Voltahome Volunteers

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2011 has seen an increase in volunteers and some good changes at Volta Home.

Pre-Christmas donations have built a chicken coop; a new kitchen to replace the one that was destroyed in the storms last year; fridge and fans for the volunteers house; beds for the youngest children and the beginnings of a dormitory for the boys.

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Little Nadia now has her special paediatric chair and is able to spend time outdoors with the other children.  Nanna is back again and will hopefully stay to help care for her.  We hope that volunteers will continue to donate money for Nanna’s wages so she will continue to stay at Volta Home.

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There has been an increase in volunteer fees in 2011 and we are hopeful that this will lead to some improvements in the standards of care at Volta Home.  Our goals should be to see an improvement in nutrition; water quality and the emotional and physical nurturing of the children living at the Home.  These are the things most needed at Volta Home, and the things that will most improve the international reputation.

We need Grand’pa to understand that employing more women helpers is vital to the reputation of Volta Home.  This lack of women helpers is the biggest single complaint that all agencies receive about this orphanage, and it lowers the standard of care for these children more than any other single thing.   Many volunteers have said they would return to Volta Home, or send money to Volta Home, if they believed that Grand’pa was more willing to spend money paying wages for women helpers to support the needs of the children and allow all the children to be free to attend school during school hours.

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More fruit and protein would be a wonderful thing.  Protein is rarely added to the children’s diet, except by way of the oil and sauce used to cook food sold at lunch time to the village school children.  This year we are hoping to see more meat and eggs, as well as more fruit,  added to the Volta Home diet.

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Meanwhile it is very important to acknowledge any success in this important areas of health and childcare.  For example:  there has been a very successful reduction in the numbers of children suffering from the contagious effects of ringworm during the last 6 months.  This is a great achievement and we congratulate everyone at Volta Home for recognising the need to face this problem   -   and for managing it so successfully.

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March 2011.

Volta Home.  I spent 6 months this past year living with those kids.  They were the faces I saw first thing in the morning and the faces I saw right before I took my bath and got into bed. Now I am back in America and so much miss their voices in the morning telling me to get out of bed and that my breakfast was on the table.

Volta Home is what you make it. No one is going to tell you what to do.  You are the one who decides what you will do with your days?  You can help in the school, teaching and be outside the whole day helping with chores.  Or you could just stay inside the Volunteer’s house all day and sleep.  But why did you go to Volta Home?  Did you go to experience another country and to enjoy yourself? Or did you go for these kids?  Now I am not against traveling and seeing all parts of Ghana and loving your time there.  Because Ghana is a beautiful country and the people there are just as beautiful.  And I did travel and enjoyed greatly my time there.  But what is your number one reason for going to Volta Home?  Because I tell you, the children hate to see you travel.  They hate to see you leave them for just a short period of time.

I remember this one time I was going to visit Sister Mabena at her house, it was in the middle of the afternoon and she had called me to come.  Now Sister Mabena’s house is still on Volta Home’s property so it is not even a ½ mile away.  But one of the younger boys grabbed me around my leg and begged me not to leave.  I was only going to be gone for 10 minutes and yet he didn’t want me to go.

The children have to be your number one reason for going.  If they are not, then maybe you shouldn’t go.  The children need your full attention and your heart to give them as much love as you are able.  There is no time to lose when it comes to loving and caring for these children.   They crave it and us who have grown up with overflowing love need to sacrifice our own wants, comforts and desires.

They are the kind of children you want to meet and know more and more about.  They show extreme respect, maturity and responsibility.  I don’t know about other places in the world but those traits are becoming extinct in children in America.  There are times you will laugh until you cry, cry until your eyes turn red and be red in the face until you break something.  Life will not be all fun and games and you won’t love every minute you are there.  But you are not there for you, you are there for them.  And this is there life every day.  They are worth your time over and over again.  And if you don’t think so and never feel overwhelming love for them, that’s okay because there is a God who loves and saw each child’s worth before they came out of their mother’s womb.

I found that Ghana is the opposite of America but I much rather prefer Ghana and her people, and those children at Volta Home. I was torn apart when the day came for me to leave.

