Challenging Heights Family Easter: Royal Beach

When I heard Senior say this, I knew I was hearing the driving philosophy behind everything he, and by extension, Challenging Heights, does.

Senior is James Kofi Annan

• founder and president of Challenging Heights
• before that, a high-ranking official with Barclay’s Bank
• a student who set educational records in Ghana
• before that, an illiterate child slave

If you search for James Kofi Anana online, you will find plenty of incredible articles about the work he does now and the things he endured as a child slave after his father sold him as a 6-year-old boy.

So you don’t need me to tell you about that side of him.  But those articles left out something really important – and that’s his relationship with the children Challenging Heights is helping.

On Easter Saturday we had a big, Challenging Heights family meeting complete with Alvaro and Fanta and meat pies followed by a football match at Challenging Heights Park.  Teachers/staff vs. students.  Of course, Senior was on the team with the students.

One day I walked into Class 2 in search of a child and found Senior sitting in the middle of the room surrounded by students – all of whom were laughing and smiling in response to everything he was saying to them.

At one Evening School session, the teacher was encouraging the kids to take their schoolwork seriously: “You have classrooms.  You have textbooks.  You have your teachers who love you.  You have Senior, who is like your own father.”

So many Child Sponsorship interviewees told me stories of Senior rescuing them from slavery and bringing them to school, of Senior coming to their house after their parents died and helping them to go to school, of Senior helping their family and making them happy.

When we made pipe cleaner creations in Evening School, we brought out the camera to take pictures.  Senior was visiting the school that day and two of the girls came up to me.

“Madam Sarah, we want you to take our picture with Senior.”

“Okay, go ask him.”  The girls were shy, but it’s proof of how approachable he is (even after winning numerous international awards for his work). that two pre-teen girls willingly went up to him and asked if he would stand with them for a picture.  It’s one of my favorite photos from my time here – and if I had a better internet connection right now, I’d share it with you

I hope you’ve read some of those articles about Senior – the near drowning, the failed escapes, the struggle to learn to read after returning home, giving up the job at Barclay’s to devote all his time to helping children.

When he asks the team to find a way (i.e. money) for another rescue, I know it’s driven by his memories of his time in slavery.

When he seeks to improve the school by building an ICT (Information and Communications Technology) Center, I know it’s driven by his experience of succeeding academically against all odds.

When he insists that the school compound be free of rubbish and goats and that desks be repaired and buildings be painted, I know it’s driven by his desire to have these kids learn in an environment of excellence – one that will inspire them to be excellent themselves and to work towards a university degree.

Challenging Heights is constantly pushing for more, better, bigger, faster.

Because the children – orphaned, enslaved, impoverished, illiterate – cannot wait.

The memories of this three-day-long event are another one of those intangibles I’ll be taking back with me to the states.

I loved watching our Challenging Heights kids and the many ways they supported each other and represented the school.

They sat two or three to a lap on one of the too-few plastic chairs.

They made mud pouring water sachets over the school athletes as they sat panting and exhausted on the dusty ground after each race.

They cheered wildly when a Ch-er placed in a heat.

They took turns wearing Brigitte’s sunglasses and Madam Bobby and Madam LuAnn’s sock puppet.

They drummed and sang and danced at intervals with as much enthusiasm as if we were the top school (As a 5-year-young school competing against students who’d been running since primary, we weren’t.  When it was all said and done, only one girl, Abigail T., placed high enough to receive a certificate.  And we were all very, very proud!).

They wore each other’s shoes (boys’ and girls’) while watching and ran barefoot while competing.

They stood with their arms draped around each others shoulders.

And they wore their blue and yellow Challenging Heights School uniforms.

Especially the rescued kids.  So many things stood out to me about those three days, but this was the main one: all the rescued kids were in uniform.  Some students came in their house clothes, especially those who were sent by their mothers to sell biscuits or popcorn or water.  But any time I came across someone who used to be a child laborer in Yeji, he was wearing blue and yellow.  Usually blue and yellow that looked as if it’d been washed the night before and pressed that morning.

I think it’s because after being taken away from their communities and families; enduring the beatings, hunger, sickness, and thirst of their slavery; and then being rescued and re-integrated, Challenging Heights School is the one place they feel like they belong.

It was absolutely beautiful (in that “this totally brings tears to my eyes” sort of way) to see them showing up at the field to spend the day watching or competing in the sports and playing with their friends and roaming about the field in complete freedom.

These are things they should have always had, that ought never to have been taken away from them.
One more piece of a childhood restored.

“Where have you seen pigs in Winneba?  Can anyone tell me?”

Albert: “By the seaside!”

“Very good!  Anywhere else?”

