I met Otis over 4 years ago when I was working on the refugee camp. He had polio as a kid and was on the camp alone. At one point, he had been sleeping on a table in the market. Before I arrived on the camp, Patrick (who I’d known since the time I was living in Cote d’Ivoire, and who I was fortunate to be able to visit last year at his new home in Norway) had noticed Otis and invited Otis to come train as a tailor and sleep in the workshop. By the time I arrived, Otis was well into his tailor training, and doing well. After a year, Patrick and his family got resettled to Norway, and Otis was completing his training. But Otis has a vision and some good plans – and he wanted to go on with his training to also learn embroidering – or “designing”, as it’s referred to here. I was getting some help from Liliane Fonds for my work with some of the disabled people, and they agreed to help Otis with his embroidery training.

Finally, Otis was ready to open his own shop, and he wanted to return the assistance he’d received by assisting other people with disabilities to learn how to sew and embroider. The UNHCR was possibly going to be assisting him in this effort (but their help never quite came through in the way that he hoped and needed). Through my friends and family who made donations through me, and also with Liliane Fonds, we were able to help him to meet some of his goals – he was able to get an embroidery machine, a few extra sewing machines and a generator (the electricity was always going off on the camp). So, Otis had a school in his workshop where he was training people with different disabilities while at the same time trying to run his own tailoring business. And, twice a week he was also giving sewing classes at the school for the deaf – and he was trying to learn a little sign language.


me and Otis, my last day of work on the camp, last year



For the past few months, there’s been a lot of increased pressure and encouragement for Liberians to return to Liberia. And for some people, this was easier than for others. The UNHCR allowed a limited amount of baggage to be carried back – and some people have been living on the camp for 18 years now, so they’re certain to have established some kind of life and acquired possessions – furniture, tv, stereo – and in Otis’ case, equipment for running a business. Again, a friend who’d help Otis in the past and had even met him while visiting a couple of years ago was able to help out a lot. David had just lost his job, but had money set aside that he asked if I needed for anyone. As often is the case – God works in wonderful ways and the timing was perfect. Otis timed things well; he shipped his tailoring equipment to Liberia, where he had someone he trusted to receive it and keep it safe for him until he returned a week or so later. He also submitted a proposal to the UNHCR for assistance in establishing a training school, similar to what he had on the camp, back in Liberia. And he registered with the UN for his return trip – meaning they would pay for his return trip to Liberia. All was fine. Until UN told Otis he needed to wait until they reviewed his proposal and he found himself stranded on the camp with his means of living secure with his friend in Liberia. We were able to help him out, again with a few nicely timed donations, while he waited . . . and waited . . . and then waited some more. Until – after about 2 months – he was told by the UN that they no longer provide that assistance here and he should return to Liberia to submit the proposal there. So – finally he was heading back – and all was ready to go – and the plane they (the other Liberians scheduled to return at the same time) were to be on had mechanical problems and he ended up being delayed another couple of weeks.

But now he’s back – and he called me almost as soon as he landed. He hit the ground running – checked out his stuff, which was all fine, then went to the part of Liberia (Ganta) where he wants to set up his school to see what the situation is like and what's available along the lines of buildings or land or whatever is needed. When he returned to Monrovia he submitted his proposal to the Liberia Refugees Repatriation and Reintegration Commission and to the United Nation Development Program, from where he was later told that he will have to wait until next year before he will receive any response from them.

Anyway – he’s always impressed me. He has his dreams, his plans, his goals – and they’re goals that will help him and will build up his country. And not just build up his country by introducing new skills (embroidery is not very common in Liberia), but will build up a group of people (the ones with disabilities) who are often left behind. Not only does he have these dreams and plans (lots of people have dreams and plans), but he has followed through with them – he researches them, he makes contacts, he keeps the contacts, etc. I like the guy, and we’re friends, but at the same time I know part of why he called me almost as soon as he landed is to keep that connection – not just keep a friendship.

I recently received another email from Otis. He plans to start working as soon as possible, not waiting for a response, which may or may not be favorable, from those organizations. So he has gone around to find out the options. He found a place he could rent for $50 per month. He was able to borrow money for 3 months, and he's trusting that somehow, before the time is up and he gets sacked from the place, the $600 for a full year's rent will come in so he can pay off the landlord, and also pay off his debt.