Volta Home, God is the one who is always with you. Thinking of you with love.

Two volunteers, Kirsty from Sydney and Daniel from Denmark,  worked hard during November and December to make changes and improvements at Volta Home.  80% of the children were ill with malaria  because of the heavy rains.  Many were infected with ringworm.  Because of the storms, the orphanage kitchen had been washed away.    This email was sent to Kirsty by Isaac after she left Volta Home.

Merry Christmas to you!

Its a wonderful time here as we are also celebrating at the Volta home. On behalf of the home, i write to thank you very, very much for the Love and Care you gave the entire home.

We thank you also for the pen drives you gave us. We are indeed very, very grateful !  We have almost finish with the roofing, and we have used the paint for the volunteer building.   We are very happy about your donations and gifts, especially  the medications for the children; the text books and  the fans and clock  for the school house and the furniture for the volunteer house.  We are also grateful for Daniel’s help to make safe the old wiring for the electricity.

Long live you and your Family,  Kirsty.

We are now preparing the Junior high students for their final exams in April.
I will keep you informed about it .

Kind regards,
Isaac.

Volta Home….was one of the best choices I’ve made in my life.  If I could go back right now this very instant I would without hesitation.  But for me a great adventure is upon me, that could only have started from Volta Home, and so it will prolong my return to those Children.  And Oh those Children, my heart craves to see them again.  I know God has a plan for everyone’s life and I’m so happy and blessed that he put those children in my life.

How can you not love those faces?

If you are considering volunteering or supporting Volta Home.  I don’t think you will ever regret it.

Hi Everyone.  Mrs Annabi has recently employed 3 women helpers.  Their names are Florence; Dora and Nanna.  These women will help with the cooking and with the care of the younger children.  Meanwhile Mrs Annabi is not able to give them any compensation for their time unless the visitors and volunteers are able to help.  Please could everyone who plans to visit the orphanage budget to give Mrs Annabi  ( … directly to Mrs Annabi ! ) about $25 towards a wage for these very generous women.  It will be a great gift to the children they are caring for each day.

‘You are invited’

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Dinner is steamed yam and tomato paste. I’m full from the late lunch of spaghetti, but I eat anyway. I chuck on Quantum of Solace on the netbook at Sister Mabena’s, and the kids gather around the ten-inch screen, as wide-eyed as at an IMAX. I excuse myself and retire to Trumbull House for some iPod escapism and some journal. The ebb in material has afforded me time to dedicate ink to some of the characters of Volta Home.

Sister Grace

One of three blind children at Volta Home, Sister Grace lost her sight at the age of thirteen and is now twenty or so. Her childhood was riddled with misunderstanding. Until she was sixteen, Grace believed that she was an Annabi, having taken the surname all throughout her high schooling. It’s since been revealed that her birth mother is known and traceable. Grace hasn’t yet contacted her.

Grace’s rods can now detect flickers of light, but she has to tilt her head slightly backwards to trace them. When she does so, the whites of her eyes shine like dinner plates and her pupils quiver from side-to-side as they track the darting light. Grace looks at me with her smile. She pronounces my adopted name as ‘Brutha Chrees’, rolling her r’s, her cheeks pulled back on the ‘ees’, and flickering her eyelids.

When I first arrived, I was ushered to meet Grace. As one of the elders at the Home, she held my hand as I knelt beside her, and she silently inspected my character. Some lose a sense, only to gain another. She surmised that I was ‘a kind man’, and informed me that I had automatically passed her Test. I still haven’t sat her Test, having dodged it on a handful of occasions, and have since been relieved of it.

I have no reason whatsoever to believe any of the damaging remarks that I’ve heard against Sister Grace’s character. I continue to see only light radiating from her as she sits on her chair, pricking on her Braille board, in the corner of her verandah. Today she has asked me for twenty cedis to alleviate a debt that she has accumulated with John, and I’ve so far refused on the grounds of setting a charity precedent for the other children. But isn’t that what I’m here for – charity? Or have I become blind to my purpose?

