She’s About This High, She’s Taller than I…

…sometimes she helps me tie my shoes.  She’s my sister.  And she plays with me and I hope that she is glad that I’m her sister, too.

These are the words to a song that Julia and I used to sing when we were little.  Well, her verse was a little different, but that’s not important.  What is is that I totally felt this way.  I looked up to her so much and wanted to be just like her, and although I knew that she got annoyed with me, I hoped she at least felt the same way to a certain extent.  Well, that might be a lot to ask of a big sister when she’s 7 and her little sister is 4, but at least I know that she’s glad that I’m her sister now = )  But I’m getting ahead of myself.  Let’s start at the very beginning…a very good place to start = )

When I was born, my mom said that Yuki (Julia’s Japanese name), a once outgoing, lively little girl, suddenly became much more serious and reserved.  It’s as if she knew that there wasn’t going to be room for her big personality anymore, now that a new fireball had joined the family.  And that’s the type of older sister she’s been for my whole life.  Where I’ve always needed the attention, needed the popularity, she’s been the solid, supportive sister and friend outside of the spotlight.  Where people knew they could go to Jaclyn for a fun time, they knew that Julia was the one to go to for advice and loyalty.  Over the years, people have made comments like, “Wow, you’re going to Africa.  You’re so brave.  I don’t think I could do that.”  Little do they know that this outward “bravery” that I exhibit is nowhere near the quiet strength Julia has within.  

She played (and plays) the role of “oldest child” in a way that makes me marvel.  She was always willing to sacrifice for her younger siblings, giving up extracurriculars so that we could have Mom take us to our soccer practices, piano lessons, etc.  She was always fiercely protective, not afraid of standing up to any punk to protect me.  She was even willing to be disliked for the sake of protecting me from, most especially, boys who she thought were going to hurt me.  

As the oldest she also had to be the first: the first to go to high school, the first to move away from home, the first to get married, the first to have a child.  She paved the way so well for us, setting up the Sawada name as one loved by teachers and students alike.  When I got to high school, I already had a built in group of friends because she let her little freshman sister hang out with her and her friends (times had changed from the days that we sang the song; I guess I wasn’t quite as irritating…haha = )  And then, when she went away to college, she let me come up and visit her and live as a college student for a week.  I had a BLAST and felt SO grown up! = )  Then when she got married, she married an amazing man, so we all were able to see the kind of guys we should expect for our husbands.  And now, as a mother, she has raised the cutest, funniest, most intelligent, happy boy ever…and so is still setting such great examples for her younger siblings.

So, even though this blog entry is almost a year late (I was back in the US for her birthday, so I had stopped blogging), I figured I needed to write a blog entry for my dear sister who cared and sacrificed for me from my birth. 

A is for Apple (last November entry)

Terry and I are getting the awesome experience of tutoring one of his students after school.  The boy, named John, just started at our school in the middle of the term.  When he was put in Terry’s class, we knew he’d need some special attention because he can’t read, speak English, or do basic math.  This is surprising, considering the fact that he’s already finished Form 3 (the equivalent of 9^th grade).  

In Ghana, after Form 3, you take the BECE exams.  These are rigorous national exams that are given in all subjects: math, English, integrated science, ICT, Twi, French, religious & moral education, BDT (sewing, catering, and technical skills), and social studies.  The secondary high school you go to depends upon the scores you receive on this exam, so there is a lot riding on them.  The kids definitely understand and feel the pressure (I watched a girl who looked like poo stay for the mock exams while she had malaria).  I didn’t understand why it was such a big deal until Terry explained it to me in greater detail.  He said that in Ghana, it’s all about your connections.  The schools that everyone wants to go to, the ones that you need good scores to get into, are the ones that have had “big people” (past presidents, business moguls, etc.) go there.  So, if you attend that school, you’ll automatically be linked into a network that will provide you opportunities later in life.  Plus, those “big people” go back to their schools and donate money and resources, so the schools boast better education, facilities, amenities, etc.  Of course, you can always go to a private school, if your parents can afford it, since they want more students because it equals more money, but the schools that would accept you don’t have big names, so you wouldn’t have the same connections, and therefore opportunities, later in life.

