There's no place like...

I am currently immersed in paper writing about my internship in Ghana. And simultaneously struggling to sum up all that my internship held. Development, NGOs, cleft palate surgery, program development, Ghana, Burkina, elsewhere. It's been...a summer.

Though I struggle to find words to articulate all that the summer has been I am grateful.
At the same time I grateful for all that Calgary represents. There really is no place like home. And I am so overwhelmed by thankfulness for the people that make this place home. It has been such a joy reconnecting over these past weeks.

I'm signing off on that note. Until my travels take me to Africa again that is.

The Thing About TOMS

Over my two weeks with Sheltering Wings (SW) this August I had the fantastic opportunity to volunteer in three TOMS Shoes distributions. I loved the opportunity to see TOMS on the ground and the whole time I was taking in all the information I could. As a 'TOMS wearer' I wanted to know if I would continue buying TOMS after seeing the 'flip side'. 

I am well aware of the criticism TOMS has come under in recent years, including being termed 'one of the worst development ideas ever'. And I get it. I have some critiques of my own to offer, and questions of my own to ask about TOMS, but let's be honest too. A lot of us have critiques based on what we've heard, or what we think, but most of us haven't actually done the research to know anything about TOMS policies or what their efforts look like on the ground. 

So I took this as my chance to do my own 'investigation'. Over the past two weeks I have had many conversations about TOMS with internationals, and Burkinabé. In all of these conversations I asked about their general impressions of TOMS, presented some of the critiques, and asked their thoughts on the critiques. There were, of course, some common themes. Here's a glance: 

Reasons for buyingToms

Does it matter why people buy TOMS? Do the good intentions make buying them okay? Should they not buy TOMS because of the flaws in the 'One for One' model? 

When I asked this question to a Burkinabé friend he simply asked: "Do you like them? I'm going to buy shoes I like." 

I then suggested hypothetically you could have shoes you liked equally but one is 'One for One' and the other isn't. His question back: "is there harm in choosing something that may help another person?"

TOMS & Sustainability 

A lot of the critiques of TOMS comes from the fact that it's aid not development. What do you think? How should it be done? 

The suggestion: isn't aid a temporary solution while the long-term solution is being identified? Does that disqualify the aid? How many people will buy shoes vs how many would actually put in the work to get a long-term solution? 

Lots of questions there. I personally think that's a hefty question to boil down to a simple answer, but I do think the response should factor into the discussion. When I asked about what the villages need most that would contribute in the long-term: increased food security initiatives in villages. 

Other things to take into consideration when asking this question is about the TOMS model. TOMS isn't 'helicoptering' in shoes. Instead, they partner with local NGOs (giving partners) 

TOMS & the Economy

Do you think TOMS is going to negatively affect the economy? Are local shoe vendors being negatively impacted? 

This question came with many different responses, but none of them affirmed fears about the local economy. Some suggested shoes are primarily being distributed in villages where many children aren't wearing footwear regularly and their families aren't buying footwear. Others suggested many of the children are saving their shoes as school shoes, or "good" footwear, and day-to-day will continue wear the flip flops their family can purchase locally. This last argument seemed valid as most children chose to carry their shoes home from the distribution for fear of getting them muddy on the way home. 

Wouldn't it be better for TOMS to build a factory here and employ local labourers? 

This question was perhaps the most fascinating to me. The response was in essence: sure, in theory. However, the vast majority of shoes are being distributed in villages far removed from anywhere a factory would be constructed. Most of the families in these villages are subsistence farmers, and building a factory would have no impact on their day to day life. So then, the question was posed: is it bad to help these families? 

An interesting thing to note is that TOMS often does create local employment through their in-country giving partners. 

TOMS Shoe Quality 

What do you think of your shoes? Will they last here? Are they durable? 

We ask this question of our TOMS at home. I wore the same pair of TOMS for more than 2 years before I couldn't wear them anymore, which to me is acceptable, but I was curious what people thought here. 

I asked one friend what he thought about his shoes and he commented on how nice they are to wear - 'like wearing air'. When asked if the shoes would last here most everyone said they were good shoes. Admittedly, this question would be better asked a couple months down the road. 

One thing I can attest to is that the TOMS shoes being distributed are not identical to the shoes we purchase. Typically they are black (the colour most accepted for school uniforms, although TOMS will send another colour if requested). And the sole is much thicker (check out my photos!). The stitching looks a little different & the fabrics (or just the lining?) may be different, but all in all they're TOMS. 

