make the layout of the book, which is a challenge. Finally I move to Bob, to our house and to myself. And the flowers in the frontyard. And the mussels that need to be cooked tonight.
And I let the light shine towards all these lives and events while I think of them and into my own life when I think of me. In that sense my walk is also a prayerful walk. So I cover three goals, the physical exercise, the mental relaxation and the spiritual uplifting. I have worked!
It is an absolute fact that I will remain somewhat workorientated for a considerable time to come, the habit runs too deep. The threadmill is not too bad of a habit, though. Right?

Talking Ghana

2010-08-19T18:48:00.000+02:00

Talking Ghana, I think I did not do it enough, intent as I was on reintegrating in Dutch society. I threw myself into volunteering in different ways, and into talking with Dutch people with no connection to Africa. So that I got disconnected with my large African heart, soul and mind. Maybe that's what it was and today I am back on trail.
A few days ago Bob and I even had similar dreams. We both dreamt that same night of being an alien at the PCC-HandinHand community, being ignored by the people who then worked there who were strangers to us. A twin-dream in an old twin-couple, how strange and awesome. But the contents of the dream were scary, very scary.
And a friend said it will be just the opposite. When you return to Ghana in December it will be a feast of homecoming and reconnenction. That was a nice interpretation of the dream but myself I thought I dream this beacause I do not talk enough about Ghana. And no wonder because people here are Holland-oriented, not Ghana-oriented and I am naturally shy to press my issues. So be it I thought, I am out of Ghana and should learn the new language, the new tune. But the old feeling lingers after having spent over forty year in Africa. So it was a case of disconnectedness, disconnected with self and others.
But today I celebrated reconnection. Fr. Pieter came to visit us here in The Hague. He is such an old friend and he spent the last few years living at PCCHandinHand himself, as a retired priest missionary. He had to leave because he was iill which was hard. It was hard in those days of illness and decisionmaking to repatriate the old man. But he was repatriated back to Holland and blossomed up a new life in his Dutch missionary society at the age of 83-84. Wonderful mystery of life! Today he came and we reconnected so easily. All was fluid, all was love, all was Ghana and we could express it in words and more than that, all through the day Father Pieter and I were holding hands together! So close we were in our present and our past. He has been a missionary in Ghana since 1954, since before the independance of Ghana! I have been a missionary since 1973. Now we are both in Holland and we felt like old lovers and talked about Ghana and our old lives with wonderment. And about our new lives in Holland with similar but distinctly different wonderment. All was wonderment and we held hands closely today.
The reconenction to Ghana has been made. Thank you Pieter, old friend. We talked Ghana!

Footsteps above us

2010-08-10T15:30:00.002+02:00

I hear footsteps over my head and the ceiling trembles a little. This is strange, a stranger walking in my old appartment. Of which I handed over the key two hours ago. Now that chapter is closed, the chapter of my first house in Holland after 40 years. My house. Not our house but my house, all mine. No place for Bob who therefore rented the appartment downstairs in the same building. What we did was that very desirable 'living apart together' for which many friends envied us, we did that from the 24th of April when Bob first arrived till today the 10th of August, when my 'upper room' has gone to another tenant.
What strides me made, what history we produced. My first house since last June, the pure ecstacy of it, the sunshine that flooded in and the round working table in the open doors. The monk Ineke had her first own hermitage. Up and down to Ghana, already in proces of handing over our project. Blessed gift of Ab and Jeanette, who offered to take over the leadership from us.
My permanent return to Holland. in March this year, Bob's at the end of April. The LAT relationship which was kind of funny, liberating and confusing. Where shall we eat, where shall we sleep, when shall we leave each other alone and when not.
And now... together in one permanent house downstairs on the Gevers Deynootweg. A stranger's footsteps on the floor of what once was my paradise, my hermitage. No regrets at all and downstairs it is spacious and crazy and intimate and our little garden is a wonderment.
Now no more living apart together but living together together. What changes, no wonder I keep trembling and Bob is often caught by dizzyspells. There is a tiredness and a loneliness as a price to the 'new-nes' of things, which accompanies the joy and causes a tremble in my soul.

A tremble in my soul

2010-07-28T13:58:00.000+02:00

I tremble a lot. That is my state this week, low energy and a lot of trembling and hesitating. Yesterday I was chilling and chattering teeth, with a turtle neck sweater on and with a temperature of 20 . I miss Ghana and would like to lay on my back in the pool with Kofi asare and Kwame Evans at my side. Making slow excercises with our legs, cycling in the air. Or jumping in the lukewarm water and splashing water at each other. Drink a beer with Carlijn who is now in Ghana, or sit with Charity and hear her latest news. Play with PaaYaw. . See our house in Ghana, the bouygainvillia. Here I have a tiny bougianvillia in the opening of the big doors that swing outside into the garden. But I would like, for a moment only, to see and feel the real thing. A tremble in my soul. For Ghana.

Party time and lazy summer

2010-07-22T15:05:00.000+02:00

It is summer and maybe that is why I get so lazy. Too lazy to write much. But look at the pictures of last Sunday's housewarming/Bob's birthday party. It was so sweet and gay, maybe the pictures don't portray this but that is all for today, I want to go to the beach where Bob is waiting for me, it is a warm day again. Lovely summer! There were 35 persons at the party, most are therefore not on the picture, sorry for that. And special thanks to Joke and Gilles who helped so very very much.

Like teenagers in love again

2010-07-14T19:17:00.000+02:00

Yesterday we walked like teenagers along the beach together, hand in hand. And as it so happened a young artist was making drawing of by-passers for 20 Euro a piece. We stopped and said 'Sir, draw our picture, please" and posed for him. It took him half an hour and the picture resembles! I have less wrinkles and a smaller nose but otherwise not too much flattery. Bob has a great headshot anyway so nothing much could go wrong there. We had an intense lovely conenction for as long as it lasted, the Hungarian painter, his Arab friend, Bob and I and what is left is this thing on the wall. In love! We are in love again, that is what it is!

Our house completed and our peace regained

2010-07-08T16:40:00.000+02:00

Two days later and the clouds of anxiety have gone, dissolved like snow under the sun. This happened because of the professional help offered by lawyer Marianne. The next appointment with IND will be with her. And a promise from her side to work on the papers we need (among others a marriage certicifate of our wedding in Ghana of which we have presently only a copy). And so... peace regained.
Below some pictures of our house. It is wothy of a good hosuewarming-party, yes truly it looks grand.

Again, we are grateful!

When all seems to go wrong...keep moving

2010-07-07T08:57:00.000+02:00

This morning we will see the immigration laywer.
By the way I was reading my own blog and realized that I never once wrote about our seemingly endlessly moving around of pieces of furniture! From the up to the down apartment and from front to back in the 18 meter long down apartment which has the looks of an old fashioned high ceilinged corridor. Then again from back to front and finally I made a separation between front and backpart of the room so that now it looks like a real house instead of a corridor or skatingtrack. We also brought a new load of awesome furniture from the recycle store, our most frequented store after Albert Hein.
About three weeks ago we received a joint lease on the apartment downstairs so the landlord was graceful to us. Since then, and already some weeks before the final appoval of the landlord to let me live downstairs as well, I have been moving the curtains down from my first floor apartment, and then the 2 big chairs and the cupboards and the oval table in the window and so on and so forth. The upstairs apartment will hopefully be rented out soon because paying rent for two apartments while living in one is a bit much! But as I said the landlord is graceful and has placed an advertisment already. According to the original lease it would not have been till June 2011 before I could leave the first floor apartment!
Upstairs is now used sometimes to sleep and sometimes to read, write and paint. The atelier. Downstairs has been very chaotic for some time but a new fine order is establishing itself gradually. The fact that the recycle store removed again the coaches which we had bought there two months ago, also helped in decongesting the downstairs apartment and the garden has made it awesome. So passed the idea that Bob and I would live apart together in both apartments (LAT relationship as it called in Holland). Instead of living apart together for six months after which Bob would return to Ghana and give up the down apartment, we now plan to live 'together' together (LTT relationship!) and return together to Ghana for the winter. If the immigration department cooperates that is... for that is where all seems to go wrong. But today we visit a lawyer to help us in the whirlwind of most absurd paperwork needed.
In two weeks, the 18th, a housewarming party! By that time we will know if Bob's residence here can be extended. If not it will be the farewell party for Bob in Holland as well, at least for the next few months to come.

When all seems to go wrong (2)

2010-07-05T11:30:00.000+02:00

Still such sores, thinking of the immigration procedures to come. We never received a form which we absolutely need for the final appointment next week, for which we also don't have all the other right papers ready. But Bob found a lawyer, a nice women called Marianne, and we will consult her in a day or two. If all fails Bob's 3 months stay is almost over and so he will go back to Ghana again. Or to the USA. Well that is too crazy to consider so we don't consider it, not yet.
Saturday Bob and I went to the Chabad synagogue again, which is becoming a strange but warm home for us. These few brave people are so warm! As a woman I have to sit upstarirs on the balcony but Saturday my new friend Esther came to sit with me and explain the services. Esther is very Dutch and very Jewish and very international with two sons in the USA, a doctor and a lawyer of course. She can't understand that I am a doctor who made her career in Africa but she is intrigued. And kind, so kind. We will visit them this week in their home, which is not far from us. Yes and Sunday we were in the Ant Abt and later for lunch with Fr. Curvers. So much church these days and so much social life, sometimes I think I have become another person altogether and I need another name. Ineke Clumsy the Great but also Ineke Social Less Awkward by Far.
Here some more intriguing pictures, forbidden and therefore even tastier.

When all seems to go wrong...

2010-07-03T09:54:00.000+02:00

When all seems to go wrong with immigration as they ask for documents with stamps here and there and evidence to show that we are married (Evidence? We eve start to look alike after 13 years marriage!) we almost gave up. Angry and desolate.

But the next day we had the flowers to attend to and that brings our spirit right back again. As if not only the flowers but we too receive some water to help straigthen our back again!

Another way to recover from kafka-like-life is to be creative with crayons and paint. This is my atelier upstairs and some of the stuff I create. Very little Ghana in it, except one, a big one!

Chios

2010-06-23T16:27:00.000+02:00

I’m back from Chios. We were there with ten persons volunteering to be a guide to ten other persons with a visual handicap. Twin Travel is the name of the organization; since we arrived back yesterday I haven’t done anything yet out of tiredness. Satisfied but tired.

When people were asking me in Ghana “What will you do after the handover of your project?” I would respond “Travel with twin-travel, the travel organization for the blind.” And I did almost hang my complete “post-Ghana-identity’ to traveling with the blind. “But what will you do in between travel with the blind?” “Nothing, prepare to travel with the blind!”

In the meantime of course life went on and I am now much involved with volunteer-work at the Antonius Abt Parish here in Scheveningen, as well as with “Life-book-Foundation’ in The Hague, which helps senior citizens to write down their life-story.

How was my’ Identity-Hanger’ experience with the Twin travel? Greece was excellent, the company was excellent, the work was meaningful, the in-charge was a real nice woman and I am very, very tired indeed. No-one else was tired, I think, except for Hennie of course, the person in charge who was flying around like a lunatic trying to satisfy everybody’s needs, and I.

