And Humpty Dumpty had a great fall
I’ve had a few doors shut in my face over the past few weeks, and boy has it been tough. Insomnia. Tears. Anxiety. Loss of appetite (well, that’s never a bad thing for a woman….).
But I’ve also had great open doors. At a recent business trip, I can honestly say that I walked into every high office in the country that I visited which I wanted and dared to walk into – and I was given the audience I sought.
So I wondered: ‘Erm. Hello, God? It’s me, Ruka. Can I ask a question? How come several doors of fortune and favour can open effortlessly, and at the same time, the major opportunities and doors that I have sought to enter over the year slam on my face as I dare to enter in?”
My negative emotions were even more heightened every time I entered church. As I listened to the words of the praise songs, and listened to The Word as it was preached, my soul and essence yelled a huge ‘when’, ‘how’, ‘really?’. I am told it happens to everyone.
Rejecting Despair
Then I determined that well, I probably could do with the loss of appetite for a few more weeks and lose a few pounds, but I certainly could not deal with the insomnia anymore (listen, it shows on your face – Heaven forbid for much longer!), and really, my eyes are really too exquisite and delicate to be consistently tingly; and no, all that anxiety? I can’t really deal with it.
So, finally, I settle down. I settle down to hope, I settle down to sensibleness, and I settle down to expediency.
Remember
Someone spoke to me this week and in passing said: God is not merciless, He is merciful. I took her at His Word, so to speak.
Bebe Winans wrote a song about Humpty Dumpty. Well, you know how it goes: Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall; and Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. And all the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put Humpty together again.
Oh dear. Poor old Humpty.
But Mr Winans goes on….It wasn’t that he fell so hard and so bad that they couldn’t put Humpty together again, it was just that the king’s men were calling on the wrong king. For we know a King Who can put your life back together no matter how great the fall.
And that The King, The Most High God, is still mending broken pieces.
So, if ever you feel like Humpty Dumpty, Mr Winans advises, if you’ve been broken from a fall, remember that He’s just and so faithful and He’ll be there to fix it all. Remember that He is Love and so faithful.
Remember Still
Bebe also sings about Mary. The one who had a little Lamb. Jesus is that Lamb.
He further advises that someone should tell Jack and Jill to get off that hill on their search for a pail of water. Had they not come across The Living Water?
And Little Boy Blue? Tell him, give Him your troubles. He'll take your blues away.
Mother Hubbard? If you trust in Jesus, He’ll put food in your cupboard.
Fables and Fairy Tales
Fairy tales, Mr Winans says, reflect some truths that sometimes happen to us all.
Maybe I had to have a fall, be a little blue, and search the cupboard of my soul to get to this place of hope.
Saturday, 24 November 2007
Wednesday, 14 November 2007
Mindset and Nuances - Reading the Unspoken
Still Exploring
I have been exploring the issue of culture, cultural differences and nuance in my head over the past couple of weeks. I guess I am trying to find answers and/or understand my own mindset better, as well as trying to appreciate those of others.
So in turn I went into my books for help. MBA Summer School learning diary, in fact. The Summer School module was on Managing People – and I posted something on that enlightening experience in August.
My Learning Diary
So I turn to the Learning Diary. The first four bullet points shout at me. Here goes:
1. People are governed by different and complex fundamentals – upbringing, culture, exposure, race, gender and therefore managing people is an art
2. In managing people, remember the cultural context – some cultures have a culture of deference and others have a culture of negotiation. Normally, Southern Cultures display deference and Northern cultures display negotiation. These translate into organizational cultures
3. Men and women communicate differently. Women tend to collaborate and cooperate. Men automatically assume that there is a hierarchy to observe
4. People from different cultures and nationalities communicate differently. Watch out for the nuances
Deep.
And yet still very infant
I am slightly amused that, at this age, I am still infant in my thought and expectation that the people I come into contact with are governed by values equal to those I have been brought up to hold dear. And I think many of us probably fall into the same category.
That’s why we can be surprised when we hear that a university student is a student by day and prostitute by night; and when we learn that that most respected CEO is actually overseeing the cooking up of books to inflate the profit and loss account.
All well and good, but what am I driving at? The notion of differing values and mindsets still.
