Rejoice

And joy is creeping back in.
It started to creep in from Wednesday evening, after a one-to-one counselling session with the Clinical Psychologist.

Kojo’s funeral was on Saturday and I had determined that I was not going to view his body in the coffin at the church service. Thirty minutes to the time to close the coffin, I had an urge to view. I asked if a colleague would go to the front with me.

And file pass Kojo’s body I did.

Honestly Incomprehensible
I returned to my seat and from thereon until that session with the Psychologist, all I have been thinking about is the body that I saw and all I have been asking is “What is Kojo’s body doing in a coffin?’’ It all was very incomprehensible to me. Honestly.

So the questions raged in my head. How and why could and would Kojo pass. I battled with issues of hope, faith and dreams. I thought of his mother and his widow and I thought of how death had cruelly dashed many of their hopes, dreams and, without doubt, doused their faith. I can honestly say that Saturday was the most terrible day for our firm and I pray that such affliction will not rise against us a second time.

Anomabo Beach Resort
To get away from it all the next day I drove to Anomabo Beach Resort with a friend and her son. Monday was a public holiday here so we decided to make good use of the opportunity. I love Anomabo Beach Resort – the rustic little resort that it is. I have always been able to unwind and refresh there. But even in Anomabo the emotional roller coaster continued. Worse still, I felt immense guilt for asking so many questions, for I felt I was questioning my Creator. Crisis.

So I asked to see the Psychologist on Tuesday. On Wednesday he made time to see me. Even a few minutes to the session I know I needed mega comforting – I has bought six portions of those sickly sweet but nevertheless delicious Lebanese sweets/pastries – and gobbled them down as I sat in my car in the car park of the doctor’s surgery.

But the session was immensely helpful

"It takes time to heal"
"You need not feel guilty for asking your Creator why this happened"
"Your emotions are raw right now so allow yourself to feel them"
"Don’t be too quick to seek closure"

It was all so very comforting.

Over the next twenty four hours as I absorbed the session with the Psychologist, I wondered why everyone else who knew I was bereaved had rather not comforted me but spoke at me about the situation.

"It was God’s will. God allowed it"
"Be thankful that he has been spared the toils of this world"
"Were you close to him?"
"It is well"
"Did he know The Lord?"

Crisis. True as some of those words maybe, they did not heal my pain. All that these words did was to make me feel that I should not be on the emotional roller coaster that I was on. Guilt. Fault. Shame.

The Crooked Manager
This morning I read one of my favourite stories in the Bible – Luke 16 – when Jesus tells the story of the Crooked Manager. In The Message translation, of course. I particularly love verses 8 and 9:

"Now here's a surprise: The master praised the crooked manager! And why? Because he knew how to look after himself. Streetwise people are smarter in this regard than law-abiding citizens. They are on constant alert, looking for angles, surviving by their wits. I want you to be smart in the same way—but for what is right—using every adversity to stimulate you to creative survival, to concentrate your attention on the bare essentials, so you'll live, really live, and not complacently just get by on good behaviour."

Use every adversity to stimulate you to creative survival. I love that line.

Knowing that many of us would be in shock following Kojo’s sudden passing, our firm had organised for us to have access to a qualified counsellor in a Clinical Psychologist – and why not make use of that. Use every adversity to stimulate you to creative survival.

On needing counselling but at the same time being sane
I have boldly and confidently let those close to me know that I am seeing a Clinical Psychologist, despite what they might think. On another note I noticed that there is not one single sign at the entrance of the Psychologist’s surgery that describes his practice, open hours etc, as you would see at any other professional premise. I now understand that it is intentional – because of the taboo with psychology and psychiatry here, many clients would not want it to be known that they are actually seeing a psychologist less people think they are mad.

Africa. People. The world.

The merits of being practical
There is something about being practical yet sometimes we hide behind religion, instead of being practical. Even at Anomabo I had the opportunity to think again on the merits of being practical.

There we were on the beach. My friend’s son and I in the sea and we see a whole bunch of white people huddled together and the life guards running towards them (why the resort was full of white people less us, I will never understand. Why don’t our people take such breaks? At $38 per night/per room for a double, air-conditioned room on a beautiful resort overlooking the ocean, can you go wrong? Anyway, maybe the average black person just unwinds in a different way).

Back to the story
So it turns out that some white guy whilst swimming had suddenly dislocated his shoulder. His pain was tangible. Two hours passed and his wife, son and lifeguards administered first aid and massaged his shoulder with ice-packs whilst he laid still - like broccoli.

Then, one of the waiters at the open restaurant comes to me and asks if I could move my car. “The ambulance coming for this gentleman will need access to the beach through the gate where your car is now parked.” “Opari,’’ I thought. My Yoruba brothers and sisters, you know what I mean..

So I thought. Medical insurance. That’s practicality for you. The medical team drove two hours and a half from Accra to Anomabo to administer para-medical assistance and drive the patient back to Accra to a hospital.

Jabs versus Bars
I then also remembered a decade or so ago when I was travelling to Accra from London and a friend had asked if I had bought my malaria tablets and taken my jabs. At about 150 odd pounds for a series of jabs I really was not going to take any jabs. “God is my healer, ‘’ I told her. “He is,”” she responded,” but prevention is better than cure.” All I could think about was how much fun I could have with 150 pounds in my pocket in Accra.

When Kojo passed, apparently our partners had thought that the counselling should either be conducted through a qualified counsellor or a pastor. I am not sure how and why they decided on the qualified counsellor but I am glad that they did, for not all pastors are counsellors.

In Luke 16 I believe our Saviour Jesus Christ charges us to be practical: “I want you to be smart in the same way—but for what is right—using every adversity to stimulate you to creative survival, to concentrate your attention on the bare essentials, so you'll live, really live, and not complacently just get by on good behavior."

Not complacently just get by on good behaviour. I liken this statement to a charge on the practice of being practical. So I am rejoicing because the Lord Himself is using a Clinical Psychologist to help me through my bereavement. And, no, I am not mad.

And by the way, why is rejoice not spelt rejoyce? Who cares? I feel Joy.