Another thing to know is TOMS ships regularly to their giving partners (dependent on their needs) so kids who are outgrowing their shoes receive a new pair that fits. 

Critique vs. Action 

The question asked of me: those who critique TOMS shoes, what do they propose? Suggesting it is okay to critique, if you are willing to act on your critique and work towards something better. 

It was also then suggested that many of the 'long term' development initiatives are plagued by issues of corruption and the work they are supposed to be doing isn't happening on the ground. Isn't it then, the argument continues, good to support something where the intentions are actually being realized? TOMS shoes are on the ground, getting to the people, isn't that what they are supposed to be doing? 

And Then 

Finally, my favourite comment in all of these discussions came from a wise Burkinabé man and local leader. He said: 'I am a firm believer that in all things there are advantages & disadvantages. There is nothing that is without flaw.'

And so, it all boils down to this: the thing about TOMS. TOMS isn't perfect. Maybe though, that doesn't disqualify them. It's up to you to decide for yourself. As for me, after what I've seen and heard, despite some reservations, I'll continue wearing them. 

***This discussion represents my own opinions and personal conversations. In no way does this represent Sheltering Wings or TOMS. 

When All Is Not Enough --Here

A quick update on my time in Yako is here.

___________________________

As I sit to write this post I am sipping a hot cup of tea, listening to the rain pour down on the tin roof, and reflecting on a morning spent with the babies. I introduced the toddlers to zerberts (or raspberries? whatever you call them!) and wound-up surrounded by 8 toddlers shouting "Mama moi! Mam, mam!" (mama me, me me!). Every time they'd shout they lift their tshirts up to reveal tiny bellies, and grin from ear to ear. When one toddler received a zerbert he would shriek, and the rest would gigle at the rumbling noises before once again shouting "Mama mam!". Later some of the older toddlers discovered they could tickle me (not just me them), and soon Gille and Mariam were seated on my legs tickling my toes and laughing hysterically. Tickles have now become tickle fights that inevitably end in giggles and hugs. And as I think about all of this there's no doubt in my mind that these are beautiful, loved and loving, precious, children. 

Being back around the babies was good for my heart today. Even if it was different today. 

And so begins a story I don't know how to tell. 

Last week I spent time teasing and tickling the toddlers, but mostly I spent time with Cyrille: a 12-month-old with severe medical problems. When I was here in May he was sick, and was sick again this past week. In fact, he has spent all of his 12 months of life in, and out, of the hospital. The doctors released him last weekend and told SW there was nothing they could do; after running every test possible they could not determine the cause of his illness and had no idea how to treat him.

And so, last week we spent time with Cyrille recognizing it was the end of his time. I cuddled him, held him, and loved him whenever I could, the nurses checked him often, and the tantines fed him even when he tried to refuse food. When Cyrille had a raging fever and difficulty breathing I sat up with him in the night holding him so he could sleep better. Often during the day while I held him a toddler would approach Cyrille and offer their love: Mariam and Monica would come sit by us, and stroke Cyrille's arm as he laboured for breath, while Gille and Steve would gently kiss and stroke his cheek. And as I think about this there's no doubt in my mind that Cyrille was a beautiful, loved, precious, child. 

And on Saturday Cyrille's short life came to end. I had a chance to hold him one last time, kiss his forehead, and say goodbye. And though I had a brief cry, I had prepared my heart as best as I could to lose him. I cared for him (like I believe most people would) because I believe a dying child should be held and loved, not because I was hoping for a miracle. In all honesty I wasn't even praying for a miracle, just simply praying "your will be done".  Somehow I am at peace knowing Cyrille finally has the healing that wasn't possible for him here. And I know I was blessed by the short time I got to spend with him (recognizing fully my part in his life was just a snapshot - the true work came from those who cared for him and loved him for all 12 months of his life not just the final days). 

And though I have found comfort and peace in all of this, it is not without struggle. How do you come to grips with the fact that all that can be offered isn't enough? All that the Burkina medical system has, all the resources that Sheltering Wings has, all the love and care that Cyrille had, simply wasn't enough. And how do you come to grips with the fact that this was the outcome here. How can I not help but believe this would not have been the outcome where I am from? Even, I think, if it had been the presence of palliative care, would that not have been better? 