I met a renowned Ghanaian writer the other day. We talked around these same issues, and, as women do, homed in on the issue of relationships and marriage. Her finale?
(i) Men and women marry for different reasons
(ii) In Southern cultures people often marry principally to attain social status, economic status and to have a family, instead of principally for friendship, love and companionship.
Wow. That second point kind of threw me away. And I wandered where that left me.
Or, should I say, I discovered a possible explanation for where I am today…
Laugh at me.
Friday, 2 November 2007
On Managing Change and Being a Legal Alien
Confessions of a Blogger
Okay. I confess. I kind of got scared last week when I was posting the entry. I felt that the posting may have been too heavy and I wanted to make it light hearted – so I changed it a little.
Well, bloggers rights and prerogative et al, I changed my mind. Here is what I actually meant to post last week.
Legal Alien Revisited: On the Psychologist's Chair
You know the song by Sting: An Englishman in New York? The chorus goes something like this: “I’m an alien, I’m a legal alien, I’m an Englishman in New York.” I am improvising that song for me to go like this: “I’m an alien, I’m a legal alien, I’m an….” Actually, there’s a problem now for I don’t quite know whether to add “Nigerian in Ghana” to that or “British in Ghana” or “London Nigerian in Ghana”. Confused? Well, that makes two of us.
I had another session with the Psychologist yesterday. This time though it was less intense – it was fun in fact. In fact it was cool. So, there I am on the couch, all relaxed and thankful that since the last session with the Psychologist, by the grace of God, healing finally came. Relief.
So very useful?
So he asks of my opinion as to why the session was so useful. “I think I just finally realized that I was not weak in feeling all those negative emotions. I realized that those emotions were and are legitimate, and the guilt left me. As the guilt left I could finally let go of the negative emotions and thank God for giving me the opportunity to have known Kojo.” I added that I was still bewildered as to how many people seemed to have coped so well and so quickly with their bereavement.
Then, it happened.
“Coped so well?” he responded. “What do you mean by that?’’ So I explain how when my father passed ten years ago the company that I worked for, realizing that my life might be in turmoil for a while, offered to give me leave of absence from work for ‘’as long as it takes”. In the interim I only took two weeks off anyway (being a Muslim, Chief was buried within 24 hours of his passing and no, I could not get a flight to Lagos in time for his burial). The point is, they did not expect things to go back to normal with me for a while.
Bereavement, Change Management and Culture
I then remembered that when a former colleague passed recently in the UK, everyone, and I mean everyone, had been offered counseling and leave of absence for as long as they needed it, and, even from here in Ghana, I could feel that people had been so affected by the colleagues passing. It was a slow grind for everyone to try to get to grips with what had occurred.
The difference is here, well, everyone just seems to be getting on with it, and here I am, or was as the case may be, struggling with coping in amongst super coping people.
“Might it be that what you are actually trying to deal with is cultural differences, and coping with those cultural differences?”
Ah. Now, that’s an explanation and an avenue I had never ventured into.
So, I began to think of all my legal alien experiences.
Well, I listed all of those at the last posting so I won’t bore you with the details again. What I will say is that at that moment I came to realize the ever apparent need to change manage in each and everyday of life and circumstance.
Change management.
In management consultancy, we preach about it all the time – and I mean all the time. Actually let me just make this really personal and admit that I preach all about it all the time during the course of my work.
But. When it comes to applying it in our everyday lives, we seem to forget the fact that we are managing change and disregard the need for an interim period, a transition period, a period of adjustment and a period of coping. In the end, in resisting and not managing a change so obvious and in your face, you find yourself caught between a rock and a hard place.
“Might it be that what you are actually trying to deal with is cultural differences, and coping with those cultural differences?”
I exhaled.
I began to think about some of the adjustments I had had to make over the past four years – and the adjustments I had failed to make which were really pulling me into, well, let’s just say brief moments of confusion coupled with frustration, exasperation and sometimes pure stress.
I’ll start with the time keeping
Where I relocated from, you either work flexi hours, or you work standard hours – you don’t have the option of mixing the two. So I come here and there are no flexi hours. Work begins at 8am.
There’s the small issue of the traffic though. A 20 minutes drive to work could take an hour at least and an hour and a half on average. So it means waking up at 4.15 and leaving home at 5.45. So I am in the office on time – and, because of the evening traffic, I leave the office at 7pm for the gym and get home say around 9.15 – averagely.