So, back to John.  He’s already finished Form 3, but he failed his BECE exams.  He was living in Kumasi before coming here and went to a public school (most public schools don’t provide good, if any, education as they are overcrowded – think 100 students per class – and lack funds for textbooks and other classroom materials).  Recently, his dad came back into the picture.  He’s a wealthy man who lives in London, and wants John to come live with him eventually.  In the meantime, he’s brought John to live in his home (mansion) here in Adenta so that he can get a better education.  He’s paying for his school fees in the hopes that John will be able to get up-to-speed.  But when the school was placing him, they didn’t think they could put him in a grade lower than 6^th for fear of embarrassing him too much, so that’s how he ended up in Terry’s class.  Unfortunately, if you stick a child who can’t read in any grade above Kindergarten/first grade, they’re not going to be successful because they’re not learning phonics.  He would’ve been just as successful being placed with kids his own age because when you can’t speak French, French 201 is just as confusing as French 500.  

Needless to say, Terry and I were worried about him.  He wasn’t making friends and socializing (how could he when he doesn’t speak English) and he wasn’t having success in class.  He seemed pretty miserable, and Terry was concerned he’d drop out.  So, he started spending the breaks talking to him in Twi so that John would feel comfortable opening up.  That’s when Terry found out John’s history, and the fact that his father wants him to get an after-school tutor.  I had already worked with John, teaching him some basic math, so he knew me and was hinting that he wanted us to tutor him.  

Well, we began last week, and it’s been so rewarding!  Terry and I make a pretty awesome team, if I do say so myself ; )  I teach phonics, he interprets in Twi when he can tell John is lost, he teaches math, and we both help him with his English speaking.  John didn’t know the sound that a single letter in the alphabet makes, and couldn’t even read “cat” when first started, but after 3 days, he’s already reading 3 letter words (with a lot of help, but he’s catching on fast).  And seeing Terry teaching is so fun for me.  He has such a great way of breaking things down in simple ways that are easy to understand.  And he’s been sweet in communicating to me that the feeling’s mutual.

On the Plane Again (sorry!...more out of order!...this is from September)

I don’t know.  Something about my Europe layovers are very difficult.  I’m feeling similarly to the way I felt the first time I came over.  It’s like this feeling of being lost; the realization that I’m in a foreign place and so far from home.  My layover in San Fran (though 6 ½ hours) went by quite quickly.  I actually enjoyed the time to myself (maybe it was because I was texting and talking to family for much of the time…so I wasn’t really alone).  But here…I feel SO alone.  I’m not to Terry yet and I’m far from the rest of my family, a lost wanderer. 

On the bright side, the flight to Frankfurt was awesome!  I was dreading it because, when I did it backwards coming home from Ghana, it was never-ending.  But this time I slept really well and comfortably, had the cutest pregnant couple as seatmates, and the time went by quickly.  Which is kinda surprising because the seats were TINY and the service was not-so-good (surprising for international flights!…but not-so-surprising considering it was United - no offense to anyone!).  But yeah…besides having a great flight, I experienced a miracle.  Lufthansa is on strike right now.  The couple by me was actually supposed to fly Lufthansa home to Frankfurt, but were put on my flight when theirs was cancelled.  The husband, who works for World Vision, so travels in Africa a lot, said that the connection from Frankfurt to Accra is Lufthansa Airline (even though it’s listed as United on my itinerary…it’s code share, whatever that means).  So he told me I’d most likely be stuck in Frankfurt for a couple days.  We were 9 hours from Frankfurt, so I had the time to work myself to a heart attack, but I just felt really calm.  I said a prayer, and felt the strength of the Priesthood blessing I’d received from Bishop.  While we were taxiing, he got on his iPad and checked Lufthansa’s website.  He started scrolling through the list of at least a hundred flights that were cancelled, but when we got to 14:10 (the time of my flight), 4 flights at that exact time were cancelled, but none of those was mine!  I was so overjoyed and grateful (and am feeling pretty guilty right now for complaining so much in the first paragraph)!