Abigail: “On the road to Penkye.”

“Yes.  Where else?”

Derick: “In the community.”

“Perfect, you guys!  Now, this is a mouse.  Where have you seen a mouse before?”

All, with great excitement: “My room!”

“Madam Sarah, Ishmeal is crying!”

Ishmeal was indeed crying.  In fact, he looked absolutely devastated.

“Ishmeal!  What’s wrong?  Are you hurt?”

Ishmeal was too upset to answer so the other boy spoke for him.  What I expected to hear was that someone had beat him or that he had fallen and hurt himself, not that he had lost a yellow square of paper no more than 5 inches square.

“The this thing that you gave him – the paper.  He put it in his exercise book and someone has collected it and now he does not have.”

“The yellow paper?  For sponsorship?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, Ishmeal.  It’s okay.  You can tell your parents to come to the meeting tomorrow.  You don’t have to have the paper.  You will still get sponsored as long as they come, okay?”

The trauma of believing he had lost this link to notebooks, pencils, erasers, and a school uniform was slow to fade but at least the tears stopped.

The next day, I saw him after the parent meeting and told him he was now officially sponsored.

“Thank you, Madam Sarah!”

Ishmeal smiled.

Seventy-one sponsored so far!

of Challenging Heights Students: http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150590737092887.385549.76575852886&type=3

Cuteness abounds.

If you feel a sudden urge to buy a plane ticket to Accra, don’t say I didn’t warn you!

I miss washing my clothes though.  My marching outfit is especially in need of a very long soak in a bucket of soapy water.  When I came home from marching and found out that we were still without water, I growled.

Then . . .

Emmanuel and I made boiled cassava (one of my all-time favorite foods – in or out of Ghana) and stew on my gas cylinder and Matt’s electric stove.  We argued and elbowed each other away from the stew pot (I wanted to make it all by myself; he was convinced I needed help).  Somewhere along the line, he started talking and I heard more of his story (it comes in bits and pieces).

“I know God Is caring for me.  I don’t know where I would be if He wasn’t.  And Senior James (founder of Challenging Heights).  He has helped me a lot too.  When I was at the government school, I couldn’t even spell my name.  My friends in class had to write it for me.  And I smelled bad.

After my mother died (leaving him an orphan), Senior James brought me to Challenging Heights.  They put me in class three because that’s the class I was in at the other school but I couldn’t do the work so they sent me back to KG2.  Then I was able to move to class three and now I’m in class five.  And next term, I’ll be in class six.

At the other school, the government paid the teachers so they didn’t care if we learned or not.  I didn’t like learning.  But here, the parents pay school fees and the teachers know that if we don’t learn the parents will come and be angry and say ‘I’m paying school fees each term and why!?  My child can’t write his name or read!’  So here they make us to learn hard.  I know to bathe two times each day and to keep myself clean.  And now I like to learn – even if I don’t know a word, I will break it in two-two and try to spell it.”

This morning I joined 3 teachers and 47 students for Wednesday morning worship in classroom three.  Gray cinderblock walls.  Wooden desks.  Windows covered with screen and iron bars.  Two cracked chalkboards.  Wooden slats in the ceiling not quite covered by the concrete.

I sat between Louisa (who covertly showed me a dubious looking piece of gum stashed under one tiny fingernail) and Benedicta (who kept nudging me to close my eyes/sing/clap/pray).

And watched Emmanuel play the drums and sing about the goodness of God with his head thrown back and his eyes closed and the look of one who has been transported to a place of pure joy on his beautiful face.

Water (sometimes) brought to us by Winneba town.

Bright futures brought to Emmanuel (and Kwesi and Abigail and John and Patience and . . .) by Challenging Heights – and many of you!

www.victorynm.org/project500.htm

RME has been sketchy.  Math hit and miss.  English so so.  But we can march-oh!

Yesterday was D-day at Zion Park.  I was assured multiple times that the first bus would leave CH school at 6:30 am and that we would all be marching at 8 am.  My faith in Ghanaian protocol and procedure severely shaken, I arose at 5:50 am, hurriedly dressed, ate a bowl of instant cereal, and was at the school by 6:48 am.

The first bus left the school around 8 am, I arrived with the second bus load shortly after 9 am, we stood around in the hot sun for a couple hours while everyone ignored the scratchy sounds (aka speeches) emitting from the sound system in favor of the chatting with their neighbors and buying food and water from the vendors like the British were invading Senya.  We finally marched around the field once and were back at the sidelines by 11:30 am, my confidence in “Ghana time” fully restored.

To my surprise, I discovered this past month that I am a great marcher.  For someone who can’t sing or dance or clap on beat and has no sense of rhythm, this is a major accomplishment and source of pride.  It’s boosted my local street cred considerably.