This summer has been an eye-opening experience with medical care in West Africa. It churns my stomach to recognize this past week meant not simply encountering the failures of the medical system, but that this encounter resulted in accepting these failures, and simply waiting for the end. I struggled to see the "fighter" Brittany that was around in Kumasi disappear, and yet I knew it would do nothing to fight. Or perhaps this fight simply took on another form. 

How does one find words for the failure of the 'system', for the recognition that Development isn't enough, for coming face to face with the injustice of the have and have not? How do you find words for the fact that life here just doesn't compare to life at home? How do I put words to the stark reality that this world, this place even, encompasses so many extremes? 

In this moment there aren't words, only the recognition that all that can be offered by man will never be enough here.  And while that sounds like an admission of defeat it's not. It's an acceptance of the challenge of responsibility and the acknowledgement that what we need is greater. And that, that is enough.

Then and Now

Five years ago, before I ventured to West Africa for the first time, I could never have imagined what life would look like in 2013. I certainly didn't think it would involved spending 16+ months in Burkina Faso and Ghana. Three years ago, after I left Burkina Faso for the second time, I could never have imagined what it would be like to come back again. 

And on my third (or fourth? May feels like ages ago and yesterday) trip here I still can hardly believe this is the path I'm on. Last monday I finally arrived in Yako. I was welcomed by squeals from the tantines, a shriek from the girls, and lots of warm hellos from the boys. I settled in to the house and immediately felt right at home here in Yako. 

And this past week has held a huge range of experiences. And a lot of different emotions. 

Three years ago when I was here in Burkina some of us volunteers started building relationships with surrounding villages. On Tuesday I visited one of these villages again, this time with the mobile clinic that has been started there. And later that same day I returned to another to learn more about the Widows Basket program there. It was amazing to see how the work of Sheltering Wings has grown! 

In addition to opportunities to see how Sheltering Wings work has been growing, this past week has held many tickle fights with the toddlers, cuddles with the babies, philosophical discussions with Sara and Enock, card games with Achille and Aristide, hang-outs with Biba, and a once-in-a-lifetime kind of opportunity to see a very popular project on the ground (read: TOMS Shoes - more on that another day though!). My heart is full of many special moments. 

Five years ago I never could have imagined feeling so at home in a place so far away from "home". And I never could have imagined how much this place would shape and change me. What a treat it has been to be back.

More Yako updates to come...

Leaving Sandema - This is Real Life

It's official: I have completed my Students for Development internship with Community Based Rehabilitation (CBR) in Sandema. What a fabulous thing to be able to say! I can hardly believe my time in Sandema is already finished. 

Friday night my colleague and I turned in an enormous report, did a little happy dance, and celebrated the end of a crazy three-month internship. It was nothing I'd dreamed it would be, harder than I'd imagined, and a wonderful learning opportunity that I'll be forever grateful for. I completed some pretty cool work with CBR designing Youth Club programming and redesigning CBR's volunteer program. I experienced the bustle of Kumasi, the stress of the Komfo Anokye Teaching Hospital, and the joy of seeing two girls have life-changing surgery. And I loved working along so many talented people in small-town Northern Ghana. 

But don't stop there. That's the overview, the quick glance, and the moments you'll see in my pictures. You see, the biggest misunderstanding people tend to make, about my time here, is that being in Africa is simply one, big, exciting, amazing, crazy, fun, adventure. And in many ways it is. But that's not all that it is. I haven't been on vacation since May. Life here is just that: life, real life. I've been putting in long hours at the office (often working evenings and weekends), drafting reports, navigating a new culture, working a new job, and being a student. AND I have been enjoying time in a beautiful place, with fabulous people, a new culture, new foods, and creating lots of wonderful memories. 

It's been one of those encouraging/discouraging/wonderful/challenging kind of summers. One of those 'learn lots about myself' in the challenges, question what I know about International Development, and get inspired about future work, but be exhausted in the process of it all, kind of summers. So don't misinterpret this all. I'm so very grateful for this experience and would encourage other development students to pursue one of these internships. But I also have a tremendous peace (and excitement too!) about moving on to what's next (I think that's a good thing!). 

And finally, every once and a while I catch myself thinking "is this really my life? How did I wind up in West Africa of all places?" It's the confusing flip-side of the 'this is real life' conversation. But mostly it's a moment to reflect and remember that there's a plan bigger than the plans I have for myself. And that, well that just makes me smile. 

For now, what's next is my time in Burkina. For the next two weeks I'll be back in Yako, connecting with old friends, making new friends, cuddling babies, and tackling a project or two with Sheltering Wings. Already I have a sense it will be a blessing. 