I don’t need any lifestyle guru to tell me that that kind of a lifestyle leads to well, let’s just say, many negatives – in amongst trying to have a productive home, work and social life.
But it never occurred to me until recently that, at this level, my employer is not interested in me marking time, but more so in my productivity within the parameters of the outputs and outcomes earmarked for me to achieve in any one financial year. I just put more and more pressure on myself – because I had to, or so I thought, be in at 8am at the latest.
Let’s go on to the genderisation of everyday living
I can’t help being a woman. But when I walk into some client meetings with a male colleague, the assumption is that all the knowledge, authority and information for the meeting, the project, the assignment is fully and only imbibed in my male colleague. It could never be imbibed in me of course, me being a mere woman.
In the moments when you do assert your authority, whether that’s through the insight and ability you display in your sphere of professional discipline or whether it’s in the strength of your socio-economic achievements, the same men in the majority of cases (clients, friends and enemies alike) are, shall I say, somewhat unsettled and some women will even tell you to ‘slow down’.
Help.
But I don’t want to understand that mindset at all, and it’s been challenging to say the least. Accepting that mindset to my mind would be a scorn to the vision, love and toil of my earthly father who so very ably pursued excellence in his endeavours and spurred all of his children on, educating us to the highest standards available.
And most of all, accepting that mindset would also I believe be in contempt of the purpose and gifting which my Heavenly Father has called me to.
So what am I learning to do?
I am learning to manage the change by showing respect, regard and honour to the character and person of everyone I come into contact with – man, woman, child. My hope is that they would see that despite any and every achievement, I am still human. I am still respectful, considerate and thoughtful of all humanity. How could one not be?
The problem is though sometimes, in a culture of power and status deference as you have here, that is, more often than not, seen as a sign of weakness.
Help.
Ending on a light hearted note
I had dinner with a friend last night. And we were talking about this very issue – cultural differences and the challenges these pose to every day living.
My friend is having issues with the way their staff cannot, it would seem, think outside of the box. My response was that people are illimitable by their exposure, and by the same vein, people limited by their lack of exposure - and that's why travel, whether that's regional, national or international, is so important. What is common sense to you may not be common sense to anyone else. The systems, processes and procedures that are standard to you might very well be alien to someone else who has never even left the shores of Ghana. It’s about continuous mentoring. An 'Aha' moment occurs.
And thinking of continous mentoring...
I am reminded that our Lord Jesus Christ is continually mentoring us.
Well, let me speak for myself. I don’t always get it right. Sometimes I obey and sometimes, well, let's just say I miss the mark. I am not exposed to the things He is exposed to for His ways are not my ways, as the Bible says and that means that because I cannot see the end of today from tomorrow and the day after that, I sometimes make decisions and mistakes that He would have me not make because He does see today from tomorrow and the day after that, and the day after that.
That means even He is having to exercise patience, exercise mercy and exercise love unto me even as He mentors me.
I guess what the Psycologist is making me realise is that, in managing the change of my new life in Ghana, Iwill also need to exercise patience, mercy and love to those whose exposures, mindsets and experiences are different to mine, and whose responses and reactions to me, are, well, let me say, different to what I might expect.
Aha. I'm a grown up now...
Okay. I confess. I kind of got scared last week when I was posting the entry. I felt that the posting may have been too heavy and I wanted to make it light hearted – so I changed it a little.
Well, bloggers rights and prerogative et al, I changed my mind. Here is what I actually meant to post last week.
Legal Alien Revisited: On the Psychologist's Chair
You know the song by Sting: An Englishman in New York? The chorus goes something like this: “I’m an alien, I’m a legal alien, I’m an Englishman in New York.” I am improvising that song for me to go like this: “I’m an alien, I’m a legal alien, I’m an….” Actually, there’s a problem now for I don’t quite know whether to add “Nigerian in Ghana” to that or “British in Ghana” or “London Nigerian in Ghana”. Confused? Well, that makes two of us.
I had another session with the Psychologist yesterday. This time though it was less intense – it was fun in fact. In fact it was cool. So, there I am on the couch, all relaxed and thankful that since the last session with the Psychologist, by the grace of God, healing finally came. Relief.
