clothes by hand and then hang them on the line. I didn’t realize it was so technique ridden, but there is definitely an art to washing clothes in a bucket. Thankfully, they came over to help so that I was not outside until midnight trying to get soap out of my khakis. The next day as I was walking to work, Ellie, my laundry friend, asked me if I would like to join her on Saturday to watch her choir practice and attend her church service on Sunday. As I have mentioned before, religion is very important to every Ghanaian I have met. The tros tros all carry messages of faith made out in sticky letters on the rear windshield. I was told once that I was not a good Christian because Mike and I lived together before marriage – to which I responded God clearly wanted us to be together otherwise the Patriots never would have won the Superbowl in 2002. I was given a Bible in Twi and told to use “my” English Bible to learn the language. The degree of religious devotion here across ages still continues to strike me. Outside of Christmas and Easter and watching political campaigns, religion does not enter my life on a daily level. With that said though, I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to experience church-Ghanaian style.
Practice started at 3:00 at Saturday, so we left the hostel at 3:15. I am beginning to adjust to time here. Leaving “now” actually means leaving in fifteen minutes and nothing gets done in just an hour or two. For a grad student who was working one or two jobs at a time over the last few semesters, timing is everything. It is difficult to shed the pressure that time puts on you, but I am gradually relaxing and worrying less about being late for people. I digress though, my musings are probably not as interesting as reading about the strange and weird situations I find myself in here, so onto another one…
The church is actually a large lecture hall that was in the upstairs of a building on the international trade fair grounds. Rows of plastic chairs with folding desk tables connected to 
them faced toward where the band was setting up the instruments. Already it was quite different from my experience of church in Old Lyme. There was a drum set, key board and a bass guitar stand with three microphones in front and large speakers on either side. The choir, which was a group of about six girls between the ages of 18 and 30, gathered in between the microphones and drum set. I took my seat a couple rows back ready to take it all in. At that very moment, Ellie turned to me and said, “Heather, come sing with us.” Ghanaians have a way of inviting you to do things where you can’t say no. I was horrified by the idea of subjecting these clearly talented girls to my voice, so attempted a polite, “No, no. I don’t want to interrupt the rehearsal.” Well, that didn’t work. So, there I was standing in a circle about to sing Christian spirituals. Our first exercise included holding a note and walking in a circle individually. The choir leader pointed to 
me first. All politeness aside at this point, I refused to go first and gave her such a terrified look that she didn’t seem to be offended by my refusal. At another point in the rehearsal warm-up session, the girls were singing lines from their favorite church songs and the choir leader asked me to offer one of my songs. I didn’t think “This Little Light of Mine” or “B-I-B-L-E,” the only two songs I could sort of remember from Sunday school were going to cut it, so I attempted to briefly explain that I didn’t have any songs because we sing from a large book of hymns. They let me off the hook, but there was definitely the expectation that I would know the songs they were singing. Maybe a lot of churches sing the same songs, but these were a much faster pace than our organist at the First Congregationalist Church of Old Lyme usually plays.
After the warm up, we discussed the lyrics of the first song. The songs that they were singing during the warm up included lyrics like “I am falling in love with Jesus” and “God, you are my desire.” I was a little scared. The first song I was going to sing with them was something about always trusting in You – not so bad. Some of the girls moved around to sit in parts like soprano and alto. I stayed in my seat, but was later told that I might be better off going to the section 
that was just going to stay with one note for the entire song. Fabulous. After going through it several times, it was time to go up in front of the microphones and add the band. It was kind of cool singing with a band behind me regardless of the subject of the song. Also, the girls all sway and clap their hands as they are singing. I have always been one of those people who struggle with the whole rub your stomach, pat your head thing, so the whole singing, swaying, clapping thing was a bit out of my league. Plus, the girls were all in rhythm and I was just moving. The next song included two solos, thankfully I was spared having to refuse. The two girls who did sing solos were really impressive. Ghanaian Idol, perhaps? The lyrics were something like peace like a river, love like a mountain… not too bad. Everyone seemed to catch up quickly, so less rehearsal was needed for this one.