I did well walking around with the people and guiding them and bringing them their breakfast from the buffet and interpreting what was on the menu for example (Did we eat all day long? It seemed like!) I did not do so well translating what I saw into words for them to understand what my seeing eyes were witnessing. The Dutch language was difficult to find, I was moving into English a lot and found myself translating from English back into Dutch when I was tired, and I was tired a lot. And the smalltalk was a real killer for me. Being a very introverted person does not help when going on a tour like that where everyone was talking and laughing and joking and talking and talking between 7 am till midnight or beyond…

But when I left the group Henny said ‘You have been an asset” and she meant it and it was great to hear.

And now all I do is talk with Bob (yes, I talk with Bob from 7 am till far after midnight!) and listen to how he had these 8 days without me (Great time, Bob! He is marvelous!) and the tiredness is slowly ebbing away. That was my small report about Chios for the time to be.

It was amazing and amazingly difficult. .

Sjoel, the Scheveningen orthodox synegogue

2010-06-12T16:38:00.000+02:00

We are just back from 'sjoel', with an empty stomach and a full bladder. It took from 9.30 till 1, over three solid hours, and I haven't even sat down to read my Saturday paper yet, so much I am in a hurry to write about this morning's experience.
We arrived at the building well in time, thanks to the directions of Thea who coordinates my volunteer-work at the Catholic Church. Thea had found the right address after we had roamed, two weeks earlier, into a daycare centre for orthodox Jewish kids but could not at that time find the synaggogue itself.
It is situated at the back-entrance of an old age centre for Jewish People in Scheveningen and once found it is indeed easy to find! Funny enough we met a man from New York who was also searching for the synagogue even though he had the right address written on a paper in his hand. He was searching for the entrance. Had been directed to the right adres indeed, but the official notice, which explained that the synagogue should be reached by the backdoor behind the buiding, was written in Dutch, not in English, or in Hebrew for that matter. Well, so, Bob and this international court lawyer were lucky to have first Thea for the address and then me to translate the notice on the door!
'Come on guys' I said irreverantly as I eventually tried to get the two chatting New York Jews to move to the backdoor.
We arrived late with a service already in progress and Bob was welcomed and given prayershawls and a yamaka, while I was directed to 'above' where, behind a curtain, the women are seated. (That part I knew already from former visits to synagogues in Amsterdam and Israel. In The USA Bob always attends a reformed temple which compares more to a church as I am used to).
As I arrived upstairs and sat peeping through the curtain into the small synegogue, I saw Bob's beautiful hair with the yamaka on top, the best hair of all the men and boys form the comgregation! That is the advantage when you are taken out off and high above the community at prayer, you can see their hair very welll! Bob had not wrapped the prayerscarf around like the other men but looked very handsome and right at home.
After almost an hour of chanting and prayers I thought the service was over and wanted to come downstairs but then realised it was only a break, where people shook hands and talked to each other, before the second, major part, would take place.
I thought of Fr. Dolf Langerhuizen, who once did the Byzantine ritual in our church and apologised to the audience that it might take longer as usual, that they should 'go with the flow'.
It was an applicable advise right now, to go with the flow... the flow would take at least two more hours and then at least an hour of socialising after the service. But I was not bored, contrerary, I was fascinated through it all
The religious leader, Dennis, led the service from beginning to end in Hebrew and the chanting, his chanting mainly, was splendidly prayerful. After the Torah-scrolls were taken out of the tabernacle and revered the readings begun. I was amazed by the profiles of two very Jewish man with black hats who, I heard later were the Rabbi and his assistent. All the others wore yamakas, onyl these two wore the 'Anmwerp-Jew-outfit' of black hats and long black coats. So it appeared that they were invited to join all the way from Antwerp for this Saturday morning to do the readings from the Torah and to make the Shabbat-service valid by their priestly presence. (That we can do better in the nowadays Catholic church I couldn't help thinking...) The Rabbi chanted for eternity and the assistant gave candans with his right hand, not unlike the director of an orchestra. It was amazing, a more refined interplay of two people than for example during a duet in a ballet. Only that it lasted too long, even when I went wih the flow... Of course if you are invited all the way from Belgium you peobably have to put in a performance before you go.
After this episode of Torah chanting Bob was asked to play a part in the whole and I was so proud of him. He was asked to push the curtain to the side and show the tabernacle where the Torah rests. He did it with enormous reverance and I think he cried. Bob cries when he is moved to the heart and is one of the reasons I love him.
I remembered two mornings before, when I went to bring the Host from the tabernacle, the day before my communion-visit early next morning. I also walked to the altar, knelt, opened (with difficulty!) the brass doors of the tabernacle and took two hosts out for the next day communion-service. It is not easy to open those brass doors, the lock is old and the doors are heavy. I succeeded that Thursday morning right in time! Not that I was doing anything wrong, contrarary, but I was dressed in blue jeans with a backpack on my back, I was not in a cassock! And I happen to be a woman.
And.. I had realised this too late but I was there at the wrong time, Mass was about to start. I was even wondering why all these candles were lit and everything looked so festive and churchy and some people were kneeling in church. That's how a church should be, I remember thinking, but only later, when I have colelcted the Host and am standing outside the church again, do I check the Mass-hours on the sign outside. To find out that hree minutes later, at 12,30, Mass would start that day. So I was almost caught by the 'real priest' on the altar while going for the communion and it would have looked funny to find me there on the altar to say the least...
Back to today. Bob is being asked to pull away the curtains of the tabernacle an later to close them again and it reminded me of that incident two days earlier with a narrow escape. And I felt so united with him there, he being tearful by religious emotion in front of the tabernacle and me on the balcony on top.
So the rabbi from Antwerp chanted and chanted and it was quite a thing going on and I was getting hungry and saw that the Torah was brought back to place. So soon we could leave. But no, it was time for sharing little cups of wine, some of them filled with water, I could see them being poured on the table. They called the women (in the meantime about 3 had gathered upstairs) down to participate. I came down, relieved, and was given a cup of water by Dennis, the volunteer rabbi. I drank it in one gulp, so thirsty, and I screamed, it is Dutch gin, not water!
The New Yok Lawyers starts laughing and the wife of the rabbi too. How could I have been prepared for a cup with Dutch gin at this hour and on an empty stomach...
So then we all talked and it was good. We made some unbelievable new friends. I think Bob may attend regularly here. I might come with him, really intrigued by these chosen people with their Dutch gin.
By the way it is a promise that Bob will come to church with me tomorrow.
Every day so many adventures. Sometimes I wish I was back in Ghana, just for a week or so. Stable, know what to expect, reliable, calm and loving Ghana. But no, that will only be December. In the meantime there are worlds to discover right here in Scheveningen. Oh and next week Greece.

Swing Vote

2010-06-12T10:59:00.000+02:00

The 9th of June, the day to vote for the next Dutch parliament. For everything there is a first time and for me this was my first time to vote.
Always been out in Africa, too marginally interested to organise a vote outside of The Netherlands, and so on, thousands of reasons for casting a first vote at the age of 65!
But at the moment that is not the point I want to make.
With paper and ID I walked into the community building that was turned into a ballot room, all set to put a red mark beside the first name on the first list, CDA. Because, though I have never before voted in my life, I always considered myself a CDA-person. Even after the infamous day when Balkenende, the CDA prime minister, refused a visit of the Dalai Lama to Holland because of a potential harm to the business relationships to China. How low can you go with your norms and values!
Though shallow and much of the same, I had followed the political debates with increasing interest. That 'much of the same' was the amount of money in the pocket of the above average, average and below average income-earner In Holland, and very llittle about anything else.
After I unfolded my voting paper and hesitated a little, just like that, I marked the first name of the second list instead. I had cast my vote for Job Cohen, a vote had swung!
The next morning at seven in the morning the results were out, it took long because the race had been very close. Cohen 30 seats, Rutte 31 seats and a Balkenende had lost fiercely from 40 to 20 seats!
It was a very dramatic major defeat for the CDA and I felt a pang of guilt, not unlike the person in the bible who heard the cock crow three times. When I later saw Balkenende's picture in the morning paper, a bewildered, sad, tired looking Balkenende, I felt the pain again. Sorry, it was your time to lose a little but I hadn't wanted you too lose that much!
My fault, my swinging vote, I'm sure. Sorry man.

Gilles and Garden

2010-06-07T17:50:00.000+02:00

Suddenly the weather became agreeable and we drove to a garden center at the outskirts of The Hague, Gilles and I. 'I need flowerpots for in the front yard'. 'And I need two dozen of plants for graduation'. So we bought a carload full of pots and tools and soil and 25 of the same daity little trees and drove back with them to Gevers Deynootweg number 8 in Scheveningen. Bob was waiting with lunch for which we had no time as yet as we had to drive on to the recycle store and buy garden chairs and a table. Done! Lunch at 2 pm in the sun in the frontyard, served by 'cook Bob', followed by filling and arranging flowerpots. So sweet happy and colorfull. At 4 pm angel Gilles left us sitting in the frontyard surrounded by geraniums and dahlias and all kind of wonderful flowers.

People stopped and looked at the whole thing and at us. 'Wonderful!' 'This garden ahsn't looked so well since the twenty years that I am your neighbour here!'. 'Where did you buy the pots, how much?'. 'Can our dog have a little water to drink, maybe? We are all the way from Germany and our dog is thirsty.' 'Do you have a room to let for the night?'. Friendly people all around and for one sunny afternoon a little community arose out of nowhere and dissolved again when night fell. Made our tourist village a little nicer and a little more personal. The next day it rained already I think but it was wonderful, Bob and I and our new little front garden. To be repeated many times.

Steve in Scheveningen (April)

2010-06-04T12:15:00.000+02:00

In April Steve Philips was in Holland to attend a meeting of the SMA congregation. Steve would not be Steve if he would not make use of the opportunity to visit his friends in Holland as well.Thus he came to visit me twice for two days, the second time because the Iceland Ashes blocked his return to Ghana, just like Bob was blocked from flying to Holland. It is only now that I got the pictures downloaded from my telephone and here they are.
We had a marvellous time, mostly talking and eating and relaxing, but also seeing the high security prison in Scheveningen where Charles Taylor is put away and the Peace Palace where the court will gather to judge the Liberian war crimes. Steve has a strong connection with the Liberian refugees in Ghana and wanted to see these landmarks in The Hague so that, returning to his Liberian friends in Ghana, he could tell them about this 'four star luxury prison' in The Hague. We also visited the government building and city centres of The Hague and Leiden and enjoyed those one or two sunny days in April and May that immediately light up our country and everybody's face here as well.

The pictures, sorry for being late!

Our days are like plastic bags about to burst at the seams

2010-05-30T11:54:00.000+02:00

Our house becoming our home.

Bob looks at the garden to be.

Lunch in the sun. With tookkit on the back for another assignment

Franca and Jan for dinner with their gift of geraniums! Gilles and Ineke in Zeeland. Gilles in front of his new house.