However, by the time I had waited around for 4 or 5 hours (half of those in the heat and the sun and the crowd) on a mostly empty stomach I just wasn’t at my best.  I got out of step no less than 5 times during our circuit around the field.  I hope that Janet isn’t suffering bruises today from how many times I knocked into her from behind.  I hope the Ghanaians watching didn’t bust a gut with all their laughing.

Having heard much in the past month about the inability of white people to march, I’d put a lot of stock in marching just as well as a Ghanaian in front of a significant percentage of the population of Winneba.  So after all the anticipation of the last month, yesterday was anti-climatic, even disappointing. 

As I boarded the bus for the ride back to the school, I was feeling quietly dissatisfied with my performance.

Then . . .

I ended up in the very last row of the bus along with 6 or 8 very warm children, a situation that was repeated row by row all the way to the front of the bus (the concept of a maximum number of passengers is a truly foreign one).

I was sitting between Richmond, who likes to pinch, and A, who has one of the most beautiful smiles I’ve ever seen.  I greeted A just as if we weren’t dripping all over each other (cheerful resignation is always best in such cases) while pinching Richmond back one or four times. 

A was rescued from ten years of slavery a matter of weeks before her mother (the last living person who knew where her daughter had been taken) died of illness.  The home situation thatwas available for her has been challenging but fortunately, we were finally able to enroll her in CH school this term.

Madam Rosemond, one of the teachers, stood up and led the entire bus in rousing, top-of-their-voices, call-and-response chants and songs all the way through Winneba. 

“Challenging Heights!”

“U – S!”

“Senior James!”

“U – S!”          

“Madam Cynthia!”

“U – S!”

“Challenging!”

“U – S, U – S!”

“Heights!”

“U – S, U – S!”

I sat back (right on a metal something or other) and watched A sing and clap and dance and smile and glow with happiness and look the very definition of the word “belong.”

“Kweku, Ekow, Kwesi!”  I ran towards them, picked them up one-by-one, spun them around, and smiled inside at Ekow’s baby-fat neck creases.

Challenging Heights had found a home for them with one of their grandmothers and all three boys looked so happy.  They had walked from her house to the school to pick up and try on their new school uniforms.

I went with them into the office.  We played Thumb War (those little thumbs are surprisingly agile!), 1-2-3-4, and Double-Double.   Then I watched as they tugged on their school shirts and helped each other button and zip their school shorts.  Stephen took a picture – of three of the proudest and happiest little boys in Winneba.

The only thing that could have made it better?  If the uniforms had been Challenging Heights blue and yellow instead of green and tan.  The whole team is eagerly awaiting the day when we’ll have enough child sponsors to afford to enroll all rescued children at the school.

When they’re at CH school, they’re in classrooms with teachers who understand that their pasts often find expression in their behavior.  We don’t have to wonder where the taxi money to visit them for monthly follow-ups is going to come from.  If something starts to go wrong at home, the team picks up on it quickly because they are coming to us on a daily basis.

Someday!

In the meantime, more good news . . .

Within three days eleven of the re-integrated children were already in school (five at Challenging Heights).

Ten families of the thirteen children were in the final stage of opening accounts with the banks to access their micro-finance loans.

The twenty-five children still at the shelter continue to thrive and make progress in their education, English-speaking, and social skills.

To quote Attipoe, “Happy day!”

(Note: Not all topics begin with the letter “R” – I just have a thing for alliteration when I’m writing). 

(Also Note: Anyone who can intelligently and helpfully talk about rape with a group of 4- to 15-year-olds on the first night of Evening School deserves a medal.  I sat there fervently thanking God that I wasn’t the one teaching and all I had to do was show the kids how to play “Man from Mars”.)

The Evening School teachers have already spent a full, tiring day teaching the kids in their classrooms.  Those of you who know me personally know how much I love any excuse to play with kids.  It’s the perfect combination!

Once the learning is out of the way I come along with games or crafts for the kids and the teachers can sit back and relax.  Monday night, we made toilet paper tube owls and cats and pigs and peoples (I think Madam Veronica and Madam Constance had even more fun than the kids creating these).  And I was grateful to everyone who donated crayons to me before I came (so were the kids).  We played tag with soaking wet sponge bombs (courtesy of a wonderful care package that arrived here a month or so ago).

The kids here tend to play the same games over and over (Boys: football.  Girls: ampe).  It can be a challenge to teach them new things to play, but once they get the hang of it I love to watch the smiles on their faces and hear the laughter from all corners of the school compound.