As has so often been the situation during my time in Africa, especially my time on the refugee camp, so much moves forward based upon trust and faith in God. Sometimes this works as hoped and believed. Sometimes, our faith is tested, and what we hoped and believed and wanted to happen isn't how it works out. And the faith in God's plan not necessarily being our plan - that God's vision is greater than ours - is truly tested. I'll let you know how this works out for Otis.

Stephen is about 3 or 4 years old. He came to us in May from an orphanage in Kumasi. He’s not like the majority of other kids who live here – he’s physically disabled, like some of the other kids, and he’s been totally abandoned, like all of the other kids – but unlike most of the other kids (except maybe some of the kids with cerebral palsy) he doesn’t seem to have any kind of intellectual disability. There was a volunteer at the orphanage who came and asked Ineke to consider taking Stephen here. The staff at the orphanage never allowed much physical contact, didn’t want the kids to be picked up or held, etc., according to the volunteer – and she felt strongly attached to Stephen and promised that she would continue to send support to cover his expenses here at PCC (a promise which was kept for only a couple of months, unfortunately; I think sometimes people return to their countries and the time they spent here in Africa becomes a dream to them, hopefully a good memory, but something from which they eventually feel distanced).

We were able to take Stephen to the people from the OTC (the Orthopedic Training Center - I tried to find a good link to include for this place, but couldn't find one in English). I often used to take people with disabilities there – when I was living and working with Hope for Life in Accra and then again when I was on the refugee camp. So it felt like seeing old colleagues again; old colleagues who were recommending surgery for Stephen – in fact, a series of surgeries which, along with the recovery and therapy process, might last up to a year.

my photo of a picture taken of Stephen and his "Mom" following his surgery



Stephen’s legs are bent up (just to clarify, this is not the technical, medical diagnosis), and he crawls around – and he’s a bundle of energy, chasing after the other kids, fighting (both play-fighting and serious fighting), laughing, crying, asserting independence yet demanding attention. Basically, he’s just a typical 3 – 4 year old (with bent up legs).

Stephen sitting up in bed upon our arrival


Greeting Janet, and maybe more importantly, trying to get some cookies from her purse



Finally, a couple of weeks ago he received the first of his surgeries. We went to visit him a little over a week after (the Saturday which ended up with me rehydrating milk as described in a previous post): Joyce, who’s like the mother of everyone here, Janet, the woman in the kitchen who keeps us fat, Philo, a little girl that Joyce takes care of, and Emmanuel (Ema), one of Stephen’s buddies.














Within no time, Stephen demonstrated he’s the same bundle of energy, shouting out Ema’s name, laughing loudly, crawling on the floor, chasing after Ema, taking playful swings at him.
And doing all of this with casts that go from above his knees down to his just above his toes.






Stephen teaching Ema how and where to properly kiss his "baby"









Leticia, his “mother”, has been staying with him in the hospital – taking good care of him, making sure he stays fat. He’s also made good friends with Isaac, the boy in the bed next to his, who has the same casts on his legs that Stephen has. Just this week, 12 days after his first surgery, Stephen has received the second operation. Now we’ll see how the things progress – if any more surgeries will actually be necessary, how much time for the therapy, and how long before he can return to his home here at PCC.

Cheese isn’t very easy to get here, and it isn’t cheap if you can get it. Even the Laughing Cow variety (mentioned in a previous post that also included a wonderful link to the Laughing Cow website) isn’t always easy to get. It’s very often not available at the shop on the PCC grounds (the shop has supplies available that I think are believed to be wanted by most foreigners here – the visitors and the volunteers – things like sweet crackers, Rose wine, other sweet stuff, and when something is acquired like Laughing Cow, it doesn’t last long – but it takes long before more becomes available. Salty snacks are NEVER there – which is probably a good thing, because they are definitely a weak point for me. Red wine has rarely been there, until recently because a couple of people requested it – yes, I was one of those people – and white wine is available more often than the red, but not as omnipresent as the Rose. Charity, the lady who runs the shop and Baffo, the guy who stocks it, say that people buy the Rose, that’s why they have it – not realizing that people buy that because it’s the only one that’s available. Anyway – as usual, I digress. . . ). But some friends told me they’ve been making homemade cheese – and sent me some of the ingredients that would be hard to find here – rennet, citric acid, lipase powder, thermometer, rubber gloves – and the instructions.