Mr. Nobody

Introducing himself as Mr. Nobody, David is the nephew of Sister Mabena. His flat-featured Kermit head is full of imagination. Professing himself to be thirty-nine, when in fact he’s only eight, his English is amongst the best of Volta Home. He is talkative and outgoing.  But like many of the children here, he is moody when he doesn’t get his way and will quite willingly cocoon himself with a wrapping of Silence and Ignorance.

One day, Mr Nobody taught me a valuable lesson in dealing with children, and reminded me that their memories can be like Rottweilers (never letting something go of something once they’ve latched onto it). Walking back to the compound along a trodden bushtrail, after purchasing some crates of soft drink for the end-of-term party, Mr Nobody was dancing jovially in front of me. The disjointed spasm of his dancing had me giggling. ‘Mr Nobody,’ I called to him, ‘you are crazy!’ With that comment he instantly stopped, and turned.

‘What did you say?’ he shot.

‘You’re crazy!’ I repeated, with a smile to show him I was enjoying his dancing. Mr Nobody’s face was twisted with ire.

‘You insult me!’ he shouted. The crateful of soft drinks suddenly felt ten kilos heavier in my arms. What had I said to stir him this way? For the rest of the walk, in between my profuse apologies to Mr Nobody (he no longer danced, but instead sulked so dramatically I could have sworn his face lengthened), I racked my brain for my falter. It could only be that calling someone ‘crazy’ in this culture is a severe insult, implying that they are possessed or literally mentally deranged. My Cultural Intelligence test had returned a CQ of 20-49, falling in the range of the Imbecile.

It took Mr Nobody a day-and-a-half (with some preferential medical treatment for his shin wound, including Iodine and a fresh Band-Aid!) for him to break his Code of Silence with me. Turns out I’d promised him a balloon, on the night that Trums and I had come home drunk from the shack-of-a-pub up the road, and been in bed by 7pm. My renege on this drunken promise had soured Mr Nobody. The Crazy Comment, though it was offensive, had been sharp enough to burst his ballooning grievances. Needless to say, when I gave him a balloon, things went back to normal. After all, Nobody’s perfect.

Gloria

Gloria’s an eleven-year-old going through puberty and troubled by the chemical infatutations with every Western volunteer that enters Volta Home. In one fell swoop, Trums snatched and snapped her brittle heart, by agreeing to a mock wedding and doing the proverbial ‘runner’ on the big day. Gloria had obviously taken the vow seriously, as she proceeded to cry enough tears to flood the banks of the River Volta. Trums, much to his frustration, has been unable to patch things over with his faux-Fiancée. He is now met with silence whenever she delivers our meal tray from Sister Mabena’s. Rather eerily, she hangs around the Trumbull House common room as a spectre spectator whilst we shovel the contents of the baby pink plastic bowls.

At times, Gloria’s manner is curt and rude. She opts for commands of one or two words (‘Here, eat!’, ‘Now go!’), perhaps because she’s torn by her unrequited love. Even so, I shouldn’t have to suffer the fallout from Trums’ wedding-day butterflies with ill-mannered service of my evening yam! Oh, one more thing about Gloria: She is entirely impossible to photograph. She has some preternatural awareness whenever I concentrate my lens on her. Frustrating!

Mansa

Mansa’s an outgoing girl with maturity well beyond her years. Well-respected amongst the middle-agers of the Home, she’s a natural leader and often finds herself organising the younger children for chores or tending to the toddlers herself. She is always looking to play games with me, and short of that, just to hang out. She’s often content just to sit next to me on the bamboo benches and oversee the little ones as they totter around and pick up and play with all kinds of unhygienic ‘toys’.

Sitting by this morning’s fire, Mansa asked if she could see my phone. Knowing she wouldn’t give it back for a while, I handed her a phone-sized piece of wood and told her it was my new Nokia, complete with a fresh MTN Sim. ‘That is NOT your phone!’ she rebuked.

‘Sure it is,’ I assured her, and pretended to dial a number and leave a voicemail for Mansa. She giggled.