Big hits:

• Drip, Drip, Splash (the water version of Duck, Duck, Goose)
• Thieves
• Leaky Relay
• Hot Potato
• Cat and Mouse
• Shuffle Your Buns (I’ll always remember Madam Emilia jumping and clapping and laughing in delight as the kids went crazy trying to shuffle themselves into the empty chairs before It could sit down)

Something got lost in translation (or a lot of people cheated):

• Who has the thimble?
• Hide and Seek
• Monkeys in the Middle
• Musical Chairs

BTW, did you know that Ghanaian children are completely unfamiliar with the word “It” (at least in respect to games)?  I would have never thought it could be so hard to explain a game to an audience who has no understanding of this term.

“Everyone will be sitting in chairs and there will be one empty chair.  And It will stand in the middle and when I say ‘Go!’ It tries to sit in the empty chair before one of you moves to sit on it.  So you guys have to keep moving around and sitting in chairs so It can’t sit down.  Each time a chair becomes empty next to you, you need to sit in it so It can’t sit.  Bright, you can be It.”

Blank stares from everyone.  “Madam Sarah, I don’t understand.”

Bright: “What am I supposed to do?”

Sigh.

The journey from the first town to the second was a long one.  We were tired (because 8 pm is a decent bedtime here) and cold (because of the AC).

Kwesi had put on my backpack (with laptop inside) after the first reunion and was still wearing it, keeping it safe for me each time I stepped off the bus to walk with the team and another child.  “Obruni, see.”  (How I loved hearing his voice each time I came back!)

John pulled a length of cloth out of his bag, bent over at the waist, head resting against the seatback in front of him, and started wrapping the cloth around himself.  I was helping him tuck it around when he suddenly turned and threw himself across my lap, cloth over his head.

Then I held him and we kept each other warm until we reached the second town and the eight roused and began to recognize homes and stores.

Some Things I Wondered:

What went through their minds when they stepped off the bus?  (Or stayed behind to wait their turn?)

How do 5- and 10- and 15-year-olds fit themselves back into their families and communities after months or years of being away in slavery?

Some Things I’ll Remember:

Playing hand-clapping games with children who have the work-calloused hands of adult men.

That the boys told the Hovde House shelter staff that if they took them to their families they would come and visit their house mothers and teachers.  But if they took them back to Yeji/Lake Volta, they would never, never remember them again.  Can you imagine being so powerless that the only leverage you have is to promise to remember or threaten to forget?

Kweku, Ekow, and Kwesi sitting on a bench at their uncle’s house (because their mother had traveled), legs dangling above the ground.  They looked dead tired (Ekow and Kwesi) and helplessly angry (Kweku).

Michael’s younger brother carrying his duffle bag into his home.

Bringing Emmanuel to a pitch-dark house and knocking, calling, and flashing cell-phone lights repeatedly before someone came out to receive him.

Sturdy Kobena throwing himself into his teenage sister’s arms.

The pure joy in Kobena’s grandfather’s voice when he said “Kobie.”

“Kobie!”

He was quietly nervous through the first greeting, the picture taking, the agreement signing.  He used the collar of his t-shirt to push the tears back into his eyes when it was time to say good-bye to the re-integration team.  He and I played Double-Double together one last time – it was the first game I taught them, he was one of the first kids to learn it (though he rarely managed to do it perfectly), and he was almost always the first one who ran up to play it each time I visited the shelter.  I hugged him hard and hated the knowledge that I probably wouldn’t be seeing him again.

Two of the boys were dropped off in the middle of a funeral – we had to wait for their mother to arrive, then they disappeared down a narrow alleyway into the darkness before I realized they were going.

Kwame and I ended our goodbyes with a round of Thumb War at the behest of the assemblyman who accompanied the team and, by now, was telling me “Do your thing!” as we left each house.

Seth and his mother hugged.

Each of them was given a brand-new duffle bag for holding their clothes, the photos Jessica took of them, the watercolors they painted with me, their school books, and any other belongings that might have.

The image of the 13 of them standing together behind a heap of too-big-for-their-possessions, navy-blue duffel bags is forever imprinted in my mind.  It struck me all over again what a beautiful thing it is that Challenging Heights does – rescuing these children from slavery, helping them start to heal, then taking them home.

Even though there were plenty of seats on the bus, five of the boys crowded into the same row that I sat in, leaving empty seats in front and behind.  Even now, two weeks later, my heart still squeezes at the thought of it.

I sat between Kwame, who wouldn’t stand out in a group of men, and Ekow, who has one dimple, two missing teeth, and four baby-fat creases in his neck.

I’m going to miss those creases.