So very useful?
So he asks of my opinion as to why the session was so useful. “I think I just finally realized that I was not weak in feeling all those negative emotions. I realized that those emotions were and are legitimate, and the guilt left me. As the guilt left I could finally let go of the negative emotions and thank God for giving me the opportunity to have known Kojo.” I added that I was still bewildered as to how many people seemed to have coped so well and so quickly with their bereavement.
Then, it happened.
“Coped so well?” he responded. “What do you mean by that?’’ So I explain how when my father passed ten years ago the company that I worked for, realizing that my life might be in turmoil for a while, offered to give me leave of absence from work for ‘’as long as it takes”. In the interim I only took two weeks off anyway (being a Muslim, Chief was buried within 24 hours of his passing and no, I could not get a flight to Lagos in time for his burial). The point is, they did not expect things to go back to normal with me for a while.
Bereavement, Change Management and Culture
I then remembered that when a former colleague passed recently in the UK, everyone, and I mean everyone, had been offered counseling and leave of absence for as long as they needed it, and, even from here in Ghana, I could feel that people had been so affected by the colleagues passing. It was a slow grind for everyone to try to get to grips with what had occurred.
The difference is here, well, everyone just seems to be getting on with it, and here I am, or was as the case may be, struggling with coping in amongst super coping people.
“Might it be that what you are actually trying to deal with is cultural differences, and coping with those cultural differences?”
Ah. Now, that’s an explanation and an avenue I had never ventured into.
So, I began to think of all my legal alien experiences.
Well, I listed all of those at the last posting so I won’t bore you with the details again. What I will say is that at that moment I came to realize the ever apparent need to change manage in each and everyday of life and circumstance.
Change management.
In management consultancy, we preach about it all the time – and I mean all the time. Actually let me just make this really personal and admit that I preach all about it all the time during the course of my work.
But. When it comes to applying it in our everyday lives, we seem to forget the fact that we are managing change and disregard the need for an interim period, a transition period, a period of adjustment and a period of coping. In the end, in resisting and not managing a change so obvious and in your face, you find yourself caught between a rock and a hard place.
“Might it be that what you are actually trying to deal with is cultural differences, and coping with those cultural differences?”
I exhaled.
I began to think about some of the adjustments I had had to make over the past four years – and the adjustments I had failed to make which were really pulling me into, well, let’s just say brief moments of confusion coupled with frustration, exasperation and sometimes pure stress.
I’ll start with the time keeping
Where I relocated from, you either work flexi hours, or you work standard hours – you don’t have the option of mixing the two. So I come here and there are no flexi hours. Work begins at 8am.
There’s the small issue of the traffic though. A 20 minutes drive to work could take an hour at least and an hour and a half on average. So it means waking up at 4.15 and leaving home at 5.45. So I am in the office on time – and, because of the evening traffic, I leave the office at 7pm for the gym and get home say around 9.15 – averagely.
I don’t need any lifestyle guru to tell me that that kind of a lifestyle leads to well, let’s just say, many negatives – in amongst trying to have a productive home, work and social life.
But it never occurred to me until recently that, at this level, my employer is not interested in me marking time, but more so in my productivity within the parameters of the outputs and outcomes earmarked for me to achieve in any one financial year. I just put more and more pressure on myself – because I had to, or so I thought, be in at 8am at the latest.
Let’s go on to the genderisation of everyday living
I can’t help being a woman. But when I walk into some client meetings with a male colleague, the assumption is that all the knowledge, authority and information for the meeting, the project, the assignment is fully and only imbibed in my male colleague. It could never be imbibed in me of course, me being a mere woman.
In the moments when you do assert your authority, whether that’s through the insight and ability you display in your sphere of professional discipline or whether it’s in the strength of your socio-economic achievements, the same men in the majority of cases (clients, friends and enemies alike) are, shall I say, somewhat unsettled and some women will even tell you to ‘slow down’.
Help.
But I don’t want to understand that mindset at all, and it’s been challenging to say the least. Accepting that mindset to my mind would be a scorn to the vision, love and toil of my earthly father who so very ably pursued excellence in his endeavours and spurred all of his children on, educating us to the highest standards available.
And most of all, accepting that mindset would also I believe be in contempt of the purpose and gifting which my Heavenly Father has called me to.