Bram Lia Bob Ineke.

It is Sunday again and another week gone. More than before the days stand stiff with activities, they look like a plastic bag puffed up and ready to burst, so stuffed that they can hardly be tied anymore and will soon start overflowing. Some things are still visible through the plastic and other things already hidden soiled and forgotten. My week was like that. Did I complain that the church did not give me enough work? Forget it! It is becoming much, nice and gentle but much time involved. Our wonderful house too asks a lot of time but is starting to look gorgeous. The unclarities and paperwork involved with the immigration of Bob are frustrating as expected and Bob lost his dentures! Woops! But we are so happy.... so very happy!
Monday, when the news was out, I bought flowers for Dorrit and took a train to Leiden to congratulate her for obtaining the job, an academic position in Islamic studies for which over eighty people were intervieuwed but which Dorrit the whizzkid obtained! Then I visited a 95 year old couple for communion at a retirement home. This time no false note during the service, let alone a telephone with jazz-sounds! The only problem was that the couple found the little service very solemn and probably long. Even though I already left out some of the less vital parts in the liturgy. What to do. Do some people see the host like a sort of medecine to quickly swallow, maybe? It could be. Lovely people all the same. Tuesday we started on the huge assignment of trying to obtain a certified copy of Bob's birth certificate from Chicago, through Bob's son David. ('Dad, son's are not allowed to pick up their father's certificate, sorry! Try this website...') We tried the website which took a big chunch of money from Bob's credit card but eventually did not promise to deliver the certificate because... because because! Who knows! Bob had to call a toll free number in the USA which from outside America one cannot dial. So, that's still hanging and in frustrtaion I forgot my Tuesday meditation evening again, or, more honestly, was too tired to go. Wednesday, brand new day sunny and bright but Bob managed to lose his denture. We stopped everything and combed the first floor and downstairs apartment from one corner to the other and back again. And again, and again. With Dorrit, who came from Leiden to help looking for the missing tooth, we even went with plastic gloves through all the garbage (grrr) but no tooth! The only place it could still be is in the loop of the pipe below the sinc but I do not dare to unscrew it as I am so clumsy with about everything mechanical in Holland. And can you see Bob happily unscrewing the water-pipes? No is the answer if you know him even remotely. Bob has many gifts but has even far less dexterity then I in these fields. The clumsy couple!

Bram, our very sweet researcher friend who was on his way back to the USA gave us a telephonic lecture and line out of how to go systematicaaly about the search. Focus. Scrutinise all your actions since you lost it, and then firmly make up your mind that it is to be found, if you have ruled out that it got lost in the garbage or elsewhere. Systematicly and with utter conviction and you will find it! He is right. But we did not find the horrible thing. So made an appointment with a dentist nearby, which was hard enough to get. Now Bob almost looks like a streetperson despite his distinguished feautures, unless he keeps his mouth closed which is hard for him to do! Friday I went with another communion mission after whhich I helped to prepare a luch for seniors for Satruday, at the churchbuilding. In the meantime the frontgarden of our house has been renovated by the landlord and almost looks like a real frontgarden instead of the mess it was. And as the sun keeps shining we have been sitting there any time we can, in the house with the front doors open and flowers all around us. Next week Mr Jerrel will fix steps to get down into the garden and then we can actually sit outside to read our papers in the morning sun ( if in the meantime I hadn't filled my life to the brim with the so much desired voluntary work and other stuff that I talked about.) All will be well, there is a lot of happiness around! Oh and Saturday I walked with Bob to find his synagogue in Scheveningen (which we did not find but had a gorgeous walk) and then I went to assist with the luch for the senior parishoners of the Ant. Abt. I must have looked old and tired when I rang the bell of the parish for someone opened the door politely and welcomed me to the lunch. 'You are the first to arrive, we welcome you!'. 'No no, I come to assist, I am a volunteer!'

And what's the difference? I am retired and over 65. Not a senior?

Bob the permanent Durch resident to be

2010-05-23T14:08:00.000+02:00

While last week I went to the Dutch country-side to visit Gilles and later Liesbeth, Bob went to the twon hall in The Hague. There he heard, at the visitors information service, that after three months he would really have to leave Holland again, like all visitors, unless he would get a residence permit.
After I returned home from my friend Liesbeth, we experienced another long journey into the night...and the next morning! Bob and I thinking and talking and praying and laughing and crying about what to do next for him.
Thursday at 11 we were at the IND, the Dutch immigration service. A wonderful young guy, Ron, gave Bob all the info he needed and desired.
And we have taken home a big envelope with papers to fill and sign, the beginning of another story, the story of the Dutch residence permit for Bob. What is the reason for wanting to reside here in Holland? To be re-united with my wife Ineke Bosman.
Bob, I am so proud of you, you have the courage and flexibility of an angel! You'll be the oldest person to become a Durch Citizen in 5 years, if it would please and benefit you to go that far, that is.

A little panic in the midst of bliss

2010-05-17T17:02:00.000+02:00

A bit of panic today. Today I went to Leiden to congratulate Dorrit with the new academic job which she got after losing hope during the jobintervieuw. She worked hard towards it but the chance was slim as she doesn't even have her Master's yet, not even the Bachelors, actually! Shows how good she is and yes, she got the offer after all! Congrats! Flowers at your door! Back real quick as I'm leaving for Zeeland tomorrow and the next day to Liesbeth in Brabant. Back only thursdaynight for the course in writing 'life-book' which I really really want to do! But life is becoming too hectic and I need to take time before filling my agenda so stiffly with event after event. Too many things. No more peace of mind. Feel I should enjoy the sweet days with Bob more, and celebrate the succes of bringing communion after all, despite the jazzepisode on the mobile phone rifght after the ave verum of mozart. And Monday another person and sunday a beachwalk with Yvonne and so on. Wonderful birthday with Franca en Jan then the meeting with Lia and Bram, too much and no time to 'eat' the events. Bob is getting Dutch classes, complicated for him!

My first visit with the communion for the sick

2010-05-15T12:20:00.000+02:00

Finally on friday at half past ten I had my first 'date' to bring communion for the sick to someone's house.
The day before I had practised on good old Bob, the unfolding of the little white cloth, lighting the candle, saying the prayers and reading the gospel reading, the silences, the music. With the Ave Verum playing during the shared silences , music I had downloaded on my mobile phone, the little liturgy was almost perfect, so said Bob. (Of course, you know Bob. But all the same it went well )
So I had strolled confidently to the house of my first client, that sunny fridaymorning, with my little 'toolkit' on my back. After walking around her block twice I was still ten minutes early but decided to ring the bell. A nice lady who looked neither old nor sick, but is indeed far in her eigthies and infirmed, welcomed me and soon we were sitting together around her table. I opened my toolbag and arranged everything quietly as we were getting ready to start. I had been told that my client had been doing this work, giving out the communion to the sick, herself for many years, before she got confined to her house, so it was the oldtimer and the newcomer, who would do well together I felt. She gave me a printed out version of the communion prayer she had always used and I immediately liked it, it was simple, short and printed in large print, important detail of course. I gave her a copy of the prayersand gospelreading I had printed out for the occasion and asked if she liked me to light a candle. 'No, thanks.' Music? I brought Agnus Dei and Ave Verum with me.' 'Hmm, yes, Ave verum by whom?' Mozart was approved and we started our liturgy and it was very serene, included the music after the gospelreading and during communion.
Then the blissful atmosphere was suddenly broken by the jazzy sounds of Diane Kroll singing, another number on my mobile phone that was certainly not planned for this hour! Soulffully and rather sexily she started singing through her house about a certain garden in the rain.. Oh, I pushed a button to switch it off immediately but obviously it was the wrong button for the music only went louder.
Loud, soft, loud, after some five long minutes it needed an angry bang before the phone camne to a halt. I was blushing and agitated and apologised and felt awfull, and on top of it got the giggles like a schoolgirl!
'It was very good, thank you. I will see you in two weeks. I will not take your time any longer' she said and I felt like 'class dismissed' and left.
That is the begoinning and end of my career as a eucharistic minister I thought. But in the afternoon an email from my coordinator arrived 'She enjoyed it, she was impressed. Here is another address, can you still do them also?'
Thank you, oldtimer colleague! and so I have started my new career as Reverend Ineke Bosman Clumsy the First.

Mijn examen opstel Nederlands 1963 Edith Stein Lyceum (gisteren van Bram teruggekregen na 47 jaar)

2010-05-10T13:37:00.000+02:00

'What is it that separates me from You?
A word too much, a call too soft? (H.W.J.M. Keuls)

'Bye', you say in the morning when you leave and 'Hello' you say in the evening when you return. That is not a word too much.
I receive you as my king, still. As I quickly free your feet from those dusty shoes I stealthily look up at your face as you are stretched out in your chair, open mouth showing, stained brown teeth and two gloomy noseholes. I am a little afraid of you, always.
When you arrive home with your bunch of friends that all work along the roadsie with you, they carry heavy flasks of wine and tell each other rowdy stories. All broadshoudlered and sunburnt men like you, who laugh noisily while slapping eachother and me on the shoulders and back, louder and louder as they get high with wine and their own company.
When you arrive by yourself, like yesterday and today, you act tired and irritated, and I feel alone in having to perk you up again. What I do is talk incessantly and bring a jar with strong coffee which you set to your mouth and gurgle down at once while I refresh and massage your feet. I ramble about the baby of the neighbours or the chickens in the backyard or whatever comes up in me. You don't smile when I tell you the funny stories of the village. I think you don't even hear them. Or if you do hear me, you often grumble 'Shut up' in my direction and I fall silent and glance every now and then to your mouth to see if the twitching is subsiding before I continue to massage your feet..
I know that I talk too much . The words well up in me, one after the other, as a protective shield against the tension in you.. "Oh! Don't chitchat so much.' more hateful. But it is my agitated self that cannot stay silent for long. So his anger keeps increasings like an upward spiral of violence which I truely fear. I'm stuck and so is he.
What I would like to say is elusive and sfragile and it might easily break in the storm.
Not since many years that I formulated my longings and reminded us of long ago and how it was. Not since a long long time. We are together for over thirty years and things do not remain the same, of course they dont.
But at times I dream of you of how it was. And when you lay asleep I glance at you and are we really strangers now?

ago. When we used to sit in the evening on the doorstep of our little house, one beside the other, with our bare feet touching the long dry grass in front of our home. The hills in the distance would look less dry and more colorful towards the evening. During those moments we would tell stories to one another, turn by turn, or we were silent, it did not matter, many or few words, they were always just right for us. We would be close together and we understood.

Should I say to you that I am lonely, that I miss my man, that we are estranged from one another? You would be even more ill tempered. Should I call, scream, sing? I cannot sing anymore, my voice has gone feelble and is too light to call. My arms too are now wrinkled and bony, and I cannot call you that way anymore, not like before. You dismiss me.
All I do is talk to you the way I do and care for your feet the way I know to do and laugh a little with my tiny bird-like laughter. My 'old woman's' laughter..
(1963)

Old poems never die

2010-05-09T17:18:00.000+02:00

I found some of my old poems and think they are like new.

