Shabbat Shalom! I said to the woman in the market this morning! You too! she smiled. Oh do I love cross cultural communication.

Ghana is a particularly religious country, and Christianity permeates nearly every realm of life. Yesterday, my geography teacher began lecture by describing his epic journey to Jerusalem and his general love of Israel. He noted that "some people do not even believe in the bible!!"...now pointing to the class, "are you one of those people!?" "NO!!" replies the class! Oh boy. My favorite is when he asks if any of us are Muslim. "Well I'm Jewish!" I think- I bite my tongue.

At night, most of the campus facilities turn into churches, and there are more denominations than I can count on all my fingers and toes. On my way home from class one night, I hear loud screams coming from the dining hall and suggest to my friend that we take a look to make sure everything is alright. He lets out a big laugh... "He's just thanking Jesus!" Of course he was!

At sunrise, students and teachers alike gather on the soccer fields to pray and sing, often with the help of a megaphone. This is an extra...special, way to wake up. I try to imagine Jews doing this- waking up at four a.m. to stand in the middle of a dirt field and belt out the Amidah so loud that the street dogs cover their ears. Ha, I don't think so. I mean people complain enough as it is in shul about the air conditioning! :)

Ghana is in this way the antithesis to the separation of church and state. But I am never made to feel guilty or uncomfortable. I find it endearing that people are so eager to welcome me into their community and place of worship.

But of course not every Ghanaian goes to church. There is a community of Jews outside of Accra, a small population of Muslims settled mainly in the north, and a slew of other spiritual practitioners.

And then there are those who may have no religious or spiritual affiliation at all, or perhaps simply opt of a sunday morning ritual. It is with these fine folks that I spent last Sunday with on a booze cruise of sorts, the "Dodi Island Princess Cruise." This boat was right out of Michael Scott's booze cruise, complete with a live band and kiddy pool. Dodi Island is a small island on Lake Volta, about two hours from the University. It is marketed as a tourist destination for those visitors who would like to "mingle with the locals," buy a few craft pieces from the village, and join in some traditional songs and dances. Someone had the idea to monopolize the transportation so that you must pay about 45 american dollars to take the cruise to and from the island. The ride is about two hours each way, which means most patrons occupy themselves with large quantities of alcohol and several rounds of "Uno." Exhilarating.

I go aboard the ship with two of my friends and we sit at a table toward the back of the boat. Two older white men claim the table next to us and their lovely Ghanaian escorts. Now I don't know exactly what kinds of signals I'm subconciously giving off, but I seem to be attracting these sorts of neighbors- this must be the fourth time I have sat next to a prostitute and her client. These girls are beautiful, young, and vibrant, and they give a mangificent portrayl of a woman in love with her grandfather. I feast on a buffet lunch but the smooching and groping is kind of nauseating. Pepto bismol anyone?

Two hours later, we have arrived at our destination, Dodi Island! I am expecting (as promised) a fun afternoon of shopping, singing, and dancing. To my surprise and dismay we are greeted by several small children- so small, some of them are still in diapers. The children grab our hands and forcefully shuffle us from one path to another, exploring this seemingly deserted island. There is not an adult in sight, except for one woman who is assisting her young child as she scoops river water into his mouth.

When I ask the children where their parents are, one girl tells me that her parents are dead- five minutes later she slips that her mother is in the village on the other side of the island. The littlest ones of the bunch do not speak English, but have nailed "money." I'm beginning to get the picture.

Just twenty minutes after our arrival, the captain blows the horn and we are summoned back to the ship. As I begin my descent toward the dock, an older girl approaches me and takes the small child who has been my Dodi docent. "Please give me money for school and books, please madam, please"- she is polite but persistent.

"Where are your parents? Where is the village?" I ask. "Money for books!" she protests.

As I board the ship, I am bombarded by more than twenty to thirty children, all begging for money and gifts. I give the eldest a few Ghana cedi. My heart melts as the boat reluctantly pulls away from the dock- so this is Dodi Island.

I am left baffled and utterly disappointed. Who is caring for these children? I feel a deep sense of anger- angry that these children are exploited, that wealthy tourists are seemingly set up and taken advantage of, that I am personally perpetuating this cycle, and all while I sit in a chlorinated kiddy pool with a refrigerated beverage in my hand. And on a sunday, a holy day, a day for God and community.

I have a soft spot for children- always have, always will. It is why I spent my childhood caring for and working with children, and why I want to dedicate my life's work to their cause. It is easy to rant about the injustices and the exploitation of Africans, of young people, of women, etc. How can anyone in good conscious waste a person's forty five dollars and six hours of travel time, only to result in additional harassment and financial losses!?How can these parents put their own child's life in danger and let them wander a remote island, and under the care of total strangers?! I am quick to vilify any individual who seemingly exploits another, and especially any parent who puts their child in this situation.

But genuine concern and honest intentions can quickly turn self righteous. What happens if these kids do not beg for money, do not financially contribute to their families? Is it better that their parents take the moral highroad, or let them go to bed hungry? These are questions I would have previously deemed irrelevant- wrong is just plain wrong. But these are complicated problems with even more complicated answers.

Just some food for thought on this Friday.
L'Chaim,
M