The kids inside the bus, going home, and the kids outside the bus, staying at the shelter, called out encouraging good-bye messages to each other, reaching through open windows for a final high-five or handshake.  What had begun as a group of fighting, beating, crying, insulting children had morphed into a family in 3 months’ time.

Kweku, his jeans cuffed a good 4 inches at the ankles and accordion-folded under his belt at the waist, stood up and cried brokenly, his eyes fixed on the shelter staff and children standing outside the bus waving goodbye.  (Slavery is horrible.  Even a good thing – like reuniting a child with his family – causes pain, because it must be accompanied by another separation.)

The rest of the boys sat, and as we drove away from the shelter, stared straight ahead (if they were tall enough to see over the seats) or out the side windows.  The villages we passed through were within a few kilometers of the shelter, but they probably hadn’t seen these places since the day they were brought here three months ago and they were mesmerized.

Some of the boys were silent, some talked with each other, some sang quietly to themselves.  Kweku stood and cried.

30 minutes out and Ekow was swaying back and forth in his seat.  I reached out to steady him and he immediately turned and snuggled himself down into my lap, sound asleep within seconds.  The motion of the bus sent his right arm swinging out from where it had been tucked under his head, and for the first time I noticed the puckered, inch long scar on the inside of his little round wrist.

When I remember supremely happy moments in my life, this will be one of them: Cuddling a sleeping boy in a bus on a road somewhere in Ghana, the warmth of his breath mingling with the chill of the air conditioning, the scratchiness of his recently barbered head rashing my arm.

And looking at his baby-fat neck creases (almost) to my heart’s content.

Also, because I forgot to post a blog about it.  Also, because not posting made me feel guilty for not posting.  Guilt, in my case, always, always, always translates into procrastination.  Procrastination breeds suppressions, which breeds forgetfulness, which results In more procrastination and so on and so forth.  It’s a vicious cycle.  But mainly, I just wanted to capture all the memories these boxes are creating. I think.

Challenging Heights Hovde House

Immediately after rescue, children that Challenging Heights rescues from slavery are transported to the Hovde House shelter.  The kids have 3 to 6 months at the shelter.  During that time they have school lessons each morning to bring them up to the level of basic literacy, they receive medical care for a myriad of health issues, their families are prepared to receive them back into their homes, they eat 3 (!) meals a day, they get to play each afternoon, and the house mothers and shelter managers work with them on life skills (bathing, house chores, not fighting, etc.).

The shelter opened in October with 18 children, who were eventually joined by 20 more.  I love all these kids, but those first 18 will always be special to me.  When they arrived, they could barely speak any English.  Reading and writing was out of the question.

Then came a day in mid-January when I brought some of the Bible story pictures books from the CCC boxes to the shelter.  I sat down with a bunch of the kids, opened up “Joseph and His Brothers” and started to read.  Half a sentence in, Isaac began reading along with me.  I stopped in surprise and he continued to read.  There we sat, an obruni girl who’s had the best of life all her life and eight obebeeni boys who’ve had some of the worst of life for most of their short lives.

And Isaac, who could barely speak English in October, read to us about Joseph, a boy who’d been mistreated and enslaved and exploited at the hands of his family and strangers.  Then we listened to him read the story of “Moses and God’s People” and their journey from slavery to freedom.  And, last of all, the triumph of “Joshua in Jericho”, as the Israelites finally left the slave-mentality behind and became victors.

Attipoe Preaches

CCC sent me double copies of most of the Bible story books so I’ve kept half here for the kids at the school to read.  Attipoe took several of them overnight, thoroughly read and digested them, then spun them into a series of sermons that I will never forget.  For more than an hour, he held the attention of the 12 children crowded into my room as darkness fell and Emmanuel fried plantains on my gas cylinder.  The kid is a master communicator/storyteller and if he’s not famous someday it will be for lack of opportunity, not talent.  Of courses, we all went away with the impression that Joshua took on the Jericho-ites with an army of 5 soldiers (that’s all the illustrator had room to show and Attipoe took it as Gospel-truth) but we also learned the importance of trusting God even when He is asking you to do the impossible.

Child Sponsorship

After spending 12 years working in the children’s department of a public library, going nearly 4 months without a smidge of construction paper was not a pleasant experience.  Opening the boxes to find multiple packs of construction paper waiting for me opened up new vistas that I thought had been closed to me forever (or at least, for the duration of my stay in Ghana).

The kids who’ve received sponsorships (side note: 42 children at the school now have sponsors!) regularly ask to communicate with their sponsors.  With the arrival of packs of construction paper and crayons and a volunteer from Canada, that’s now become a possibility.  The letters/pictures they began creating this week with Brigitte are such transparent expressions of their gratitude and love.  Each sponsor, whether Emmanuel’s church, or Glady’s construction company, or Eric’s grandfather, or Mabel’s parents, or Paul’s jr. high school has become very real to these kids.  Many of them have never even seen a picture of their sponsor, but they ask about them all the time and love this chance to put their feelings down on paper.