So what am I learning to do?
I am learning to manage the change by showing respect, regard and honour to the character and person of everyone I come into contact with – man, woman, child. My hope is that they would see that despite any and every achievement, I am still human. I am still respectful, considerate and thoughtful of all humanity. How could one not be?
The problem is though sometimes, in a culture of power and status deference as you have here, that is, more often than not, seen as a sign of weakness.
Help.
Ending on a light hearted note
I had dinner with a friend last night. And we were talking about this very issue – cultural differences and the challenges these pose to every day living.
My friend is having issues with the way their staff cannot, it would seem, think outside of the box. My response was that people are illimitable by their exposure, and by the same vein, people limited by their lack of exposure - and that's why travel, whether that's regional, national or international, is so important. What is common sense to you may not be common sense to anyone else. The systems, processes and procedures that are standard to you might very well be alien to someone else who has never even left the shores of Ghana. It’s about continuous mentoring. An 'Aha' moment occurs.
And thinking of continous mentoring...
I am reminded that our Lord Jesus Christ is continually mentoring us.
Well, let me speak for myself. I don’t always get it right. Sometimes I obey and sometimes, well, let's just say I miss the mark. I am not exposed to the things He is exposed to for His ways are not my ways, as the Bible says and that means that because I cannot see the end of today from tomorrow and the day after that, I sometimes make decisions and mistakes that He would have me not make because He does see today from tomorrow and the day after that, and the day after that.
That means even He is having to exercise patience, exercise mercy and exercise love unto me even as He mentors me.
I guess what the Psycologist is making me realise is that, in managing the change of my new life in Ghana, Iwill also need to exercise patience, mercy and love to those whose exposures, mindsets and experiences are different to mine, and whose responses and reactions to me, are, well, let me say, different to what I might expect.
Aha. I'm a grown up now...
Friday, 26 October 2007
A Legal Alien
You know the song by Sting: An Englishman in New York? The chorus goes something like this: “I’m an alien, I’m a legal alien, I’m an Englishman in New York.”
I am improvising that song for me to go like this: “I’m an alien, I’m a legal alien, I’m an….” Actually, there’s a problem now for I don’t quite know whether to add “Nigerian in Ghana” to that or “British Nigerian in Ghana” or “London Nigerian in Ghana”. Confused? Well, that makes two of us.
So, with Sting's melody ringing in my head, I began to think of all my legal alien experiences.
Heard the one about the gardener?
At 6am he calls on the phone. “Madam, I am coming this morning.” “Please it’s too early to be calling me. Call me back after 7.30.” The gardener never showed again – apparently offended that his madam had told him that a 6am phone call to say that he would be reporting to work was too early.
Heard the one about the roundabout?
Here I was, approaching a roundabout and I stop, as there is another vehicle actually on the roundabout and I am waiting for him to move on so I can move in. Guess what? On the round about, he slows down for me and stops and gestures to me to move in. Bewildered, I shook my head and said at him: ‘’You have right of way. Move. This is how accidents start.” The guy angrily uttered words I care not to repeat. I am sure that he thought I was off my rocker.
And the one about the renowned private hospitals?
A friend and her colleague go to donate blood. The nurse’s gloves are stained with the blood. My friend remarks that she would like the nurse to change his gloves before taking her blood. His response? “What’s your problem? Isn’t it your colleague’s blood?”
Another friend’s son goes for his yellow fever vaccinations. The nurse is only able to inject in half of the vaccine – the injection just won’t push down any further. My friend realized that they are using the wrong type of injections for the vaccines.
And the one about the driver?
He gets a premium salary, for the comfort of working longer hours. Perhaps twice maybe three times the salary of the average driver. You give him a tip at least twice a week but unfailingly every month there’s at least one urgent family incident that necessitates him asking for an advance, or a loan, or both.
And the one about the African time?
Meetings do not generally start on time – period. Thirty minutes late, at least. The Africa Business Leaders Forum was held here last week – note, Africa Business Leaders, so a whole load of people from Africa had been invited and paid to attend the forum. Opening day. 8.30 start, to be opened by the President. 8.30 come and goes. Not even the organizers had arrived at 7.45am. The start was delayed by at least an hour and a half. At the morning breakout session I attended on the first day, three of the panel speakers did not turn up – and we start two hours late.