Then, picking up her own piece of wood, she said, ‘This is my phone, then! Let’s swap!’ Naturally, I accepted the offer (little did she know her wood was a newer model – Score!). All today, when she’s seen me across the yard, she’s shown me the ‘phone’ and pretended to call me. Entertaining the idea, I’ve pulled my piece of wood from my pocket and pretended to chat with her. Sometimes imagination is so powerful you forget the ludicrousness of what you’re doing. Oftentimes, you just don’t care. The more you do care, the less fun you have.

This evening Mansa called me – on her phone – to join her and a few of the middle-agers to fetch some pails of water from the river. Jack to her Jill, I ambitiously filled the sawn-off jerry-cube to its full capacity of twenty litres, and attempted to balance it on my head, as the children did. The plastic knot at the bottom of the bucket bore into my head and punched me a new fontanelle. Ambulating as gingerly as if I were on a tightrope, I wobbled my way back to camp. By the time I arrived, I was completely drenched from spillage! One of the aunties scolded the kids for allowing me to attempt such a feat, but I assured her (amidst much laughter) that I’d brought the shower upon myself. Worst of all, my phone got a soaking!

Littl’uns

Of course, there are handfuls of little ones too quiet to have carved an individual profile for me. It’s still early and I’m sure I’ll get to know their names and personalities soon. For now, they remain a small army of shuffling feet, coy smiles hiding behind elders’ legs, handfuls of sticks and dirt, and mouths buried in plastic bowls of rice. They cling to my arms and legs, jump on my back, stroke my hair (long, straight, thick and Chinese), fiddle with my watch, stare then wave, wave then stare.

The girls ask me if I have a wife (‘No, I haven’t had a wife for a looong time!’). The boys ask me if I like Michael Essien (‘Of course I do – he’s the best!’). They break into smiles as bright as lighthouses when they see me emerge in the morning. I hear them going through the pile of rubbish behind the volunteers’ dorm; unscrunching lollie wrappers, saving plastic housings, hording Nokia instruction manuals. Our trash becomes their treasure. I watch their clothes go from clean by morning to dirty by evening. I feel their skin go from smoothdry to stickydamp during a day’s play. I see them ferry goods around the compounds, carrying what their frames can manage, helping out in whatever ways they can.

I feel them look into the lens of my camera, right past it and diving through my pupils. I get so lost in the largeness of their gaze that I forget to pull the trigger. The children are beautiful. As long as I’ve got their eyes or their smile in the frame, the photos take care of themselves. Of particular note amongst the littl’uns are the temperamental Josephine, the perennially hungry Georgine, and little Eli ‘Essien’, the toothless sweetheart bursting with a smile so wide that it pushes his cheeks up into his eyes of fried egg-white – sunniest side up.

‘Praying for Mercy’

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Sister Mercy is an unsung heroine of the orphanage. She is naturally cheery and always quick to laugh with the children. Her laugh is a chuckle that wobbles with her bosom and dances through her slender piano-key teeth and along her blood-red gums. Tilting her head of corn rows back, her many long braids sweep and swish across her strong shoulders. Seeing a heavy-set woman with such pronounced features, bubbling with her chuckle, is an infectious sight.

Sister Mercy cuts her laugh short. The very laugh that I imagine could go on for days, is truncated no sooner than it gathers momentum. It’s not because errant children demand her intervention. She understands that mischief is an integral part of childhood and lets them sort it out for themselves. Rather, she stops the laugh in order to observe. If she’s laughing, she cannot be observing. She observes them playing, arguing, tousling – the very sources of her laughter. She observes long enough to feel a toddler stumble into her leg, overhear something silly mouthed by one of the girls, or watch the boys wrestle. She observes long enough to incite another ivory smile, which in turn lends itself to another laugh.

Above: Baby Faith in a rare moment – awake and unattached.

Sister Mercy is the sow of the litter. I read that if a mother continues breastfeeding beyond her ‘call of duty’, her mammaries will continue lactating. Sister Mercy is living proof of the Bottomless Breast. Indeed, it’s been told that Sister Mercy has continuously breastfed for twenty years. Twenty years. Twenty! The same tale holds that Sister Mercy has fed dozens of children – not her own – and raised them from shortly after birth. She is currently feeding Faith, a frizzy-haired, wide-eyed, somnolent little darling. And feed she does; anywhere, anytime and without anywarning. Sister Mercy unrolls her sagging breast on bumpy roads in tro-tros, on the dusty benches of bus-stands, at the busy counters of convenience stores, or anywhere else baby Faith is awake enough to suckle (and I can’t for the life of me get used to it!).