Challenging Heights Hovde House (again)

How old were you when you created your first watercolor?

Kwame and Wisdom were 15 and 16-years-old.  Kofi Junior and Ekow were 6 and 5.  And fourteen other kids were all ages in-between.

As each group of three entered the library, their faces lit up the sight of the brightly colored circles of watercolors, sheets of construction paper, and paintbrushes waiting for them on the tables.  They sat down and gripped their brushes and looked up expectantly, waiting instructions.  I explained.  The house mother translated.  And the kids began to paint.

Abstracts: Marbling colors.  Real Life: Standing in a fishing boat pulling in nets.  The things they’re proud of learning: The ABC’s and their full names.

Sometimes, the kids talked.  They told the house mother that this was the first time they had seen these paints.  They said I was very good for teaching this to them.  They told me the names of the people on the fishing boats.

But mainly they were quiet, losing themselves in a peaceful world of orange and blue and green and purple and white.

A surefire way to make friends with the children in a foreign country is to teach them clapping games or “secret” handshakes.  They love it.  They think it’s cool.  They think you’re cool.  They think they’re cool.  And it won’t cost you a penny (just some minor bruising).

I taught DDTT to the 15 boys who are living at the Challenging Heights Hovde House shelter.  They loved it.  They thought it was cool.  They thought I was cool.  They thought they were cool.  Bruises fade.  You get the picture.

I brought along the drawing books that my friend Debbie gave me just before I came to Ghana.  We spent an entire morning learning how to draw cats and iguanas and rabbits and goats (they had to share the one eraser).  One of the boys came back after lunch and drew for another two hours while the other boys played football.

We bounced toilet paper tubes on the parachute.  We made an igloo out of the parachute.  We took turns running under the parachute while everyone else shook it.

We played dam (Ghanaian name for checkers).  In their version, you can jump your opponent forward and backwards.  I beat four of them in a row, and then an older boy came along and creamed me.

We looked at the few storybooks I brought along with me over and over and over again.

In other words, these are just kids.  They have loose teeth and scuffed up knees and voracious appetites.

One of the boys was taken to Nigeria.  The rest were sent to the fishing villages of the Yeji regions.

The youngest is 6 years old.  The oldest is about 16.

They were sold by parents.  They were taken as payment for a debt.

They caught fish.  They mended nets.  They slept little.  Ate less.

In other words, they were slaves.  They have rotted fingernails and scarred lips and distended bellies.

They were rescued by Challenging Heights – the first 14 boys (one came from another organization that didn’t have a safe place for him) of 40 children CH wants to rescue before the end of the year.

They will live at the spacious, beautiful home built and funded by the Hovde Foundation for a minimum of 50 days receiving counseling, medical care, and remedial schooling.

They will be cared for by house mothers, cooks, shelter managers, security, teachers, and even the carpenters finishing work on the house (like Richard, who doesn’t even get mad when he comes back from lunch to find one of the boys messing with the tools).

Their families will be prepared for the challenges of re-integrating them into normal life after months or years of child labor.

In other words, these are slavery’s survivors.  They try to run away (from the shelter).  They speak minimal English (somehow, we are still able to communicate).  They have hair trigger tempers (Quick to punch.  Quick to cry).

I love them so much.

Thank you so much for responding to the need for sponsors for the approximately 500 children who are receiving an education at Challenging Heights School! 

After interviewing these children and hearing their stories of hunger, mistreatment, losing family members, and child labor, we know how important it is that we find sponsors to make life safer and better for them.

And after talking to these same children and hearing their dreams of being doctors or tailors or pilots and someday having a “beautifully decorated cake,” “shoe, sock, bag,” or even “laptop and computer,” we know how important it is that we find sponsors so their childish dreams don’t die a slow death due to poverty and lack of opportunity.

We are so grateful that you care enough to get involved.  The children are grateful, too – you ought to see the smiles when we tell them we are going to find sponsors for their school fees, books, and uniform!

At present, all of our donations, including sponsorship subscriptions, can be made one of two ways:. Either via credit card through Global Giving http://www.globalgiving.org/ (please search for Challenging Heights in top right hand bar) or alternatively please send a cheque to:

Pay: Global Child Survivors Fund
Memo: Challenging Heights

Cheque should be posted to:

Global Child Survivors Fund
C/o 1826 Jefferson Place, NW
Washington, DC 20036

All our children have different needs and your support will therefore be used accordingly.  Your contribution will support your child’s annual school fees, educational materials including uniforms, stationary or assist with sports and recreation activities.  The contribution may also be put towards any counseling or rehabilitation the child may need, and any other coordinated activities that will enhance the child’s education.