We shine some light
Into each others eyes
Soft old souls and sagging bodies
Contented with each other

Shall tomorrow be again?
It’s getting late my bride…
Its getting later by the day
(2004)

Ik ga maar slapen

Ik zeg ik ga maar slapen
Hij zegt de fout van links is nou
Dat ze alleen maar protesteren
Politiek zijn ze
Alleen nog maar een lichtgewicht
Wat dacht je zei ik
Zijn wij mensen nooit eens moe
Van al dat manouvreren
En altijd maar naar feestjes toe
Hij zegt ik ben mijn broer vergeten
Bel hem morgen vroeg dan maar
Ik zeg wat denk je
Dat die dure crèmes echt helpen
Tegen rimpels, mijn soort huid
Ik denk het niet zegt hij
Ik zeg ik ga maar slapen
Ik zie je later wel
Ik ga mijn borrel drinken
Ga, zegt hij, ik kom
Mijn lieve bruid
((2005)

Vervroegd naar huis

Uiteindelijk zijn we vervroegd naar huis gegaan
Lang niet geweten wat te doen en toen opeens was het gedaan
Tickets veranderd, hotels geannuleerd
Ongegeneerd hebben we weer gelachen en gedronken
Zijn we terug gekeerd en thuis gekomen
Zo kwam er een einde aan het wachten
We willen de wonden niet verzachten
Van het ontheemd verloren zijn
Maar ook niet het geluk
Van in de vreemde thuis te zijn
Laten we volgend jaar veel korter gaan
En niets verwachten.

Ineke Bosman, 2002

Still on call even though I am retired

2010-05-07T18:46:00.000+02:00

It's Friday a week later, more than a week really. I have been racing and find no inner peace as yet. Saturday Racheed helped reshuffling the furniture to where we wanted them, in our two apartments, upstairs and downstairs. Cool! Succeeded! Exhausted though and called my sister afterwards with much laugther, God bless the good old laugher!
Sunday to my church to introduce Bob to it. Monday buying curtain-materials, despite horrid rains, in downtown The Hague. Tuesday I directed Bob to the Rabbi of the Chabad House in The Hague (That was an excellent visit for Bob, oh God, thank you) and in the afternoon I was sewing the curtains for downstairs and it rained, rained, rained....Racheed renovated our bathroom downstairs, nice blue tiles..Wednesday an appointment with a new friend; we walked through park Sorgvliet, and I listened to her extraordinary story. It was her who hinted me to another place for Dutch classes for Bob, also in Scheveningen. Thursday morning I called and bingo, Bob can start Dutch classes next Monday. And ...coming Saturday we are invited for high tea with the group that works at that centre. Saturdaynight I 'll enjoy a theatre play. and all of Sunday is for Bram, Lia, Bob and I. Apart from that I am working towards volunteering for 'life-book' because the church is actually slow to engage my services..

Bob said to me, last night at dinner, 'you are acting as if still on duty at the hospital,'
A few hours before he had called me, 'where are you', I was at the tiny apartment of a new aquaintance. What visit was that? She had inivted me to see her city apartment right near the Central Station, a new old town housing project which was built only ten years ago, therefore new to me. Before, this area was the red light district in old The Hague.. I visited her flat and found it nice but also claustrophobic, My throat was affected and I could hardly talk. The blinds were half closed and peach colored, everything was peach-colored and matched very well but it alienated my spirit. She talked non stop. Wednesday night we had company for dinner and my good friend then also talked throughout the evening as if noone else should get a chance to open his mouth. Now it was the same and it hurt me. Sounds that make no sense hurt me and I prayed for a silence between the words and tsunamis of words. My prayer was left unanswered.
And suddenly I forged a plan and executed it heroically. Like building a dyke against the flood I came with a question to her. "May I ask you something? " the word flow stopped.. Yes...." "Well this is my question, what do you actually think of me?". A crazy intermezzo and she stuttered 'Well, uh', and then started again about herself and this and that and I said again "What do you think of me?". "You? You're really an introvert, I will not hear from you unless I ask very, very deep questions," she answered me.
I was relieved at my courage of breaking the flow and I answered this, 'you know, I am very open and talk freely about myself and my feelings and experiences in life. But I only talk when there is a chance I will be heard for I have been hurt many times and you know my experiences are from another continent, another world so to speak. I protect myself when I am with a person who talks and does not ask'. Though I think in Holland too the world has changed and people dont ask one another anymore, stories just evolve. Is that true? The conversation was hard, there was a degree of confusion. I think I was angry more than loving. But at least I broke a patternrn and that was good. 'You've given me three things this afternoon. Your love for your house, your fear for disease and the fear of poverty . But I've worked so hard to hear it that I am tired. Sifting the real thing from among the words'
Then I talked about my faith. To feel supported sometimes and to abandon myself in God and orher times to be a total wrack.
Thtat's when Bob called , where are you, it was already half past five. She walked me to the busstop and we were more friends, less strangers, or so I believe. Maybe not. Maybe I hurt her.
So I'm always looking for meaning as if I am on call. I'm waiting for sense in conversation.. I'm waiting for that one word that I find among the thousands of words I hear and I get so tired in the proces. But could I change? Can I just laugh and relax and savor the moment? My intervention in the afternoon conversation made me laugh. But laughter from one side only, is that really laugther?
Oh and about my volunteerwork wirh the church, it is frustrating to have to wait for two months and have nothing to do as yet. Since mid-March I was selected to bring communion to the sick in their homes. I liked that very much. Finally yesterday after a long wait I get an address and it is not the right one. So again I call and email with the church...and wait. I regret all the delays, fele I am wasting time.
So, yes, I still feel on call. And no Caesarean Section or caraccident, nothing for me to do but wait. Meanwhile I got interested in the "write your life book" voluntary project also, interveiuwing a senior person and helping him to put his lifestory in writing. Something to do other than hang out! Bringing communion, helping an elderly person to write his life story, walking with the blind, God give me something a little bit meaningfull to do please for I feel that I am not able just to do.. nothing.

The hour of homecoming

2010-04-25T03:10:00.000+02:00

Saturday, April 24, 2010, 5.45 am..

Two o'clock, three, half past hree, I'm more awake then asleep. At four o'clock the alarm goes off and then the customary first cup of coffee. Five, the bell rings, it is Nieske and Jan who are driving us to Schiphol to pick up Bob. Quarter to six, gate 3, watching through the glass panel looking for familiar faces. Then suddenly I see him, handsome as always. Jeanette and Ab pass much faster through the customsline and we already waved at them enthousiastically but of course Bob, being an American, took more time as he had to take the slow 'international line'. But there he is, even from the distance you see him sparkling with life. He has grown thin and is constantly holding his pants up at his belt, else it would slide down over his hips, or so it looks like. Small man in large pants, not unworthy of Charlie Chaplin. He plays on it too, like Chaplin would. Laughter and a kiss through the glass panel that separates Bob and me.

Less then half an hour later we are all outside for greeting and embracing and we start walking to the parking garages while we talk. Bob carries a small bright grass-green suitcase that belongs to Charity, a lovely sight! I am actually faint from nerves, and joy. A little chat with Ab and Jeanette who are of course aslo tired and woops, into Nieske's car and direction Scheveningen. As if in a dream we ascend the stairs and are home! Bob and I both wobbly and delighted, and tired. When we open the door to our apartment it is already filled with sunshine, it's a miracle house, a lighthouse. We are silently sitting at the table in the sun, we have missed each other. Coffee, bread and then sleep, sleep till noon or later maybe. I am the first to wake up and look closely at his face, his features are calm and he is getting older, yes, but all the time more handsome too. All is calm and I slumber away again and again. Such profound relaxation, I haven't experienced it since ages. It has all been new and hectic to me, and I realize that especially encountering the constant 'newness of things' in Europe has worn me out. Bob is not new, he is of the old order of things and people, familiar and wonderful! We spend a sleepy familiar wonderful day together just doing mothing but drinking in each other's presence.

At night we go to our restaurant nearby, the 'Dis' and then we sleep again, tranquil as if the house is filled with unseen angels. Open eyes open heart, no loneliness that day.
An hour later Bob suddenly screams in his sleep, it's a nightmare. He wakes up desorienated. What is it that makes such contentment change into panic all at once? Happiness has of course it's shadow-side always close at hand, like every other manifestation in life. But the stress has been much because of the delay in flights and maybe our separation has been a bit too long, this time.

Remember the hour of homecoming, Bob and Ineke, the contentment, the joy. And the shadowside that should be welcomed like the light as the two are unseparable and give us depth. A real homecoming, home together for better or for worse.

You and I, and the Cloud of Ashes in Between

2010-04-19T11:25:00.000+02:00

At this hour Bob and I should have be sitting at the round table in our Dutch home. In the early sunshine we would have taken our breakfast together. I would have looked at his bushy hair and handsome face, slightly puffy from the overnight plane-ride. He would have enjoyed the curve of my mouth while I poured the coffee. ‘You wear your Mabel smile’ he would say. (When I am content my smile resembles Mabel’s.)

‘You look like my old Bobbele’, I would say.
We would have been so contented to be reunited again.
But the ashes of Iceland are hanging between us, and the airport is closed for the fourth consecutive day. My little house in Scheveningen is sunny and silent and Bob is sitting in front of his Nkoranza house, looking at the pool and the first kids starting the morning exercises in Nkoranza.

It feels strange. It is strangely disturbing how a scenario can instantaneously change while no-one is responsible, can be blamed or can influence the situation in any way.
So we wait. There is a massive waiting exercise going on. Jeanette waits in Ghana while her Reeuwijk school waits for her, Bob waits in Ghana while Ineke waits here in Holland for him, Steve waits in Holland being stuck on his way back to Ghana and I believe Joke waits in Bangladesh while her work in Holland waits for her. Among thousands and thousands of others!
Almost fifteen-hundred people are encamped inside Schiphol airport, for four days already, waiting for the continuation of their flight. They sleep on benches or field beds while their money gets finished, their relatives wonder and their children easily cry. Some have essential medication in their luggage and can’t get to their suitcases. People take it in their stride as with a war-situation or a natural disaster and the atmosphere is orderly. Outside the airport life goes on as usual. Yesterday a beautiful spring-day with blue skies and an overly red sunset caused by the volcanic ashes. Sunlight on everyone’s shoulder and in everyone’s face. Those living around the airport enjoy the silence caused by a plane-less sky. News bulletins show a disagreement mounting between the controlling European Union and the air-traffic specialists, ‘Airspace closure exaggerated measure, European Union bureaucracy…’ ‘Yes but safety first…’
Thanks to Ab van Galen Bob’s flight is rebooked to next Friday and hopefully all three, Ab, Jeanette and Bob, will then fly back from Ghana to Holland. If the ashes and the European Union agree, that is…

I miss Bob. Bob misses me. We had counted on this day of reunion. We were ready for the embracing and story telling and all that.
If by the end of the week the situation is unchanged I will return to Ghana, by boat or by camel, to see you, Bob. Among others I wanted to show you this book, the Massai Bible, which Dorrit gave me, I told you over the phone about it.
Anyway, Bob, let me use this way to give you a sense of the beauty of these paintings, seventy in all. Made by a German old lady, the artist is called Katharine Kraus. I am trying to contact her, out of a strong curiosity of who she might be, and to thank her for her moving work.