And the one about the ladies at the till in supermarkets?
I soon realized that there’s no point in losing your temper. They serve you, but they serve you at the most leisurely of paces – and they serve you whilst they chat with the adjacent cashier. Forget the fact that all you want to do is pay for your groceries and get out of the supermarket.
And the one about the carpenter who makes you a table that wobbles?
“Madam, I don’t know why you are annoyed. This table is okay. Look at it. It is standing. You can put things on it”
And the one about ….
Imagine how our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ must have felt for all those 33 years on earth?
I am improvising that song for me to go like this: “I’m an alien, I’m a legal alien, I’m an….” Actually, there’s a problem now for I don’t quite know whether to add “Nigerian in Ghana” to that or “British Nigerian in Ghana” or “London Nigerian in Ghana”. Confused? Well, that makes two of us.
So, with Sting's melody ringing in my head, I began to think of all my legal alien experiences.
Heard the one about the gardener?
At 6am he calls on the phone. “Madam, I am coming this morning.” “Please it’s too early to be calling me. Call me back after 7.30.” The gardener never showed again – apparently offended that his madam had told him that a 6am phone call to say that he would be reporting to work was too early.
Heard the one about the roundabout?
Here I was, approaching a roundabout and I stop, as there is another vehicle actually on the roundabout and I am waiting for him to move on so I can move in. Guess what? On the round about, he slows down for me and stops and gestures to me to move in. Bewildered, I shook my head and said at him: ‘’You have right of way. Move. This is how accidents start.” The guy angrily uttered words I care not to repeat. I am sure that he thought I was off my rocker.
And the one about the renowned private hospitals?
A friend and her colleague go to donate blood. The nurse’s gloves are stained with the blood. My friend remarks that she would like the nurse to change his gloves before taking her blood. His response? “What’s your problem? Isn’t it your colleague’s blood?”
Another friend’s son goes for his yellow fever vaccinations. The nurse is only able to inject in half of the vaccine – the injection just won’t push down any further. My friend realized that they are using the wrong type of injections for the vaccines.
And the one about the driver?
He gets a premium salary, for the comfort of working longer hours. Perhaps twice maybe three times the salary of the average driver. You give him a tip at least twice a week but unfailingly every month there’s at least one urgent family incident that necessitates him asking for an advance, or a loan, or both.
And the one about the African time?
Meetings do not generally start on time – period. Thirty minutes late, at least. The Africa Business Leaders Forum was held here last week – note, Africa Business Leaders, so a whole load of people from Africa had been invited and paid to attend the forum. Opening day. 8.30 start, to be opened by the President. 8.30 come and goes. Not even the organizers had arrived at 7.45am. The start was delayed by at least an hour and a half. At the morning breakout session I attended on the first day, three of the panel speakers did not turn up – and we start two hours late.
And the one about the ladies at the till in supermarkets?
I soon realized that there’s no point in losing your temper. They serve you, but they serve you at the most leisurely of paces – and they serve you whilst they chat with the adjacent cashier. Forget the fact that all you want to do is pay for your groceries and get out of the supermarket.
And the one about the carpenter who makes you a table that wobbles?
“Madam, I don’t know why you are annoyed. This table is okay. Look at it. It is standing. You can put things on it”
And the one about ….
Imagine how our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ must have felt for all those 33 years on earth?
Friday, 19 October 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, 11 October 2007
The Coming Spring
Understanding Seasons
My favourite one in the UK is Spring, and in Ghana, the cool season – which is around the British summer time period. But I’ve had to go back to my posting of July 16 to find words for the season I'm in.
The season has seen me asking many, many questions. I’ve raised questions to myself, my mentors and of course to God. With one of my mentors, those question time sessions, to be very honest, have actually been LOADS of fun - girly dinners and lunches with, well, plenty South African vin to wash the delicious food down.
But in the midst of these times, I voiced and raised queries on life’s issues to my mentor that I previously would not even have dared to think about let alone voice. But guess what? She had, at some point or the other in her own seasons, asked very similar questions. The guilt eroded.
People just like us
This morning I thought of the woman with the issue of blood. I thought of the Shunammite woman, and I thought of the Syrophoenician woman, and even Mary and Martha when their brother Lazarus passed momentarily. Sorry, very gender-biased today.
