Rasheed

I have been thinking about Rasheed a lot lately and I have finally decided to tell you about him.

Rasheed lives outside of Kumasi, Ghana. He attends the Amazing Grace Preparatory school that I worked with in July. He was in class 6 while I was there, so he should be in class 7 now.

I never talked to him very much. I spent most of my time in class 4. But when I did talk to him, I was overwhelmed and confused by the despair and hope that I saw in him.

The last week I was there he asked me if I could pay for his schooling. I had already committed to pay for two other girls and I had no income at the time, so I didn't have enough money and I told him that I couldn't help. I HATED telling him I couldn't help, especially when I saw the hope begin to dissipate and the despair begin to consume. Wishing for his hope to return, I told him I would pray for him and look for a sponsor when I went back home. Sure enough, his hope returned and he smiled at me, but then a new anxiety washed over him and he said: "Don't forget me."

Every day in that last week he would come to me and ask me his name. Every day I would say, "yes, Rasheed, I remember you." And on the last day I was there he wrote down his name and handed it to me.

Then he said it again: "Don't forget me."

Rasheed is probably getting ready to go to school right now. (Yes, they have school on Saturdays.) He is probably wearing the same yellow-shirt and brown-shorts uniform that he wears everyday. He will do the school thing in the morning, devour his lunch that the school provides for the students every day, and then play soccer in the scorching heat.

I miss him. I remember him. But when it comes down to it, remembering him is not what he needs. He needs help. He needs money to pay for an education and food on the table. I feel ashamed that I haven't found him a sponsor. I haven't tried hard enough. When he heard me say that I would look for a sponsor, he pictured me flying to wealthy America where no one is in need, everyone has more than enough, and someone would definitely be able to help him. How could I not find someone?

But somehow, in the wealthiest country in the world, I have found no one.

It costs 30 dollars every month to sponsor a child at the Amazing Grace Preparatory school through their partners, Adom Partnership International.

For the month of November, I have probably spent nearly 30 dollars on coffee and lunch. Why so much? First, I love coffee. Second, I make my lunch in the morning before work, but too frequently I have run out of time in the morning and decided to buy my lunch at a nearby deli.

What a waste of 30 dollars.

Well... you have just witnessed something:
I have just convinced myself to sponsor Rasheed.
Haha.

It might mean making my lunch the night before work, but I think I can handle it. Quite an application to my blog: I remembered Rasheed, and now I am going to adjust my life accordingly. hahaha. I never thought this stupid blog would work that well on me.

And since I can't resist:
If you are interested in sponsoring a child at the Amazing Grace Preparatory school, please let me know! There is a link to the right for Adom Partnership International, the supporter of the school. The link explains a lot about the Parntership and the school, so I suggest you check it out.

the women at the salon

I start my new job tomorrow.

In 8.5 hours to be exact.

And I can't sleep.

I think its the caffeine I had earlier today.


When I was in Kumasi, Ghana....
I had to get my hair braided. I wanted 100 little ones. There were about 5 salons along the street where I was living and I couldn't pass up the opportunity. My Ghanaian friend, Lydia, took me to the nearest salon and told the women what I wanted. Lots of little braids. They were amused. A red-headed white girl wanted to be like the Ghanaian women.

It was a slighlty awkward situation, but totally worth it. One of the women had gone to school through 4th grade so she knew about as much English as I know Spanish. She was excited to work with my strange hair and practice her English with me. She was extatic when I told her my Ghanaian "day name" was Akosua (pronounced Akossia, meaning I was born on a Sunday). Another woman came in who knew quite a lot of English and was extremely eager to show off her language abilities. Of course some of the kids came over to watch me get my hair braided. One of them was so scared of me that when she saw my face she started crying. They ended up having to take her home. haha.

This all happened in the first 45 minutes or so.

It took them 4 hours. four.

And most of the time there were at least three women simultaneously working on my hair.

After the excitement caused by a white girl being in the salon wore off they all started talking to each other in Twi (the local language). I became a fly on the wall, my head being pulled and tugged in all directions, my hair all over the place, my butt going numb. I just sat there watching them interact, making jokes (some most likely about me), discussing some seemingly boring things, some other clearly important things, and some random stuff. The kids kept running in and out, sometimes trying to convince the crying girl to come back. (That story ends happily: she became my friend.)

I think 5 women total worked on my hair. The total cost: 30,000 cedi, also known as $3.33.

5 women. 4 hours. 3 dollars.

I could almost not bare giving them so little. I was able to squeeze in a 10,000 cedi/$1 tip. Giving them more than that would have been insulting.

Spending those 4 hours watching them made me want to know them. I wanted to know what they were talking about, why they were laughing, why they were getting excited, why they sounded disappointed. I wanted to understand them. All I could do was give them 4 dollars.

I took some pictures with them. And I said "medase pa" ("thank you very much") over and over again. I said hello to them afterwards every time I walked by the salon. They were always there - every day - doing someone's hair.

Its 12am here which means its, I think, 9am in Ghana. You know what that means? They are probably in the salon right now: waiting for a customer, working on someone's hair, or talking about something really funny in Twi.

I start my job tomorrow, or today I guess. It took me about 6 weeks to find it and all I could find was a part-time position. But I am making way way way more than $3 every four hours. And I don't have to hope for business. I just have to fill in my time card. I even get to work where I want to work. In fact I was extremely picky when I looked for my job. Not only that, but I get to use the degree I was fortunate enough to obtain.

I miss those women in the hair salon and I pray that God blesses them with more business than they can handle this week.

I pray that I remember them when I begin to be ungrateful about my job, because I know I eventually will. I pray that I'll think about the time when I was sitting on their floor with my numb butt, watching them live their extremely difficult lives with hope, joy and love. I pray that I will think about the woman who had to leave school in the fourth grade to start working and supporting her family.

I pray that I will work joyfully for them just as they did for me.