Thanks to everyone for their kind words and their prayers over the past weeks as I recovered from malaria. I am now feeling in great health! Thank you for being a part of my support network over these past months. 

Special Goodbyes

This week as I said goodbye and "see you agains" to friends in Sandema there were two goodbyes that were the most special to me. 

Before leaving Sandema Katie and I knew we wanted to meet with both our cleft care babies and their mothers one last time. We brought them printed photos that we'd taken throughout our time with them, and had a chance to say goodbye. These meetings have made my heart sing, and I'm overwhelmed with gratitude for the opportunity to be here this summer.

MARGARET

We met Margaret and Lydia on the road in Fumbisi. I'd given up hope that we'd see them (we'd spent the morning at a health screening with CBR and had asked around to many people to see if they could find Lydia for us), and we were on the road back to Sandema when Lydia walked up with Margaret strapped on her back. 

We thanked her for giving us the opportunity to assist with Margaret's medical care, and said some small goodbyes. 

Margaret's lip is healing so well! She is due for her second surgery in November & we look forward to hearing it's finished. Thank you for your donations for caring for Margaret's second surgery and her follow-up visit! We have received all of the funding needed, and also have a contingency fund in place should unexpected needs arise. 

Margaret before surgery

Margaret one month after surgery. 

Katie, Margaret, Lydia & me

Saying goodbye to baby Margaret

ANGELINA

Teni and Angelina arrived at CBR one morning as Katie and I worked. I caught Teni's eye as she walked towards us and we both broke into huge smiles and giggled as we said hello. Teni was so very happy when we saw her, and my heart was singing as I saw Angelina's lip healed (and her skin infection has vanished). Angelina's lip has healed beautifully, and the scar will continue to diminish with time. Angelina needs no additional surgery, and we're so grateful to have had the opportunity to arrange the medical care she did need. 

Angelina before surgery

Angelina 1.5 months after surgery! 

one word: LOVE

                 

Both mother's once again communicated their gratefulness for our assistance. In turn I'd like to thank you a final time for your role in this summer. This is the last of the cleft care updates, but what a summer it has been! 

Sandema | SAN-da-ma |

Here's a little post I wrote a while back and never got around to posting...

I'm on the highway when I hear my bike begin to squeak with every rotation of the pedal. As I decide to detour to town to go to the mechanic there's a loud honk, followed by a whoosh, and a bus races past me. I swerve to the right to dodge the goat that has just dodged the bus, and continue. The rules of the road are different here, but fairly simple: avoid potholes, avoid farm animals, stay to the side so bigger vehicles can pass, and be careful around motos. There are no stop signs, or traffic lights, just open road and waving neighbours. 

Once in town I coast past the bank towards the big tree behind where my mechanic, Small, sits. 

"I just got off the bus." He says after we make our way through the formal greetings. "I passed you on the road." If I say something back to this I don't pay attention, I'm too busy laughing to myself about how all of Sandema knows what I am doing at all times just because I stand out. 

When I finish describing the problem with my bike to him Small hands me a towel wrapped around a plastic pouch. "Hold this." he says, as he hops on my bicycle saying something about oil. Moments later he disappears around the bend in the road, and I am clasping his towel. I turn to my roommate and jokingly mutter "And that is the story of how Brittany's bicycle was stolen." Of course, I know this is not the case. I sit down, and begin to wait for Small to return.  

"What's in the pouch?" Katie asks. I peel the towel back and see I am holding Small's passport. Resisting the urge to open it and learn his real name, I hold it up to show her.

"I think he's coming back with my bike." And after few minutes he does. He has borrowed my bike to ride home and fetch his tools, and proudly pulls them out to show me.  

"Your bike rides SMOOOOOOTH." he says and he climbs off, flips it over and greases the hub. 

I'm on my way again shortly: off to the grocery store and in search of water. I park my bike, and pass by some children in the market. There's a girl no older than 18 months, perched on a market table, an adult nowhere in sight. I stop and shake her hand. It's not uncommon to find a child "unattended" here, but even then the older kids watch out for the younger ones, and there's never an adult far away. The girl cracks a smile. I pat her head and keep walking. 

I'm making my way past the bank again when a police officer calls me over. 

"What are you doing?!" he says sternly. 

"Drinking water." I say, gesturing to the bag in my hand. 

"Drinking water AND walking." he says accusingly. "Why?" 