Only God knows the mental and emotional turmoil that passed through their grey matter. And I think the point of the record of their life stories is that they are people just like us.
With the woman with the issue of blood (Mark 5, Matthew 8), the Bible records that she had spent every penny she had on doctors but none had been able to help her. I can’t even begin to imagine her grief.
All that money spent on sanitary pads – or whatever they used in those days. And then I am thinking, was she married? If so, that probably means that it would have been somewhat difficult to have sexual relations with her husband, which would have placed an incredible strain on the marriage. Even if she wasn’t, any chance of that would have quickly eroded given the ever present hemorrhage, anaemia, tampons and sanitary pads. God help us.
But God help us He does and did for each of those women came into contact with God’s grace at some point during their low seasons and, voila, breakthrough.
And now for Mireille Guiliano and the July 16 posting. Go ahead and read/re-read. More like spiritual gastronomy, I think.
My favourite one in the UK is Spring, and in Ghana, the cool season – which is around the British summer time period. But I’ve had to go back to my posting of July 16 to find words for the season I'm in.
The season has seen me asking many, many questions. I’ve raised questions to myself, my mentors and of course to God. With one of my mentors, those question time sessions, to be very honest, have actually been LOADS of fun - girly dinners and lunches with, well, plenty South African vin to wash the delicious food down.
But in the midst of these times, I voiced and raised queries on life’s issues to my mentor that I previously would not even have dared to think about let alone voice. But guess what? She had, at some point or the other in her own seasons, asked very similar questions. The guilt eroded.
People just like us
This morning I thought of the woman with the issue of blood. I thought of the Shunammite woman, and I thought of the Syrophoenician woman, and even Mary and Martha when their brother Lazarus passed momentarily. Sorry, very gender-biased today.
Only God knows the mental and emotional turmoil that passed through their grey matter. And I think the point of the record of their life stories is that they are people just like us.
With the woman with the issue of blood (Mark 5, Matthew 8), the Bible records that she had spent every penny she had on doctors but none had been able to help her. I can’t even begin to imagine her grief.
All that money spent on sanitary pads – or whatever they used in those days. And then I am thinking, was she married? If so, that probably means that it would have been somewhat difficult to have sexual relations with her husband, which would have placed an incredible strain on the marriage. Even if she wasn’t, any chance of that would have quickly eroded given the ever present hemorrhage, anaemia, tampons and sanitary pads. God help us.
But God help us He does and did for each of those women came into contact with God’s grace at some point during their low seasons and, voila, breakthrough.
And now for Mireille Guiliano and the July 16 posting. Go ahead and read/re-read. More like spiritual gastronomy, I think.
Thursday, 4 October 2007
Transition to The Other Side
One of my colleagues passed a few weeks ago. Kojo Atiase.
Kojo had been ill briefly. On that Monday afternoon I had a 3pm meeting with a colleague. Half an hour to the time he came to me to ask if we could meet at 7pm instead – Kojo’s wife had just called to say that he had been admitted to the Teaching Hospital and was in a bad way.
7pm. My colleague was still not back in the office. I called him. “I’m on my way home – I didn’t like the way I saw Kojo. He’s in a bad way.” Now I became alarmed. This colleague was very pensive. Apparently Kojo had suddenly become paralysed on Sunday and they’d brought him to the hospital. Kojo could barely speak.
The fateful Tuesday morning.
Another colleague who is very close to Kojo went very early to the hospital the following morning. He came back weeping like a baby. Wailing, in fact. On the floor. I became scared.
Kojo was so ill that he could not talk, could not open his eyes, as well as being paralysed. Help me out here, for Kojo is 28. A lively, charming, intelligent and yet very respectful young man. Liked by everyone
We informed the partners of our firm. A few calls were made to the hospital. Whatever it takes, at whatever cost, please do it was their message to the consultants who were taking care of Kojo.
A few hours later I made a call to their department. Any more news? I enquired. “It’s bad,” my colleague said. I put the phone down and walked over to their department.