The rehearsal ended at about 7:30 with a dinner of kenkey and fish. Kenkey is a sticky, slightly sour dough that is dipped in a spicy pepper sauce. You pinch off bites and dip it in. I have noticed that “double dipping” is in no way taboo here. The fish consisted of what I think were fried fish heads. I had recently had an oral encounter with a fish head the previous day, when my co-worker “invited” me to share his fish with him. He gave me the snout as I watched him eat one of the eyeballs. As far as I could tell, the snout was just bones and skin, so I didn’t really understand why I needed to eat it. He was insistent and since the bathroom wasn’t too far, I figured I would just give it a try. It felt like soft bones that eventually crushed under my teeth and it was pretty oily. So, it felt like an oily, crunchy mess in my mouth that had a vague fish taste. I chewed for a bit, but decided it was just not meant for my stomach. Into the gutter went the little bones. Facing another snout gave me pause, so I took tiny pinches of the flesh, scrutinized it for bones in the dark and then ate it. Although the whole double dipping thing is sort of new for me, it is nice how everyone shares. It seems to bring people closer and creates an immediate intimacy between people, which is nice for me since I have spent so much time on my own outside of work.
The night before church Ellie offered to lend me one of her traditional African dresses to wear to the service. The dress was a beautiful and vibrant zig-zag pattern of orange and blue. The skirt tied around the waist and was fitted to just below the knee where it flared out. The top had ¾ sleeves and was slightly off the shoulder. It was cool to be in the dress, but the dress itself was quite warm and I was a little nervous about how I would fare walking around in the sun.
On Sunday morning, I awoke early to get ready for our 8:30 departure- wait did that mean 8:45? I knew church started at 9, so I thought we might leave on time. The minister picked us up at the hostel at 8:55. Everyone looked lovely in their long, printed dresses. Ellie has very short, almost buzzed hair that she has bleached to a medium brown. She wore a cute hair piece that she pulled back into a ponytail. We arrived at the church and sat in the front two rows. A few people had arrived and the band was all set up. Two men were using the microphones to do some sort of duet rap. One was repeating “praise Jesus” while the other one was saying longer sentences. Ellie informed me that we were praying. Ah, that is very interesting that in their culture you can rap your prayers. It was intense though, because around me I noticed everyone had their eyes closed and were mumbling prayers aloud and the music was in an endless crescendo. The full-body passion that people exhibited in their prayer and singing was certainly new to me and I again was struck by the degree of expression from the men in the audience and the adolescents. I guess I associate this type of religious zeal with middle-aged Midwesterners. Seeing young, trendy twenty-somethings on their knees in prayer or with their arms raised seemed contradictory.
About 45 minutes into the opening music/prayer section, the chorus made its way to the speakers. I really couldn’t believe I was going up there. But, there I was, third from the right, attempting to sway in time with the other girls, not sing too loud, and remember all of the lyrics. 
One of the girls put her arm around my waist so we could sway together. It was nice. Ghanaians really are the best. The churchgoers all clapped for us at the end of the two songs. The song/prayer section of the service ended nearly an hour and a half after it began. The minister spoke for about forty five minutes about putting God first. At one point he said that some people put careers and education first and really suggested that this was “not what God wants.” I worry what effect this kind of rhetoric has on an emerging economy with poverty and illiteracy rates that far exceed
Church ended around 11:30. Several people introduced themselves to me and commented that they saw me singing. I was relieved they used the verb “saw” as opposed to “heard.” Everyone was very nice and encouraged me to return. I was also told that the choir fees were 4 cedis per month. It was one of those “but wait I don’t think you understand and how do I politely say I was just curious about a choir rehearsal that suddenly snowballed and has now taken me to a place I am not quite ready for” moments. I did make two new friends though, Ellie and Eunice. Intelligent and talented girls who are aspiring film directors. It is nice to interact with young, self-empowered women from
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