Look for yourself. This portrays ‘An Angel for Companion’, (Tobit 5)

This is called: “Being Moved”.(Luke 10)

(Ruth 1) ‘Being firmly determined’
And this last one, Bob, this one portrays you and me. It is called ‘Growing Old Together’(Tobit 8)

The last few weeks we have been growing old separately and it is time to do that difficult and beautiful thing together again. So if you do not come soon I will be coming back to you, by hook or by crook, so we can continue to grow old nicely together!

Good Friday

2010-04-03T00:50:00.000+02:00

This Good Friday is good. Homecoming is what it is, and this is what I longed for since a long, long time, an ill defined but forever deeper craving for home, and today I feel I have arrived. Maybe I will arrive again tomorrow or maybe I’ll be lost who knows but today is an authentic ‘home-day’. Not the homecoming to the Dutch windmills or even cheese and apples, not to the temperate climate or even speaking Dutch again, not a homecoming to family of whom there are very few left, no, it concerns the homecoming to a deep inner place of rest, the place I got separated from. Nothing to do with Ghana too. It was the separation from my deeper ‘self’ which made me homesick and in search for Holland again at this stage in my life. And today I touched my hidden self in the soul of Holland on Good Friday. Despite the rush in the supermarkets on chocolates and colored Easter eggs and other unessentials. From an inquiry it appears that 53 percent of the Dutch don’t know the story about Easer anymore, no wonder with all the crazy Easter bunnies and yellow painted chickens and furniture drive-in shows on Easter Sundays and all that. But the people I met today do know the story and know it is greater then themselves. And the music I heard remembers. The Mathew Passion in all kind of shapes and forms. Today a performance of Stabat Mater by Pergolesi in the local church, so delicate that it evoked a deep sense of awe in the handful of graying people gathered there, awe that still resounds in my soul. I am contented and for today my heart is not restless for it rests in God. And in people. It is a spiritual homecoming today which also has to do with the fact that I have found voluntary work that suits me. First in accompanying blind holidaymakers during their vacation and now also visiting old people in our parish. After nearly a month away from Ghana I have found new life and when I return in December I will have stories to tell!

Today, April 2nd, is also ‘Autism day’ or so I read in my paper this morning. For moment I see the faces of our autistic children in my mind’s eye and again, I am content. Cynthia and Boadu, Ema and Kwaku, they are at peace where they are and their situation is not perfect but as good as it gets. Since a few days Ab and Jeanette are in Nkoranza for the continued leadership of PCC, and Ema has returned after his one year course away from home. Sue gives her telephone advise. So all is well and life is good! For our children with autism too.
Tomorrow my old girlfriend Liesbeth is coming to stay with me for the Easter. So I have been cleaning the house and arranging things, buying flowers and filling the fridge with food. Yesterday I vacuum-cleaned. First the stairs (dirt of a year) then my floor and carpet and finally I took the mouthpiece off in order to vacuum those corners that otherwise get forgotten, ending up vacuuming the curtains and blinds in front of the windows. I would even have done more hadn’t the long rope of one of the blinds got stuck in the hose of the machine. That was the end of that. No amount of force could dislodge it again. So instead of removing the rope from the hose I removed the hose from the vacuum-cleaner and now this big hose hangs like a snake, an enormous black cobra, alongside one of my windows. A single giant garland.

My friend abhors luxury and begged me not to indulge her with cake, chocolates, wine or anything special and I will oblige her happily.
Except for the special treat of a giant snake that will swing over all our meals at the table!

I say these things mostly to make Charity and Mercy in Ghana laugh! They know I am clumsy and spoiled. It gives them good laughs when they call and hear the latest. ‘What did you cook today, Maame?’ I call them after doing a household thing just to entertain them. ‘Maame, you did your laundry? Wow!’
Mercy called me today ’Mama I miss you. I don’t feel well. What did you cook?’ ‘Mercy I miss you too. What is wrong? Please see Mr. Hipo. I have eaten fish with bread’. ‘But in Ghana you don’t eat fish.’ ‘True but in Holland you can buy fish without bones. I put oil in the pan and cook it nicely.’ ‘Maame, well done!’ ‘Mercy what will you do for Easter?’ ‘Maame what will you do?’ ‘My friend will come and stay with me. I shall cook’. (laughter) ‘I have cleaned the house’ (laughter) ‘I have left the hose of the vacuum-cleaner hanging in front of the window’. (Laughter) ‘What? Maame you say what?’

‘ A hose, a long hose, bungling in front of the window. I needed Baffo!’ Laughter, laughter, laughter. Love. Inner peace. Paradise. If Bob will be back in Holland paradise can really start….

Growing older getting bolder increasingly hard to subdue

2010-03-28T18:22:00.000+02:00

Dear Philo,
I think you would be happy with a letter. Well maybe. If you couldn’t get hold of a piece of bread, or an outstretched hand or crayons and paper, or if you couldn’t run around, or bath little Lisa, or spend time with your favorite volunteer, well maybe then you would like to sit with me and hear me read this letter to you.
Right?

Reason I write is to borrow something from you, just for a little while, and that is your boldness and your fun-spirit.
Some time ago somewhere I saw a poetry-line,’…growing older, getting bolder, increasingly hard to subdue…’
That’s you, you know, with your amazingly hard to subdue tough cookie spirit forever increasing. That is me too, growing older and bolder, but our baselines are different if you know what I mean.

I was there the day you arrived, some ten years ago, a baby-girl bundled up in cloths with a real big grin on her tiny face. Not a trace of fear, just fun. Since then you have grown from bold to bolder and fun to funnier. Well done!

It is a little over two weeks ago since I arrived in Holland, at my sea-side apartment in Scheveningen. A sea-side which you have never seen and I know you would love. Wouldn’t you love to run over the beach and roll in the sand and jump into the waves?
Or would something, stirring deeply from inside you, remind you of that time when you were found abandoned at the beach in Ghana? You must have screamed loudly and persistently for some time before fishermen found you there. That’s what I mean, Philo dear, your spirit!

I have wished several times to either scream piercingly, burst out loudly into off key singing, or even bite wildly into someone’s buttocks. Can you imagine me biting into the behind of someone else and ripping out some tweed or woolen pants? You would die of laughter! That’s why I am talking to you, dear.
Can you for example imagine someone seriously moaning about poverty in Holland? Wouldn’t you get mad too, or weep?
If you saw the amount of food I see in one day, or for example horses galloping along the beach, or all these glorious flowers for sale in the streets, or the speed with which elevators lift to the top of a building, or how big and fat a cat behind a window can be, wouldn’t you scream for joy too? Point at it with your finger, open wide your mouth and give a stunned and stunning scream?!

I’m inhibited, Philo. Life is excellent, it is good the way it is, but at times I feel lost and hugely strange. Need some of your fearlessness, so help me God.
I’m not saying you are lucky, no, I am the lucky one.

Oh wait, Philo, I remember now that you too suffered spells of despondency. When unobserved you would silently roam away and fill your mouth with earth. That was some years ago, and now? The issue never came up again and it must be because you overcame that habit.
If in Holland you would be too busy jumping in and out of the sea and going up and down these elevators to think of such things, you say? Just for today I am faint and among the things I could do might be added ‘eating earth’, right?

Wrong! While writing this Philo has given me a sufficient dose her boldness already.
Thanks, kid, talk to you soon.

Maame Ineke.

Strange New Land, my Old Country

2010-03-21T20:59:00.000+01:00

Its getting to two weeks since I left Ghana and I do not miss my people so acutely anymore. I moved to Holland, a foreign country, which happens to be my own country!
And it is strange and awesome and exciting and often very lonely.
The first few days were the strangest. The silence. The dust on the windows which I cleaned with Kleenex and old towels. The laundry machine which is a blessing after the years of key-soap, but how to use it, which department is for the soap which for the softener. The supermarket, how many deodorants, how many types of tea, how many shampoos can you possibly offer without confusing people?
Arriving into our little empty house and finding a dead mouse on the couch under the pillow. Acutely petrified, standing there with unpacked luggage, finally calling on a friend to ‘please pick up this mouse for me…’
Oh God! Thank you, friends.
Bob is still in Ghana and this separation is a self imposed delight-stroke-punishment.
Oh am I looking forward to time alone when we spend long months in close proximity in Ghana. And then when I have it…oh do I long for my man!

Bob, you too, the shadow of your smile arouses my spirit when I am low. You know how many times we talk on the phone to utter these little sentimental words, hmmm. Four more weeks and you too will be here and we will celebrate our outrageously happy summer in Scheveningen.

Of course today, 21st March, spring has started and the weather has responded promptly to the date of spring. Sunshine, shy daffodils that show their pretty heads and life going upwards and outwards as planned, awesome life.

The Shadow of Your Smile

2010-03-14T19:35:00.000+01:00

Having arrived in Holland, it is now ‘the shadows’ of your smiles that linger with me and keep me warm. With ‘you’ I mean you Mercy, you Joyce, you Patrick, you Baffo and especially you PaaYaw, you who gave me such a great speech the evening before I left.

I think of your speech now, PaaYaw, how bravely you put up your hand to ask for your turn. Uncharacteristically, for you are shy. Patrick who drove your wheelchair right into the circle where you waited for the audience to be quiet and listen to you. You were serious and certainly not crying because Ghana has already taught you how to be big. Silently you looked me in the eyes and slowly raised your right hand and lifted it high and landed it again a little further from where your hand took off.

It is likely that you were talking about the plane to take off from Accra and land in Holland. And with your gestures you also seemed to say ‘goodbye and safe journey’ and forgive me for taking Kofi Asare and Ayuba in the car to Accra with me, instead of you. You almost-cried and then a spiritual force broke through on your face and you smiled such a smile! Thank you, my friend.

Thank you all my friends. I will be back in December.
Thank you Ab and Jeanette for making this possible. Thank you Bob for following me soon to Holland, its lonely without you.

However the smile that lingers even more profoundly has nothing to do with emotions around my departure. Boadu probably does not realize that I have left. I do not know exactly what Boadu notices and what he doesn’t, but over the last months we had all seen that Boadu was losing further interest in noticing people or even food. That he sat around with his head hanging down, getting more and more depressed.
Boadu suffers from epilepsy as well as autism with severe learning disabilities. He has always been quiet, whispers only occasionally a word such as ‘toilet’ and is easily overlooked as he is so self effacing. Gradually the depression crept upon Boadu more and already some months ago Ema had started to ask ‘what shall we do with Boadu, he just sits silently and stares and runs his nose…’

Since we are lucky to have Sue Hatton, our autism supervisor, (or ‘autism maame’) available to our community, Ema has made frequent phone-calls to Bristol in England, where Sue lives, to ask for advise. Not only about the depressed Boadu but about all kind of autism related issues.
Sue: ‘See where, when, with whom he finds some relief, if anything. Start there, discovering where he feels good and expand on it slowly’. ‘Water? See what, exactly, with water. In the pool? With a kettle? Gently pouring water on his head? He himself pours over his own head? He pours water over someone else’s head? Then stay there, do it with him more, repeat it, make it a habit.’ ‘Boadu and Eelke play ball? He responds? He holds a badminton rackets in his hand and touches the ball? Likes it? Plays with Koo Ema? ’ ‘He likes soft cloth? He likes a teddy-bear, give him the teddy-bear, 24 hours a day. Other kids steal his teddy-bear? Defend him, teach him to defend himself, to hang on to his bear, treat him with paramount importance.’