But, unfortunately, some lessons are hard to learn and I’m still going to complain (sorta) once more = /  I had to go through security again here in Frankfurt.  I wasn’t prepared, so my water bottle was still full!  But they were so nice and let me drink in there (although, by the end of the bottle, I felt like I was going to vomit water…haha…and now have had to pee quite a few times - oh…but on the long flight, I only had to go twice!…which was a relief since I was in the window seat = ).  But then they had to take everything out of my rolling duffel because they said it was too tightly packed for the machine to read (go Dad!!!!).  As I watched him take things out I wanted to stop him and be like, “My dad packed that and I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to get it all back in.”  But since I couldn’t do that, I just watched intently so that I could study what was coming from where.  Between the concentrated stare and my nervousness over repacking it, I probably looked really suspicious!  But I’m glad to report that I was passed safely through and got everything back in (though it now leans funny when it’s standing and my tote that I rest on it keeps falling off while I’m walking). 

So all in all, a great travel experience! = )  Just ready for it to be over! = )

These Are a Few of My Favorite Things (fourth entry for November)

I had an interesting experience the other day.  Terry and I were visiting his dad in Amonokrom when his dad told me I’m looking slim.  I said, “Thank you,” and then it was explained to me that being slim is not a good thing.  In Ghana, when you’re fat (they just call people fat, not big or plump or chubby, etc.), you’re given more respect.  If you’ve recently gotten married and the husband or wife is getting skinnier, the spouse is blamed for not taking good care of the other.  Terry explained to him that in America people are always trying to be skinnier, and his dad tried to understand that.  Later, after we got home, Terry asked me to promise to do something for him.  He wouldn’t tell me what it was until I agreed.  With some prodding, I finally agreed, and he told me I need to “eat heavy” for him until I put on some weight.  Really?!  I love living in a place where I don’t have to obsess about my weight!

I know I’ve talked about this plenty before, but I’ll never get over how much I love the Ghanaians love of football/soccer.  I saw some little boys at school cheer with as much excitement as Jacob when Lebron scores a 3-pointer because one of them had found an old, plastic water bottle that they could kick around.  I saw the mechanics who weren’t working on our car play a pick-up game on the dirt lot behind their “shop” after a long day’s work.  And I’ve seen kids who really struggle in school become heroes on the school pitch as they play with skill and heart truly deserving of the admiration they receive.

For the past week or so, every day after school some of Terry’s old students and current students gather around my head to plait and brush my hair.  They are so cute, as the old ones explain to the new ones that the braids might not be there the following day because Aunty Jaclyn’s hair is slippery and she washes it every day.  And they’re so funny, how they’ll put my hair on their head to see how it would look on them and tell me that I should never cut my hair (unless, of course, I give it to them).  I love having people play with my hair, so this has been quite heavenly for me (well, except for the occasional pull and tug).  Plus, I’m hoping that by the end of this I’ll have a full head of braids! = )

We live in a super cute little town.  I’ll explain more about our home in another entry, but one of the things I truly love is our 2-minute walk to and from our car.  In Ghana, the term “indoor/outdoor living” has a completely different meaning than what we understand it to mean in America; most houses don’t have kitchens or bathrooms, so on our way to and from the car, we’re greeted by our neighbors as they’re brushing their teeth, cooking, sweeping (the dirt) bathing, and once, even using the toilet (well…we weren’t actually greeted that time.  When we pulled into our “parking spot,” our headlights shone directly on a man who was sitting on the john.  I guess he had kept the door open because it was a dark night.  I didn’t see him, but Terry and I had quite a laugh when he told me what had just happened).  There’s a certain bond that you naturally create when you share in such intimate activities.  It’s been a really cool thing for me to experience.  And along the same lines, I love the way that I see the husbands and wives working next to each other.  It’s not common in Ghana, or even Africa in general, for men to participate in the daily chores, especially cooking and cleaning, so I guess the men who I’ve seen in our town are the sweet exceptions to the rule.

I actually got these braids done from a hairdresser (in an outdoor alley...haha = )