At this stage all I thought was that, at the very worst, Kojo’s condition had deteriorated even further. I went to their department to enquire on what actually the news was. I had not even noticed that everyone was unusually standing, pensive, in the open plan area. “Any news?’ “He’s gone,’’ was the response I got. “Gone where?’’ I asked. “He’s gone,” was all that was repeated to me. "Gone where?'' I asked again.
Bereavement
So Kojo passed. Shock. Distress. Alarm. So striking was the impact that Kojo had made on each and everyone of us that the firm had to organize for a Clinical Psychologist to counsel us all. The sessions are still ongoing, from group counseling to one-to-one sessions.
I attended one of the group sessions. And I came to realize that, in not being able to comprehend why and how someone like Kojo could pass as such a young age, I was actually upset with God.
Yes, I know. Who am I to be upset with God and what right to I have to question Him? Well, I’ll probably be the first to admit that I don’t have any right. But what else could I think? God is The Creator of the Universe, and I just could not help wandering why He had let this happen?
The Clinical Psychologist made me realize though that the emotion that I am feeling is ‘normal’, so to speak. He said that many of us who knew and loved Kojo would be in denial; others in shock; others angry (at God, at Kojo, at themselves) and others yet still very sad. “Well, I am not alone then”, I thought.
The Obituary
Kojo’s obituary is in today’s newspaper, with the lovely picture from his wedding day, not even a year ago. Beloved Kojo. His funeral is on Saturday 13th. What a distressing event that would be.
All that resounds in my head is the words of my pastor to me in this regard: You will not always understand Him but You cannot afford to be separated from Him.
Kojo had been ill briefly. On that Monday afternoon I had a 3pm meeting with a colleague. Half an hour to the time he came to me to ask if we could meet at 7pm instead – Kojo’s wife had just called to say that he had been admitted to the Teaching Hospital and was in a bad way.
7pm. My colleague was still not back in the office. I called him. “I’m on my way home – I didn’t like the way I saw Kojo. He’s in a bad way.” Now I became alarmed. This colleague was very pensive. Apparently Kojo had suddenly become paralysed on Sunday and they’d brought him to the hospital. Kojo could barely speak.
The fateful Tuesday morning.
Another colleague who is very close to Kojo went very early to the hospital the following morning. He came back weeping like a baby. Wailing, in fact. On the floor. I became scared.
Kojo was so ill that he could not talk, could not open his eyes, as well as being paralysed. Help me out here, for Kojo is 28. A lively, charming, intelligent and yet very respectful young man. Liked by everyone
We informed the partners of our firm. A few calls were made to the hospital. Whatever it takes, at whatever cost, please do it was their message to the consultants who were taking care of Kojo.
A few hours later I made a call to their department. Any more news? I enquired. “It’s bad,” my colleague said. I put the phone down and walked over to their department.
At this stage all I thought was that, at the very worst, Kojo’s condition had deteriorated even further. I went to their department to enquire on what actually the news was. I had not even noticed that everyone was unusually standing, pensive, in the open plan area. “Any news?’ “He’s gone,’’ was the response I got. “Gone where?’’ I asked. “He’s gone,” was all that was repeated to me. "Gone where?'' I asked again.
Bereavement
So Kojo passed. Shock. Distress. Alarm. So striking was the impact that Kojo had made on each and everyone of us that the firm had to organize for a Clinical Psychologist to counsel us all. The sessions are still ongoing, from group counseling to one-to-one sessions.
I attended one of the group sessions. And I came to realize that, in not being able to comprehend why and how someone like Kojo could pass as such a young age, I was actually upset with God.
Yes, I know. Who am I to be upset with God and what right to I have to question Him? Well, I’ll probably be the first to admit that I don’t have any right. But what else could I think? God is The Creator of the Universe, and I just could not help wandering why He had let this happen?
The Clinical Psychologist made me realize though that the emotion that I am feeling is ‘normal’, so to speak. He said that many of us who knew and loved Kojo would be in denial; others in shock; others angry (at God, at Kojo, at themselves) and others yet still very sad. “Well, I am not alone then”, I thought.
The Obituary
Kojo’s obituary is in today’s newspaper, with the lovely picture from his wedding day, not even a year ago. Beloved Kojo. His funeral is on Saturday 13th. What a distressing event that would be.
All that resounds in my head is the words of my pastor to me in this regard: You will not always understand Him but You cannot afford to be separated from Him.
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