"I'm a multitasker." I reply. "Sometimes I walk and drink water and talk. I even drink and talk while riding my bike." 

He laughs. I'm clearly not in trouble: he's just razzing me. "I'm Osman." he says "What's your name?" 

These are the funny, harmless, kind of small-town Ghana days. Not every day is like this, but there's a beauty to be found in the days that are. 

The Name Game

Names in Ghana are incredibly important. I recently attended a naming ceremony for my boss's new daughter. It was a lovely affair and the little one received three beautiful, and meaningful, names, one of which is after a Canadian colleague. It's not uncommon for children to have multiple given names here and over their years many children will adopt nicknames that become the name they are known by. 

I've had my fair share of interesting conversations about names. Here's a sampling...

On adopted names….

Abortion. 

I met Abortion while walking through Kejetia station. He asked me to take his picture, and as I lifted my camera I asked him to repeat his name again; I wasn't sure I had heard it right. 

"Abortion!" He shouted. As he struck a pose he added "Thug life!" And I felt like it was my own real life HONY moment. 

Febreeze. 

I met Febreeze at Kejetia station as well. He was helping me find a vendor and told me his name, several times, to make sure I understood it. "It's french" he insisted. I didn't argue. 

Moose. 

I met Moose as he drove past me on the street in Sandema. He rolled down his window and beckoned me over to say hello. I leerily hung back, until I saw he was only eager to introduce me to his white colleague. After she and I chatted for a couple minutes about our work Moose introduced himself again, said 'see ya around', and drove away.

On given names… 

Brittany. 

My name seems pretty normal to me but, here in Ghana, it's impossible. Nobody can pronounce it, and I get all kinds of variations of my name. This week I was stopped by the police on the street, and after a few minutes of questions one of the officers asked my name. After working through the pronunciation several times I told him he was 'close enough' and in turn he asked the meaning of my name. 

"It means from out of Britain." I told him. And he shook his head in disgust. 

"No. No. What is the real meaning of your name?" he asked. I told him again what it means and he grimaced. "Your parents gave you that name? With that meaning? Your Father and your Mother selected that name?" he said accusingly. 

"Yes, but I have a second name." I said. And suddenly the tension dissipated. "It means 'bearer of good news'" I added. 

He smiled, asked me where I was headed, and told me I could leave. 

As I biked away I laughed at how strangely cultural names are. And how it's possible given names, and adopted names, are things I won't fully understand here for a long time. 

Festus

Until this past weekend the last time I saw, or spoke with, Festus was the last weekend of June. The other interns had taken off to Tamale to explore the city, and I took a working weekend in Sandema while waiting to travel down to Kumasi with the moms & babies. On Friday, before the June weekend, I lamented to Festus about being "all alone" in Sandema and told him he should hang out with me to make sure I didn't die of boredom. Of course, I was over-exaggerating, and I expected him to have bigger things to do on the weekend than entertain his SmalleSmalle colleague. So Sunday afternoon when I received a text from him I was pleasantly surprised, and rather excited, to hop on the back of his motorcycle and ride to his home town of Chuchuliga for a visit.  

We spent several hours touring the town, sharing food & drinks with his childhood friends, and laughing about "white people" things. This involved Festus teasing every Ghanaian that couldn't pronounce my name (aka every Ghanaian) and teasing me about my Canadian English by asking me to repeat phrases and waiting to see if anyone could decipher my "rapid fire" speech. When asked about how I like the food in Ghana Festus told his friend that I cook Koko really well & we both laughed at the inside joke: one time I unsuccessfully tried to cook Koko, a local dish of millet, pepper and ginger, that is served warm for breakfast. Though it didn’t turn out as hoped I was determined to eat the globby mess so not to waste food. When I arrived at the office chewing gravol, and mentioned breakfast had made me sick, Festus went into a fit of hysterics.  

After leaving Chuchuliga proper we stopped in to visit his family's home. I met all of his extended family and practiced my Buli with them. Every family house we went to tried to feed me and, when I turned down dinner, I left with a handful of guinea fowl eggs.  Riding home Festus drove the bike through the most pothole-ridden part of the road, and then pulled over. "Your turn" he said as he hopped onto the back and waited for me to start the engine again. I drove through dusk across the dusty roads, listening to Festus guide me as he anticipated potholes and curves in the road, and wound up back in quiet Sandema light up only by moonlight. It was a "this place is beautiful!" kind of days. 