It took me awhile to try to make the cheese – I was hoping to find the recommended brand of powdered milk, which I didn’t find. Then there was the time factor – I needed to be home one night to mix the milk so it could rehydrate overnight, and then I wanted the following day a little free so I’d be sure to have enough time.




milk mixing ingredients - 1 can of happy looking powdered milk, and then 4 bottles of drinking water - mix and let sit in fridge overnight full full rehydration






Finally, last night I mixed the powdered milk – 1 gallon of it!! But where and how to store it? My fridge isn’t that big – fortunately, it also doesn’t have that much food in it, so I was able to take the water out and put the milk in.

So as to get proper picture, I removed the lid of the larger pot






Then tonight I was ready – I almost followed the directions – I cleared off the counter, washed it down, wiped it down, did a version of sterilizing it (I couldn’t get the bleach locally, so I just tried boiling water).


after my version of sterilizing the "work" area, I followed instructions and premixed the cheese making stuff






Brought the milk out of the fridge – unfortunately the pot couldn’t hold all that was recommended. Then I forgot to add the cream that the directions said you should heat up and add and which was the final ingredient and one of the things I went to Kumasi for last weekend. But after mixing some of the ingredients and starting to heat it I remembered the cream (was it too late? or is it better late than never? I think it can never be too late – although it was whipping cream, that should work, yes?).


milk with added ingredients happily coming to the correct temperature





Who knows what happened – it could be that I don’t have measuring spoons, so I used the teaspoons that I also use for eating for the measuring. It could be that I don’t have measuring cups – so I used a coffee pot for the larger quantities of liquid and then guestimated the smaller quantities. It could be that my pot may not actually be stainless steel, although I think it is, (after all, it worked last weekend when I made some tomato juice which also says it needs stainless steel). It could be that the directions only talk of nonfat dry milk and then adding cream, but all the powdered milk here is full cream – so should I still have added the cream?

how could I not add this cream?


And should it have been whipping cream?




It could be that my slotted spoon was actually a slotted spatula – oh wait, that’s not it because I never got to the part in the process that uses the slotted spoon. It could be that I was following the directions for if you have a microwave and then jumped to the other directions for no microwave – which actually are a little confusing to me because it seems they also think if you have no microwave that you have no stovetop. It could be that I think my stove has a gas leak (I used to think it was the schnozzle connecting it to the gas bottle, but I replaced that; so maybe it’s the rubber hose from the bottle to the stove; or maybe the gas leak smell is because one of the knobs is broken off, but I don’t think that’s it – how could that cause a gas smell?) and maybe the extra gas fumes in the air didn’t react well.

But for whatever reason – I don’t think the milk ever curdled. It seemed to do something, and it was at the temperature recommended – even higher. And then it was to sit for 3 – 5 minutes or so for the full curdling to take place, even an extra 1 – 5 minutes if needed, for the curds to firm up on top so I could use the slotted spatula to separate them – but nothing happened – and it’s going on 45 minutes now. And I have a pot of milk on the stove – maybe a gallon or so of it, which is mixed with rennet and citric acid and lipase. And I don’t know if I can use it for anything else – it doesn’t sound like it would be too delicious to drink. Hmmm, but maybe – liquid uncurdled cheese anyone?

So – I guess this means I need to clean up and try again another day after I’ve rehydrated some milk overnight (and I don’t think it really rehydrated, either – it seemed kind of thick on the bottom). And I need to remember to add the cream appropriately – maybe that’s the key. And maybe get a bigger pot, too. And maybe the measuring stuff. (But I like, some people might say Love, whipped cream – sometimes in University I would buy some pre-made whipped cream and enjoy the container for desert – sometimes I’d enjoy it for dinner. And often, pie is just the condiment for the whipped cream I help myself to. So – I may not have any whipping cream left by the time I get to make more cheese, which may not matter since the milk says it’s full cream already.)

My sister, who I called at the last minute so I could find out how many ounces are in a cup, so that I could then calculate the other measurements based upon the measuring lines on my coffee pot thing recommended that I take photos and do a blog entry on my cheese making. I wasn’t sure I would, but decided to take the pictures just in case. And now, while waiting for the cheese to curd up it seemed like a good way to pass the time.

clean up time - oh well

When I arrive somewhere new, it always seems like within the first couple of weeks there are 1 or two people with whom I feel some kind of connection. And often, that connection develops into a strong friendship that lasts for years, it seems. When, at the beginning of my junior year, I transferred schools while getting my bachelor’s, I was living off-campus and in a major (accounting) that really wasn’t the best match for me (other than that I kind of love math and it comes easily). Within the first few weeks, by chance, someone who was in one of my non-business classes was entering the apartment building I lived in while I was going out to make a phone call (alas, I had no phone yet so needed to go out to the parking lot pay phone to call my sister and relieve my homesickness/loneliness). We talked briefly in passing, and then got together for a cup of coffee after I finished my phone call. Anita and I were buddies for the duration of my time in Whitewater, and we’re still in touch. I’m still in close contact with several friends from Peace Corps days. I recently wrote about Samuel, a Liberian I’ve known since 1993 when I was in Cote d’Ivoire. Etc. etc.