One fine day his caregiver proudly announced that Boadu had smilede again and one beautiful afternoon volunteer Eelke came running to tell the same.

What a breakthrough, a Boadu who could smile again.

Then I saw the smile myself, two mornings before I left, during the morning exercise. Boadu with a kind smile. I saw it, stopped in my track, run back for my camera and yes… he was till smiling and so I got his picture!

So wonderful, Boadu, your smile! That smile, Boadu, is the real important news of this year! You are the least of the children and what happens to the least of our children… Somewhere in the bible it mentions the least of our children, I forgot what it was exactly but it definitely has to do with Boadu’s smile.

That smile is the warmest shadow in my soul as I walk in the cold of pre-spring Holland.

Independence Day

2010-03-06T15:28:00.000+01:00

'One-two, one-two...’ Accompanied by drums for rhythm and a sharp whistle for energy. It is ‘march-pass’ this morning for all the kids who cannot join the festivities in town.

Today is independence day, the 53rd, since in 1957 Kwame Nkrumah took over the baton from the British rulers.

Those that have to stay home and exercise their march-pass at PCC are of course the very small ones, those that are not mobile as well as many of our autism-kids as they as a rule don’t enjoy crowds.

The others go to the public park in town, where the Chief and District Executive will address the crowd after brass bands and march passes are over with.

For us here at PCC it is fun-time, a gorgeous little celebration.

See the autistic Kwaku Chairman, who, lo and behold, has conquered one of the drums for himself and beats it with enthusiasm.

See Shalomina who, after orthopedic surgery, has her leg in plaster, and is driven around in the procession like a benevolent queen, gently waving to the bystanders.

See Bob and Bright watching the parade.

During the third and last march-pass-rounds around the compound, Bob is asked to give the ‘State of the Union’ address.

‘Congratulations with your 53th year of independence and hip, hip hurray for Ghana. May Ghana and all of us enjoy freedom for another thousand years and more.’

My freedom march-pass starts in four days when I fly to Holland. Already I have felt my shoulders relax from the burden of responsibility taken off them. Hurray for freedom!

The Morning After

2010-02-27T18:16:00.001+01:00

This morning, or was it still night, I sat outside and waited in the dark.
Breathing was all I did and I felt like a stranger in wonderland.

At dawn Bob comes out with coffee. Always we feel reverend for this moment when the new day breaks but how much more so today. We drink our coffee without breaking the silence till at seven Patrick’s whistle blows in the distance.

So… my last night-call in the hospital is over and done with!
My last Caesarian was, after all, that chubby baby-boy of yesterday dawn. My last accident case that of Thursday afternoon. All done, well done, yes, it’s over!
Yesterday the hospital celebrated my farewell and in retrospect I felt ashamed for saying ‘Oh my God, not another award celebration…’ for it was really pleasant and a crown on my work at St Theresa’s Hospital for nearly thirty years.
The closure was good and reminded me of all my big dreams and great passions of the past. I had wanted to be a tropical doctor in Africa and I was one! Professionally this was more important to me than being the founder of the children home. Not achievement-wise but skill-wise. I have always been good doing surgery, in my peak days I was excellent, but still I do it well and will miss it.
So here we are, I breathe in freedom and the burden falls from my shoulders. Yet I will also miss it! I will miss the surgery. The atmosphere in the operation-room.
Not the being on call, not the treating of malaria, typhoid and hypertension, but the surgery.
I will not miss managing the PCC-Hand in Hand Community, I will not miss I think any further position of leadership, but I will miss this simple skill that I did so well.

Oh and so what did I do?
Its doctor’s meeting early Thursday morning, about doctors leaving and doctors coming.
‘Dr. Bosman who will do the pediatric hernias after you go? Dr Hilal has left for Korle-Bu and the new surgeon at Techiman did not come and so there is no-one around.’
Oh do I grab the bait real quick…
‘The baby hernia’s? Give them to me one more time, I can do them next Friday. Even tough I stopped work, I am not gone yet till March 10, so line the kids up for me. Oh and when I am back in the winter I can help too, I love to do so.”
No, not being on call and not endlessly treating lines of sick people at the consultation- room, no!
Tinkering with baby- hernias, however, on a bright and air-conditioned surgery-morning in the operation room, with Comfort, Prince and Willy? Yes Sir!
So I have stopped from now onwards, but get my bonus yet. Next Friday!

That’s what I imagine my days hereafter to be, no more heavy responsibilities and lots of wonderful bonuses. I might be right, you know.

Look at this Girl!

2010-02-21T18:12:00.000+01:00

Look at the girl you are talking about…

It happens all the time and it happened yesterday, right before the party. A middle aged Dutch couple, nice, friendly, sits at one of our stone tables. I had seen them earlier in the pool playing with Emmanuelle. They call me as I pass by.
“Are you the founder here? Can we ask you a question?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘It’s about that girl you know, the one without the arms and legs. Our question is this, what kind of future is there here for a child like this?’
I sink. I have experienced that sinking feeling many times and still don’t know how to respond. What should I say, mind your own business?
‘Emmanuelle you mean? What future? How do you mean?’
‘I mean this. What hope is there for a child like this in Africa. Over in Holland we have everything, but in Ghana…!’
‘What do you mean you have everything in Holland, what do you have that we don’t have? Apart from the obvious, technique and financial security? ’
I say to myself, don’t get angry. Ineke! Don’t get into a defensive position, there is nothing to defend, the truth is clear to see…
They talk about the many ways children like this could be revalidated. It is about physical mobility, artificial arms and legs, the scoot-mobile later on.
Yes I know and we have many helpers, I say. But you know? You can read about two people with this kind of handicap, who have turned their story into a success-story, a woman in England who is a painter and a man in Australia who is an evangelist. You can find them on the internet. Do you know what they both say? They have actually parked those artificial limbs and other devices somewhere away and seldom use them, they are not so practical anyway. They live as they are and perform well and have made peace with their handicaps and their emphasis is not on how they can be helped but on how they have realized themselves. No, I don’t mean just a motivational story, no, really! With them it all depends on guts and spirit. Courage and an inner drive. Look at the girl you are talking about, look at that face! What do you notice? Even if you wouldn’t know her? Yes, spirit! Character! Drive! Humor! She is quite a lady and she will make it in life. She has all she needs, which is her own good spirit and a loving accepting family who believes in her’.
It sounded like a sermon anyway.
“We are only simple Dutchmen. We think about her future, the lack of movement and means of expression. How she will suffer”.
I fume. “I too am only a simple woman and when a child like this is given to you, be it in this community or be it from your own womb, you either reject or accept, it seems to me. If you accept, like what we did, then the family and child grow together and assistance flows as needed and it is one step at the time. That story is radically different from how you articulate your question: ‘What is her future’. That story, her story, our story, is about the fun today and the little break-trough tomorrow, when she can hold her pen in her mouth, and the little set back of yesterday when she bossed another child and got disciplined. It’s the story of Emmanuelle a girl that grows up and realizes that she is different. It’s not about the difference, it’s about how she learns to cope and we the family too. How she is goes each morning to school and returns each evening, satisfied and tired. And you know what, she is not only satisfied but she is learning that she is damn lucky compared to some others here, she is intelligent enough to notice that. You see the boy sitting beside her? Intelligent, like her. Cerebral palsy. Cannot walk and cannot talk. Emmanuelle can talk, Sammy can’t. Emmanuelle knows she is in the advantage over him and you know what? Sometimes she teases him and gets punished and sometimes she supports him and gets praised.

No pity for the little lady. No pity for any of our children. No belittling, no talking over their head. Admiring, yes! Enjoying? Even more so.

What would she answer you herself, if you would ask her what is your future going to be. Hmm. What would Emanulle actually answer?
She would say 'Yes'.
' I go to school, the Nation Builders school .'
'"We go to school in a car'
'I Love Maame Joyce'.
And she would smile demurely. And mean exactly what she says.
That is her future, tomorrow morning.

Holy Healing Church (All there is is church continued)

2010-02-14T18:12:00.000+01:00

After eleven already, they have started, so quick into the car to attend the ‘Holy Healing Church’. Eelke, one of our volunteers, expressed interest in the plight of the mentally ill and wanted to visit a healing camp, a place where the sick are healed by fasting, prayer and driving out of evil spirits. I promised to help her find such a camp and together we stumbled on the Holy Healing Church in the traditional area of Nkoranza.
Earlier we had introduced ourselves to one of their pastors and yes, we were welcome to attend a service. That time the pastor also indicated a shed where the mentally ill were resting, in between healing sessions, but when we asked to see the patients he politely refused by starting on another subject. Just as politely as we kept inquiring, he also kept artfully dodging our request.
In any case we were late and rushed to his church that Sunday. That was the second Sunday-visit to his church, as during our first visit the service turned impromptu from a healing- into a fundraising-event, after our appearance. Not quite by coincidence probably! But we felt welcome despite it all and were still curious and returned today.

The Holy Healing church is large square shed filled with tremendous noise any time we were there. You enter the door and are at instantly deafened by the noise. It provides immediate altered awareness like a drug. Only sign language will still do to communicate. And communicate you have to, for the pastors and elders one by one all come to shake your hand and someone asks officially the reason of our coming. Mouthing, lip-reading, it is not possible and in the end pieces of paper pass over to us with ‘welcome’ and bible quotes. Smiles and clapping hands.
In front of the altar part, were we are seated beside the pastors, lays a carpet with twenty thirty children sleeping on it. The children miraculously lay quietly in the center of the noise, in the eye of the storm. It is a still-point which is pleasant to look at. Some of the children are obviously sick and most are obviously healthy. They sleep, play or gaze at us or what is going on in the church. Friendly! When the people in the packed church stand up we too stand, when they pray we pray. We sing when they sing and dance as they are dancing and when they sit we too we sit.
The healings are starting because both an apostle and the main pastor walk forwards into the church and form a line of kneeling people in front of them. Many women, many middle aged and old women. (Everywhere in the world, churches and women.)
The noise level still rises as force is used to pray over the sick. Some of the faithful shout and run and tumble around in the church, their inside demons wanting to leave them. Sometimes suddenly the forcefulness turns into tenderness as one of the healers turns to one of the sick children to gently touch them in prayer. Then again a boy is treated not so tenderly, standing there in front of them and getting buckets of water poured out over him! After which the healer prays over him with a bible-book that scans him up and down and around his whole body as if he were at the airport checking for metal. Then he is crossed on the forehead numbers of times (fourteen?) and dismissed for the next. Two members of the church in the meantime go around looking for people to be healed. Once identified these persons are escorted to the prayer-line.