After thanking Festus for an enjoyable afternoon I told him I'd leave for Kumasi in the morning. Knowing he'd be traveling the next week I suggested a "see you when I see you". As I walked away, and he started up his bike, I turned around to add "Festus! Don't get in any accidents okay?!" 

He smiled and shook his head. "Oh. No, no." he said. 

"Okay then," I replied "but drive safe!"  

That was almost four weeks ago.  

This past weekend I stood in the Tamale hospital, with my other colleagues, as we saw Festus for the first time since his motorcycle accident. This accident occurred weeks following the day we went to Chuchuliga, but I still felt sick remembering my last words to him before his accident were "drive safe". We don't fully know what happened, and the exact details of all of this aren't my story to share here. What's certain is motorcycle accidents happen everywhere, and here is no exception. It doesn't make Ghana any more or less dangerous than anywhere else, it just makes it victim to the same catastrophic life events people encounter at home. And just like everywhere else, these kind of life events send everyone reeling. 

 Festus has some serious injuries, but is not in the critical condition he was when the accident first occurred. His condition is hopeful, and for that we are all grateful. It goes without saying however, that seeing a friend hurt is never easy, and all of us interns were saddened. 

"What do you want to do when your contract is done with CBR?" I asked Festus one time in the CBR office before any of this happened. "I don't know." he said. "I just know I am not going to stay here forever oh. I have big dreams."  

And as I stood before Festus in the hospital, I remembered this conversation, and I asked Maxwell if I could pray for him. While I was unable to find words to articulate everything I wanted to I know the words in my heart were heard. I prayed for healing, for his family, and that his big dreams will come true. I continue to hope and pray that life in the “new normal” that comes after this kind of accident will be beautiful. 

And of course, before I left, I told Festus he needs to get better soon so I can cook him some Koko. 

I Did (Not) Sign Up For This

"I didn't sign up for this" is a phrase I was tempted to say on many occasions in Kumasi while waffling between feeling encouraged and totally, and completely, overwhelmed. Many times I wanted to retreat into a defensive mode in which I could argue I never took on SFD to live in a hostel in a city with a water/electricity crises, navigate a foreign health care system while caring for a family I hardly know, attempt to complete project reports and school papers in less than ideal working settings, and come face-to-face with my many shortcomings and seeming inabilities. Surely, I didn't sign up for this. 

And yet, every time I came close to wanting to say it I was reminded this, this project, is exactly what I signed up for. I signed up for the unknown, to work with CBR and assist CBR clients in whatever way was most meaningful, to be challenged, and to learn about development and myself in the process. Working on something bigger than I could have envisioned is exactly what I signed up for and I have gotten to be a part of something huge.

This project, this adventure, this roller coaster I have been on, this is exactly what I signed up for. And maybe someday I will be able to articulate just what this experience has meant for me. Just now I know the picture is bigger than what I can see. I'm too embedded in the image to be able to tell you what all it means but I'll give you a one word preview (if only I could say it for you and pronounce it the beautiful, drawn-out, Ghanaian way that is so common here): "wow".

Wow, oh, wow. This thing I "didn't sign up for" is a pretty beautiful gift.

Continued Cleft Care

Thanks so much to everyone that has been following Angelina & Margaret’s care and offering their help.  I’m still amazed by the generosity that allowed us to arrange not one, but two, life-changing surgeries!

After our last round of medical care in Kumasi we have learned Margaret is due for a second, and final, surgery this November. This will be to repair her cleft palate: a surgery that can't be done until after she has fully recovered from her cleft lip surgery. We’d like to raise $475 to ensure this surgery can happen. Check out our Fundrazr (please note the link is new) for more information and to donate.

Since Katie and I won’t be in Ghana in November we have built-in a budget to have someone from CBR travel with Lydia to help her navigate the hospital and second surgery. Margaret will need a follow-up visit to Kumasi and that's included too, along with a contingency fund for the 'expected' unexpected expenses. We'd like to have this amount raised before we leave Ghana so we can ensure everything is left in order for Margaret's surgery.

Here’s where we stand with the financials.

	Amount  (CDN $)
Amount Previously Fundraised	916.00
Angelina Expenses Incurred	521.27
Margaret Expenses Incurred	303.61
Margaret Expenses Anticipated	566.12
Funding Needed	475.00

As always I welcome your questions! Thank you for your generosity in giving and your faithfulness in prayer!

Fundrazr Campaign Page: https://fundrazr.com/campaigns/aYpe9