But for some reason, I haven’t made that connection here, yet. There are people I’m friendly with – but there’s a structure, or a hierarchy or something that seems to prevent anything deeper from coming about. It’s unusual for me – usually I make my friends through work or school, or whatever my normal, daily activities are – a few people with whom I can hang out, laugh and relax, share a beer, talk about work, have deeper conversations about life, religion, culture, values, etc. But that hasn’t been the case here. Maybe that’s good – I spend more time alone, and as someone recently pointed out, I get a chance to reflect on my relationship with Africa. But, this isn’t what I’m posting about this time – I just like to digress from time to time. (Or, since I’ve taken two paragraphs with digression, maybe I should just say it is part of this blog posting.)

I do have some friends in Ghana – and I’m lucky that a few have been able to come visit me.
Just a couple of weekends ago, Saka was able to come for a few days. He lives in Kasoa – the town close to Buduburam, and he is in charge of the group of blind people with whom I worked sometimes, and he helped me to follow up and visit the people with disabilities in Kasoa, and he helped me find my way around to the families of our deaf students who lived in Kasoa so we could visit them. He ended up being on the Board of Directors for the school for the deaf as well as running the income generating project that was established for the deaf school so that the lunch program would be able to continue more independently after I left. He’s partially blind and his wife is totally blind, and they have 3 beautiful kids. Their son, who is now two years old, was born while I was on the camp, and I was able to attend his outdooring.

The problem is there’s not much to do up where I am now. In the south, there was always the beach – and not much further were some “castles”, the rain forest canopy walk, etc. Here –there’s not much. The PCC is a beautiful, peaceful place. But on the weekends when I have time off – there’s not much else to do, which is fine, but when there are visitors, it’s sometimes nice to have an activity or two.

However, there is a monkey sanctuary not too far away, and this is what I’ve tended to do with a couple of my visitors. The best part for me is the walk through the forest – there are mona monkeys and black and white monkeys, but the main thing for me is just the walking, the huge trees, the flowers, the smells of it all, feeling the trail under my feet, listening to the forest sounds.

So – that’s what Saka and I did – and we took three of the older kids from here with us –



Evans, who has cerebral palsy and I can’t understand most of what he says, but he’s a funny, friendly guy; Ayuba, who has Down’s Syndrome and can look very serious as we are all walking along,

but at the same time has a beautiful, infectious laugh; and Zacharia, who’s non-verbal and is one of the hardest workers at PCC and also has one of the most constant, largest and beautiful smiles.




We started in the market at the stand where I love to get lunch about once a week – watche (sounds like watch-ay), rice and beans cooked together, with some tomato stew usually added, some Shitto (hot pepper stuff), gari, spaghetti – and maybe meat or fish or egg.



Mmmm, delicious. Then the taxi ride – 4 of us squeezed in the back, Saka, with the longest legs, in the front.





The road’s not paved for part of the way there, and if you take a wrong turn, or are directed down the wrong road, you still get there, but it takes about twice as long and on a road that’s 4 times as bad. This second option was the way our taxi decided to take.

Even before our taxi finished rolling to a stop, a guide was already making his way to us, and almost as soon as we were out of the car we were making our way down the trails.







The monkeys are welcome in the village of Boabeng. On some of the houses, you can see scratch marks below windows where monkeys are welcome to climb in and help themselves to some of the family’s food. Check out the website to understand some of the beliefs about the monkeys and why people in this village feel about them as they would about cousins or other family members.







Certain monkeys have certain families to whom they pay regular visits. The people in the village know where the monkeys tend to hang out, they know if there have been births or deaths, and if there’s been a death, it’s mourned, and the monkey is buried in the monkey cemetery. The guide took us through the forest,





found some of the monkey families, led us to the monkey cemetery,





showed us some of the impressive trees, and led us back to the village.

there were a few monkeys in the trees - right above our heads -
when we got back to the village







Our taxi took the more direct route back to Nkoranza.


Saka, who’s muslim, went to find a mosque where he could pray while I took the guys out for some cokes (but forgot to take a picture of us with our cokes) while on the way back to the PCC.