Suddenly Eelke and I too are strongly gripped at the upper-arm and almost lifted over to the forefront. The noise dies for a moment as we stand there side by side and the healers make ready for us. Our chairs are picked up from behind where we sat, after we are led to the healing place, and again shifted under us. ‘Sit down and get healed!’

What the cleaner in the hospital said about church in general was true for us: ‘you have a chair and you can sit and rest your bones’. We sat down and as the sound level was rising again to the impossible, I felt a mighty strong hand on my forehead. A good farm hand, callous, hard as a piece of wood. (I appreciate people with ‘farmhands’, as they know how to work the soil for a living. )
I believe that simultaneously the other pastor prayed over Eelke, but I couldn’t turn my head to the side even if I wanted to as the hold on my head was so strong. So, in the grip of prayerful farm hands I rest. I might as well rest and make it a point to be open to this moment, but the hand almost pushed me over with plastic chair and all and so I had to put my feet firmly on the floor and push back against this hand.
After considerable time the grip lessened and we were thanked and send back to our place, chairs following us immediately so we could sit over there again. ‘Wow’ Eelke and I said to each-other, that’s to say our mouth formed a ‘wow’ to each other as the healings continued for some time. The patients from the shed were not brought inside the church which after all made sense. They must be agitated, psychotic, in chains…and their delivery would be a matter of a different order not to be shown to children young women and strangers. More preaching and dancing and praying and we then asked permission to leave as it was getting late.
Outside and sudden silence. Wonderful silence! We said ‘wow’ to each other again and this time we heard each other say it! We climbed in the car and talked. And went home, it was late afternoon already.
Taken aback by their healing prayer over us, we still appreciated their gesture. It was a gesture of courage kindness and inclusiveness, I thought. Strange, yes! Usually people would ask before praying over each other. But here we are, in this case an alien land for me too.
Did I rest, enjoyed sitting in my chair? Yes! I had to fight to keep it upright but yes it brought me rest and lightness of being.

But Eelke, you are right. In the meantime we haven’t set our eyes on the patients in the shed as yet and maybe never will. Let is pursue that issue later.
.

All there is, is church

2010-02-08T18:10:00.000+01:00

‘On Sundays you leave at seven in the morning and return after three. Why so much time at church?’, I asked to a befriended cleaner in the hospital and got this wise reply, intermingled with bursts of laughter. ‘Because, maame, because all there is, is church. We have no other thing but church and work and family. And family is always a problem, with money needed and cooking to be done. And work gets you disappointed. Like this here, you clean and you clean again and it never gets clean to stay clean. Forever work and no pay you unless you fight for your money. All that is tiresome, maame! But the Church? The church is okay. There you can sit. You get a chair to sit on and you sit! And you can pray or not pray but nobody will bother you for as long as you are there. You can rest your bones, feel clean and be restored, you know. That’s why on Sundays we all attend our churches. And postpone coming home afterwards. Believe me trouble starts as soon as you cross your own doorstep again, that’s the end, the free zone is over.’
Well spoken, well understood.

This weekend I got more than my share of church attendance with a wedding, the dedication of twin-babies and a charismatic service in one of Nkoranza’s small healing churches. Did my bones feel rested and did I come out restored? Let me tell you.
First Saturday, the wedding of Clemens, one of the hospital’s old watchmen, at the catholic chapel of the hospital. He and his wife Vida must have planned and saved for years towards this event; they are an old married couple with grandchildren. I have an appreciation for Clemens so want to show my face at the chapel which is decorated with the usual ribbons, artificial flowers and balloons. In this case they are hanging so low that the bride has to bend over when walking along the altar path. The bride is awesome of statue, tall and slender, and also giggly and shy like a little girl. Long white dress, plenty of lace, a veil, flowers in her hair and new sparkling silver shoes that keep catching your eyes. Vida is at least a head taller then her husband. Clemens looks almost like an orthodox Jew in his dark suit in which he seems to disappear. His shoes are comfy and old, as if the money had finished right there, at Clemens’s ankle level.
Clemens seems intoxicated with happiness, or drink, or both, the way he keeps embracing his wife whenever the priest or audience gives him the slightest chance. She is embarrassed but merry with this public display of feeling.
Their success is enormous. When having to repeat the priest, Vida goofs at the ‘for better or for worse’ part, which again gives cause to warm and wonderful laughter in the church. ‘Dono, dono, dooont-knowwww!’
They were baptized the day before and received first communion after the exchange of vows, so a full festive display of three very Catholic sacraments in one. And soooo happy. So nice to be there for me and did I feel restored? Yes.

Next Church is Sunday morning early. With a car full of caregivers we drive to the main catholic church in town, the ‘Roman church’. For the dedication of the twins of Mr. Willy and Sister Lizzy. We all have to be there, have to, for this concerns the out-dooring and dedication to God of the miracle babies!
Willy is the head of the operation room and his wife is the public health nurse. They are advanced in age, probably in their late forties, and so far no ‘issue’, they remained childless. But! This couple just did not give up! And, lucky detail, were still young enough to profit of Ghana’s ‘new age’ where everything became possible. I mean the upsurge in development from the nineties going. For some years they attended a new, special clinic all the way down at the coast in Tema, where among other awesome things artificial insemination and IVF are practiced. One surgical morning, in between cases, Willy gave me the full story.
It has taken several failed attempts, all their money and more, the further development of their careers and all the persistence they could muster but they have succeeded. Early January two adorable girls were born. Today they will be dedicated in the main catholic church in town. Two sturdy babies with curly black hair, two identical girls. Dressed in white and carried on silk pillows like two princesses. To be ‘given back to Mother Church’ and dedicated to God from whom all good things and babies come…
We are late, too late for the dedication itself. My fault, I couldn’t do without my breakfast … and then there were visitors to say good bye to. But we are in time for the end part of Mass and Fr. Andy orders me to the very front were I sit between the line of altar-boys who are swinging incense towards the princesses and the audience. Do I sit easily there and rest my bones? No. But I overcome my shyness and get very happy when for a few minutes one of the miracle babies is laid in my arms. A princess in my arms! When Mass is over and everyone is singing and chatting a special collection follows. Oh, oh, I mistake it to be a collection of money for the parents of the princesses. So I empty my pockets in the box. On the way home Mercy tells me, laughingly of course, that that collection was ‘for some people who suffered earthquake’ and I grin sourly. I had misplaced my present for the miracle babies. But that was the only false note of that morning, apart from coming late. Was I inspired with the clouds of incense right and left and the princess in the middle in my arms? Yes.

Back home Sunday at 11 in the morning and later still a church to go to, the Holy healing church. But I have to leave that story for another tim, as it is a story in itself.
I feel good with this churchy weekend. ‘With a chair to sit on and nobody bothering me and resting my bones.’ Refreshed with a new lightness of being.
Also with significantly less cash at hand after contributing to the wedding, dedication of princesses, mistakenly to earthquake and to the holy healers. Fortunately the giving money too is making light with life.

Gifty's Wedding

2010-02-03T17:50:00.000+01:00

That Saturday morning we should be there in time. Nine o’clock sharp and not a moment later. Because her minister had been stressing several times to Gifty, ‘we start in time so that we end in time’. After the wedding there would be a funeral in the same church, so no dilly dallying. And none of this nonsense with clapping and festive shouting, no chanting of ‘do-no’ and ‘ayefro’. Not in his church anyway, for ‘Deeper Life’ does not occupy itself with such worldly and childish stuff. And African time, absolutely not.

So at nine exactly the hired little bus and my yellow car are parked side by side in front of the little church. The two cars together seem to take up more place than the church itself which is not bigger than a small wooden shed and also in other ways resembles more a shed then a church.

But it is festively decorated with artificial flowers and a bow decorated with blue and purple silk, where later Gifty and her husband will be seated. No drums but an electrical organ. Many men clad in dark solemn suits, among them the minister himself. A singing choir in black and white dresses is hastily pushed from the front to the back to the front of the church again. After our large PCC family entered the church and was given a seat there was not much sitting place left, but of course these problems solve themselves eventually in a natural way. Extra chairs were carried in from somewhere else.
Oh how curious we all are waiting to see Gifty the bride. How will she look, what will she wear, how beautiful will she be.
But for the time being there are last corrections and hastily whispered commands, interspersed with hymn-singing and communal prayer by the congregation. And then silence falls….Whispering, turning of heads.
Yes! The husband to be has arrived in his dark suit and seats himself under the decorated bow. His face stone solemn and his eyes turned inwards.
A little later Gifty follows, at the hand of her father. Oooooh!!!! Ooooohhhh!!
Gifty almost does not touch the floor and you almost feel her heart pounding inside her chest but her face shows nothing of any emotion. She floats into the church and is directed to the chair beside Stephen, her husband to be, under the bow of honour. Oooohhh. Oooohhhh.. Ayefroh!!!!
But no. This is stopped at once by the minister, this folksy shouting and singing. Silence please. This is a wedding ceremony and in Deeper Life we insist on the solemnity of the ceremony. The happy shouting dies away, with difficulty. Many ex caregivers have come especially for this occasion, like James, Kwaku, Angela, and they are excited. How to inhibit yourself when you see your old sweet colleague walking to the altar???
Oh she is awesomely beautiful but she appears so far away. Her face as unmoved like that of her husband a moment before. Can’t you just catch my eye for a moment, dear Gifty? Or somebody’s eye from among the audience?
But okay. That’s how it should be anyway, all feelings constraint and kept neatly inside. A self possessed grandiose very African woman.
Yet, I have a few pictures of you where you drop your mask a little bit, just enough to show your kind, shy smile. Thankfully!
Gifty is dressed in simple and modest crème-colored silk. Her shoes and headscarf are white. No veil. No ‘curtain’ as Gifty explained it a few days earlier, with real aversion in her voice for something as worldly as a veil. No powder and just ordinary tails in her hair.
The wife of the minister has dressed Gifty and so she has earned that little extra income that every Ghanaian woman of substance goes for.
Ghana Women: a job here, a little trade there, her hand in something here and a share in something there. And the rusty iron water tank standing beside the house with her cell phone number chalked on it ‘for rent, call me at 024etcetera’, for the school fees of the youngest child, maybe.

They are seated. The organ music dies away. Communal prayers follow, all join in, we pray for purity and for perfect matrimonial love and against the many temptations of the devil. More hymns and then it is time for the sermon.