The support does not provide food or shelter to your child. This is provided by his/her family.  Once the cheque or credit card donation is received, we will send you the profile and picture of your child or children!

Please contact me if you would like any further information about the sponsorship program or any of our other programs.

I look forward to hearing from you.

From all the children and staff at Challenging Heights School,

Medase pa pa pa (thank you very much)!

One more boy was rescued last night.  He and his brother were living with their mother in Senya when she died.  In order to pay for the funeral, their father had to borrow money from the trafficker.  In return, the trafficker took the two boys for a 2-year-contract.  (Of course, they wouldn’t have come home at that point – the trafficker would have come to Senya and given the father a small amount of money in order to renew the contract.) 

The boys have served one year so far.  It infuriates me to think of two children being enslaved in order to “pay” for their own mother’s funeral. 

The trafficker moved quickly when he realized the Challenging Heights team was coming – one of the boys was hidden before the team arrived.  Fortunately, the team was moving quickly, too!  They freed one of the brothers before he could be hidden and the team here at the office is working to get the father to call the trafficker and demand that he let the other boy go.  If not, the case will be reported to the authorities.

Please pray that:

• ·       The trafficker will voluntarily let the other brother go today.
• ·       The rain will stop so that it will be safe for the team to go out on the lake and  continue rescues.
• ·       The other four children they are hoping to rescue today will be found and freed without any trouble
• ·       The restoration process that the children will be going through at the Challenging Heights Shelter during the next several months will be effective.

Thank you pa pa pa (very much)!

One of those things involves the best practices for helping someone.  I blogged earlier about the kids who talked to me about hunger and I was so moved by your response (either in comments or e-mails).  As I shared with the Challenging Heights staff about our desire to help, I learned the following:

One of the most effective ways to help these kids is by helping their parents.  CH has partnered with Barclay’s Bank to offer mico-finance loans/training to eight women’s cooperatives in Winneba and Senya (each cooperative has about 30 members).  So far, 100% of the loans have been paid back and the women have been able to start their own savings accounts as well!  One of the really cool things about this program is that it is 100% Ghanaian – you can’t even donate to it, because it is run through Barclay’s.

The other way to help these kids is through child sponsorship.  I went along with David (programs’ manager) on a visit to the family of one of the girls CH is helping.  She was sold as a 5-year-old and spent 10 years in slavery.  Her mother found out about Challenging Heights and reported the case.  CH rescued her and re-united her with her family.  When they brought her to her home, her mom didn’t even recognize her.  She had no idea that her daughter was standing in front of her.  Two months later, the mother got sick and died.  This beautiful teenager was only a few months away from being lost forever – no one else in the family knew where she was or would have reported the case to CH.  Now she is living with an auntie.

Even though much of the conversation was in Fante, I could clearly see that even buying items like exercise books was a huge burden for A’s aunt.  Sponsoring a child’s education frees up resources for the family to buy food, plus it is a long-term solution that creates independence, rather than short-term assistance that fosters dependency (like a feeding program would be).  The children at CH School are learning things that will give them the ability to find meaningful employment in order to support themselves as adults.

I know some of you may already be involved in Child Sponsorship, so if sponsoring a CH child is not an option for you (but you still want to help these kids), keep checking back here for news about our Christmas gift catalog, which will give you the opportunity to give a one-time gift of school books, a uniform, a math set, school fees to one of our kids.  And if you would like to sponsor a child, you can click here to be taken to the child sponsorship site.

So, have you figured out what the contraption is yet?

P.S.  Just sat on the steps watching a 2 and 4 year old playing with a machete.  Africa, how I love you!

Would you leave your “home” early in the morning like you always do without any breakfast or any money?

Could you pretend like everything is normal so your slave master wouldn’t be suspicious?

Would you paddle for forty-five hours to get far enough away (you hope)?

Could you leave the boat behind (risking discovery) and take off on foot?

Would you beg a stranger for money for food when you became too hungry to go on?

Could you beg a taxi driver (another stranger) to take you to the capitol city?

Would you persist until he finally gives in?

Could you beg for another ride to your mother’s hometown – two more hours away?

Would you do this if your slave master was also your father – and he came after you?

Could you hold on to the dream of freedom while your mother goes to Challenging Heights for help?

Would you do this if you were only ten- and twelve-years-old?

Or,

Would you have a dream one night and see yourself sitting in a classroom, even though you’ve never been to school?

Could you ask the people who enslaved you to let you go to school?