The sermon concerns itself mainly and robustly about all kind of thoughts and acts that in Deeper Life are absolutely forbidden, absolutely. Now it appears that not only coming late, singing, wearing veils and festive uncontrolled shouting are from the evil one, but that the whole world seems to be in the hands of the devil. I am myself from a catholic tradition and know this kind of church only from hearsay. But know of friends who have been traumatized by the attitude of black stocking churches, for that is what this is.
Gifty, it is your church. May she provide you peace, joy and safety. But do not lose your ability to sing and to wink!
After the sermon the actual wedding celebration takes place and the marriage is blessed.
And oh dear minister, how will you suppress this clapping and shouting, now that the church burst out in joy?, because Gifty gave her ‘Yes’ so loud and strong and wholeheartedly! Or did I see the beginning of a smile around the mouth of the minister? So there is hope for you??.
The supreme moment has passed, the church relaxes, the united couple is still wearing steel faces but you can see that they are satisfied.
Later more singing and praying and then, still very suddenly, it is all over.

Gifty and Stephen, surrounded by the church-choir, walk solemnly yet somewhat swingingly over the altar-path out towards the main doors of the church. And we too are let out through the side doors of the shed that probably came lose of their hinges after everyone passed. Upon leaving the church everyone receives a plastic bag with an ice-cream and some cookies.
Bob has to go for a few minutes and when we return the reception is already over.
But luckily Gifty and Stephen are still there! Aha, now her laugher breaks through!

Thank you, Gifty and much success, dear child, dear strong African woman.
We will miss you at PCC and especially Alice, Cynthia and Dede will cry for you. But thank God your house is beside PCC, so we can visit each other frequently and we will see a lot of you!!!

Congratulations, Steve and Gifty, Do-no, ayefro, do-no, do-no! No, we don’t know, but we trust your future will be good!
Now we did do what the minister has forbidden us so strictly, we called ‘dontknow’ to you and embraced you all and kissed you and laughed and danced a bit. (When he did not look we did that!)
Your husband has a kind face a nice expression, well chosen!
Even though, of course, the man has chosen you and not he other way around, and you are only a little rib from his side, and on top of it you have lost your head because from now on he is your head.

We shall see…

No More Angel

2010-02-01T17:43:00.000+01:00

Today, on Monday February first at 4.30 pm, we finally lost our dog Angel. She was nine years old and during her life the ‘grand African Maame’ has given birth to fifty nine puppies.
Her last litter was born by surprise on Dec 5th, four adorable puppies of which “Gentle’ went to Mr. Baffo, ‘Hope’ to ex-caregiver Kwaku, X to Mr.Vincent and ‘Star’ to Sr. Charity.
‘Star’ was the last puppy to leave her mother on the second Sunday of January.
Despite lots of tender, love and care as well as extra special fufu meals, Angel’s health declined. She showed rapidly growing abdominal tumors, quite beyond any further treatment.
Angel lost appetite and from the 21st of January could not eat or drink water anymore. She suffered no pains, just seemed amazed about her loss of strength but determined to carry on as usual. Against the odds, without water or food, she lived for ten more days before she died quietly under the Nyame-tree in front of our house.
We salute her.
This evening many of the caregivers came to sit with us, to console us as if we had lost a child, while Patrick, Sundy and some other big guys dug a grave in ‘Nana Yaw’s forest’, were Angel was buried.
Star refused to eat today and Buckley whined unnervingly but otherwise we are all well. We are all proud of Angel, the way she lived and the way she died.
Above is a picture of Angel taken on the 25th of January, where she still managed to walk from our house to her favorite place under the table at the dining area, while PCC celebrated the farewell of Gifty. That day we feared it was her last day. We have feared that for another seven days before she finally allowed herself to succumb.
Good-Bye Angel, Thank you!

Nice Meeting You

2010-01-15T12:56:00.000+01:00

Hello! Nice to meet you in the new year. Our 'swing-year'

Eigtheen yearss after the beginning of PCC Hand in Hand Community we felt we were getting too old to mange well, and we were worried about who would manage the community into its next phase of development. Very fortunately and miraculously we found Dr Albert Van Galen and his wife Jeanette willing to take over the overall leadership. The transfer of power took place between August 2009 and early January 2010. A great relief as well as an emotional time, as we seem to loose our 80 beautiful children in the process.
But the new director counted us in as Grandpa and grandma, which was kind, and we constructed a nice house on the rock for ourselves, the ‘pensioner’s-house’ as it is called. We call it our winter-house. Our plan is that in the summer we will be in Holland and The States but during the winter will return to our beloved grandchildren in Nkoranza.
From this place, my google blog, I continue to offer my little stories and sketches of whatever catches my eye and my imagination. The first story is about the illness of Angel, our Labrador.
It looked as if her sickness begun on the Sunday that she handed over her last puppy to the new owner, Charity.I so appreciated Angel for her sensitive soul.
The day she gave her last puppy away I handed over all my 60 residential children to Albert, one by one, from early morning till into the afternoon.
Angel was lonely and I was exhausted. That night for the first time in her life she crept into my bed. Next night the same. Third night the same.
We then got the advise from Charity to make a real bed for Angel, as she was tired and of high age and had lost her children and needed rest and respect!! Thank you Charity.
But a day later she could no longer climb any bed and then a swift sickness period began of which I will tell you later. We thought that the reason she was so weak was the delivery of 4 puppies in her advanced age. But a few days later tumor could be felt in the abdomen. She quickly lost weight. No pain howcver.

In winter our address is: Peace of Christ- Hand in Hand Community, postbox 120, Nkoranza, Ghana. In spring, summer and autumn you may find us on the Gevers Deynootweg number 8, in Scheveningen or in Chicago.
Email address: inekebosman@Gmail.com
The old columns have been transported by the way from the website of the PCC Hand in Hand Community to this blog.
Nice to meet you in this new year and this new situation where we are no longer the leaders. Great to be FREE!!!

Handing over, handed over, go!

2010-01-01T15:13:00.000+01:00

Handing over, handed over, go!

This is my last column on the PCC website.
Should it be substantial?
Yes.
Moving?
How can it not be.
Long?
No.
Relieved?
Yes and no.
Sad?
Definitely.
Happy?
Most definitely.

Grateful?
Absolutely.

The handover ceremony on the evening of the 29th took two to three hours. They were the most important hours in my life since Schiphol Airport May ‘73 on the way to my first flight to Ghana. Where I walked as bravely as I could through the immigration, with two twenty kilo bags containing all my medical books slung over my shoulders. Not even a free hand to wave my parents goodbye, just my head thrown in the neck, a little dance-pass and tears I hoped they would not see, no hand free to wipe them away either. That time it was going away, this time it is coming home. (Whatever that means. I’ve never been away and I have always been home of course…in another way.) But in the meantime I am blessed to have my dreams fulfilled. Oh and new ones are emerging of course… In my solitude of being a leader I had often doubted if I was still loved. That was my main doubt, my big wound, increasingly over the last twenty years or so. (Oh of course I don’t mean Bob here! Bob and I love each other with a crazy, passionate, temperamental, and steadfast love. The odd couple.) I mean the people with whom I work here in Nkoranza. The caregivers. board members and co founders. But also the nurses and colleague doctors in the hospital. But all-right. After this farewell ceremony I am fully convinced once again that the answer is a wholehearted ‘Yes’. Love all around. Love abounds. Baffo showered love warmly like scented oil. Osei danced love with his eyes and his words. Ema transcended shyness in his superb love and the love of the caregivers could be touched when they sang their friendship-song. Thank you guys, that’s what I needed. Isn’t it marvelous that I’m now sixty five and still insecure about these kind of things?! The warm bath of love and gratitude for Bob and me was accompanied by a shower of trust and hope in the future leadership of Ab and his dear wife Jeanette. I handed over to Ab the symbols of mind, heart and gut, as well as the spirit of PCC, subsequently in the form of PCC’s legal papers, a photo book of the children and a golden key. The spirit was portrayed by a handful of precious ‘nothingness’. All was gracefully received by Ab, who then gave his acceptance speech. We were all moved, everyone was moved. So now. Ab you have received a precious gift, handle it with the utmost care! As we trust you will. I would want to tell you of my dream during this new year’s night before I sign off. I dreamt that Paayaw, clad in a bright red tee-shirt and with an angelic smile on his face, slowly got out of his wheelchair and started to make hesitating but gradually more assured steps into a white warm light that was shining just for him. He walked! And he walked into the light. Thank you and good luck to everybody who is in the habit of reading this column. Good bye and I hope we will meet again. Happy 2010.

The Christmasplay is over and we are counting sheep

2009-12-28T15:25:00.000+01:00

The Christmas play is over. As always it was the absolute highpoint of the holidays. Well, this time there will be another highpoint, the handing over ceremony tomorrow, but that is of an entirely different order. During the Christmas play all children have a role to play and one of the most popular roles is playing a sheep. So today have a look at our unique sheep! By the way you can see that our kids grow bigger from the position of the golden ears which, three years ago, have been sewn to the white cloth that covers them. Most of the ears now look more like plaited hair the way they are attached so high on the scalp. Never mind, never mind. Here follows the sheep show:

Sheep Mr. Personality Ahmed

Sheep Cynthia the Faithful One

Most Reverend Sheep Sister Shalomina

Sleepy Sheep Joshua

And Sleepy sheep Joshua again now wide awake and ful of fun

And llastly…..a sheep of a different order. The real one! The ‘Eat-Sheep’. The romantic un-romantic sheep that has been bought by a benefactor and is tied up on a rope near the kitchen, to be slaughtered for the New Years meal. You poor thing that is even spoken softly to and caressed by some visitors who do not know that you are on death row! To you, real ‘meat eat sheep’, apologies for the anxiety we cause you and gratitude for the delicious meat which you will provide to our children. Beh Beh Beh Beh Beh!

Falling

2009-12-18T16:09:00.000+01:00

After a year of predictions it has happened today. I fell headlong in the black hole that the neighborhood has been predicting me since last year.
Wonderful it was indeed, this year of celebrating the advent of freedom. Finding a little sea-breezed appartment in Holland. Finding time and ways to heal the burnout. Starting the handover process. Wonderful these last few weeks. Drinking in the atmosphere, enjoying the kids at table, swimming, walking and talking with them, hugging and kissing them. Being alive again.

A great 65th birthday, all by the grace of Bob’s surprises, (all except the date itself, that is!). Another award for ‘Dr. Bosman’ the following Saturday at the occasion of the 50th celebration of the creation of Brong Ahafo as a province. A And a lovely two-day seminar for the RC seminary about Judaism by Bob, from which I went to pick him up and bring him home yesterday.

And hoopla…. the fall.
From a snug ride back in the car into dark nightmares that same night.
And a further descent into fear today.
‘Baffo I am afraid’.
‘Why Maame? No. Don’t be afraid!’
‘Yes. Scared stiff.’
‘Why?’
‘From next Monday onwards I don’t know where we should eat. Which table, where, with what children? Or alone, maybe. ‘
‘No Maame, don’t cry. We will all eat with you, all of us, all the time.’
He is so exquisitely sweet, Baffo, and so funny, that I stopped in my tracks and looked surprised.
‘And Papa Bob will sing you songs. You should rest!’
He is right… but I am still suspended in this black hole a little bit, just a little bit.

It’s normal, it’s predicted and it won’t last long, I promise, for Christmas is around the corner and Balloon the angel of good tidings is already polishing his golden wings!