Would you do this if they were also your mom and dad?

Could you run after they told you they would disown you if you tried to go to school?

Would you enroll yourself (all by yourself) in school after fleeing to safety?

Could you carry firewood to earn enough money to eat, even though it means missing days at school?

Would you sleep on the floor of the local pastor’s home?

Could you persevere until Challenging Heights found you and helped you?

Would you become a 17-year-old success story?

I am so thankful for the support and encouragement you’ve given me.  I want you to have a picture of what Ghana is like so this post is a collection of random facts about my trip that I hope will give you a glimpse into what life will be like in Ghana.  Enjoy!

1. I’ll be living and working in Winneba, a historic fishing town on the coast.
2. Winneba is home to approximately 40,000 people and yes, it does have Internet cafes (hurrah!).
3. I’ll be sending e-mail updates (hopefully each week).  Sign up to receive them by sending a blank e-mail to sarahjoy.morbitzer@gmail.com
4. I’ll live in a home Challenging Heights has built next door to their school (except when short-term groups come – then I’ll stay in a hostel!).
5. If I want to cool off from the heat (somewhere between 73 and 93 degrees all year round), I can go swimming in the colonial-era swimming pool that fills up each day at high tide. .
6. The downtown is bright and colorful.
7. The Hovde Foundation is building a home for some of the many children Challenging Heights is assisting.
8. Winneba is famous for the annual Aboakyer Deer-Hunting Festival held in May (I’ll be taking pictures to share with all of you!)
9. I’ll be volunteering at Challenging Heights’ school (and hopefully the Hovde Home).  I would also love to get involved with the Children’s Rights Clubs.
10. The region is notorious for enslaving children in the fishing industry.  “Many of the fishermen were once boy slaves themselves and suffered the abuses they now inflict upon the boys they hold in slavery.”

Now, a question for you: What would you most like to learn about Ghanaian culture?  For example, are you intrigued by the food or the music?  Or maybe you wonder what the day of the week you are born on has to do with the name you are given.  Maybe you’d like to pick up some Ghanaian lingo or slang.

Let me know and I’ll be sure to post a blog or send an e-mail about it!

Mr James Kofi Annan, Executive Director of Challenging Heights, a non- governmental organization focused on children’s welfare, has been awarded for his commitment towards social justice.

The award dubbed: “Grinnell College Young Innovator for Social Justice” is given to outstanding examples of people who saw a huge social need and then worked creatively to meet that need to make the world a better place.

Mr Annan for his prize receives $100,000 half of it is given to the winner’s organization. He also gets the opportunity to visit the Grinnell College in Iowa, USA in October this year to share his knowledge and experiences with the students.

At a press briefing, he said: “The Grinnell prize which received more than 1,000 nominations from 66 countries honours individuals under the age of 40 who have demonstrated leadership in their fields and show creativity, commitment and extraordinary accomplishment in effecting positive social change.”

Mr Annan expressing happiness about the award advised the youth to be focused on their passion and be determined to succeed.

He said the money for his award would be used to build the capacity of staff at Challenging Heights and assist more children to go to school.

Sharing his dreams for the future, he said there were many children who were deprived of social justice and Challenging Heights was hoping to nurture more children and the youth, adding, “we want to be the leading child-centred organization”.

Mr Annan established Challenging Heights in 2003 while working with the Barclays Bank, Ghana, where he used over half of his personal income to provide educational support for children, who had withdrawn from forced labour. He later resigned from the Bank to devote his full time to help to achieve social justice for vulnerable and poor children.

Challenging Heights now supports 1,195 children in school; has trained about 500 women and provided micro-business assistance to 77 under-served mothers.

The organization also carries out major community based sensitization programmes in about 45 communities and has impacted the lives of over 10,000 children.

All of the recipients’ are inspirational and amazing; however two in particular struck personal cords with me. Ricky Richard, who won the Harriet Tubman Reintegration Award with his organization, Friends of Orphans. One look into the eyes of Ricky and you are beyond moved and inspired by his story of bravery, courage and triumph…you are energized into action. From across the room one notices the pride and ambition of James Kofi Annan, who with his organization Challenging Heights, was awarded the Frederick Douglass Award. James smile alone is enough to incite one into action.

Both men, spent their childhoods enslaved, Ricky as a child soldier, James as a child laborer in the fishing industry, both escaped the shackles of modern slavery and neither one could turn their backs on the countless children just like them. Both Rickey and James are powerful heroes who have used their struggles to establish organizations which not only work for freedom, but work sustainably to brake the chains of slavery by addressing the root issues, especially focusing on education, which fuel the modern slave trade.

Read her whole post here.