Sister Mercy is a truly remarkable woman. Her selflessness has given so much to the children she has raised. As such, she deserves so much in return, and yet she asks for none of it. I honestly believe, and I have the nod of her laugh as my evidence, that the health and happiness of her surrogate children is all she seeks, and provides.

Hi! My name’s Chris and during August 2009 I was fortunate enough to spend three weeks as a guest – and family member – of Volta Home. I flew into Ghana’s capital, Accra, with little knowledge of the country and its people. I hope this brief blog will help alleviate any trepidation that you may have about visiting Ghana, and more specifically Volta Home. The experience – and every volunteer will attest to this – is remarkably rewarding for yourself, as well as those whom you affect.

First Impressions

Here’s an account of my first impressions of Ghana from Accra Airport, linked to my travel blog.

Even though I entered knowing very little, I grew to love a lot. Although surrounded by francophone countries, Ghana is a former British colony, so there’s no concern with language barriers (as long as you can speak English!). Ghanaians, from their early schooling, are taught what it means to be upstanding citizens. This education, combined with a strong Christian mindset, makes for a welcoming people and an unquestionably safe environment.

The Childrens’ Smiles Addiction

What hasn’t been taught to Ghanaian children, though they seem to have mastered it, is how to beam a smile. I guarantee that you will love their smiles from the moment you are flashed one, and become so addicted to this vision of joy that you will do anything and everything to elicit another!

The below post on this Volunteer Blog is my account of the first time I arrived at Volta Home, to spend a month or so there with my good friend (Brother) Nick.

Food

You may or may not come to love the local food. It is, after all, designed to feed the masses. Trying the food and drink is an important part of embracing a new culture, and an important link to understanding its people. Volunteers at Volta Home are gifted with a variety of local (e.g. yam) and ‘international’ dishes (e.g. spaghetti), and never left unsatiated. After being befriended on the streets of Accra, I encountered the local maize dish, kenkey.

Tourism

Of course, selflessness must be offset with some selfishness, in the form of tourism. In my spare week, I thoroughly enjoyed a trip along the southern edge to Cape Coast, visiting its historical and informative Castle, and a few days at the acclaimed Green Turtle Lodge.

‘You Are Invited’

You’ll soon learn that Ghanaians are some of the most friendly and inviting people on this earth. In Kumasi, a proud gentleman went out of his way to help and befriend me. Over the next three days, Ike’s generosity, hospitality during lunch at his home, and selflessness taught me as much about myself as it did of Ghana’s people.

Volunteer!

Hopefully this has further convinced you to get to Ghana. The experience is rewarding and the children will change you from within. Volunteers understand that making a difference is challenging, but with the challenge comes the reward. You will find that incremental developments at Volta Home have exponential benefits to the carers and the children.

This entry is intended to allay any fears or concerns that you have in visiting Ghana: the unknown of this country is not to be feared, but embraced.

If you have any questions about what I’ve written above or in my travel blog, please don’t hesitate to contact me at chris@cwsching.com, else I’d be more than happy to have a chat with you over the phone on +61 423 034 642.

The above two posts on this Volunteer Blog are excerpts from Volta Home once again, and seek to provide insight into some of its beautiful family members.

Best wishes,

Chris

‘Brother Chris the Chinese Man’

The Volta region is a narrow north-south corridor running along the eastern border of Ghana, sandwiched between the great Volta Lake to the west, and Togo to the east. The eastern half of the region is thick with bush and jungle, which crawls up to the rolling mountains near the Togo border. Nearer Volta Lake, the lower-lying land is cracked by the paved arteries of the main roads and the dirt capillaries that extend to farms and compounds and eventually dissolve into faint bushtracks. Here in Volta, the rural people seem to be more laid-back than the city-folk – a trend observable in most countries – with their initial inclination to smile rather than stare.

At the juncture with a dusty road, my tro-tro (rusty van converted for public transport) pulls up, and I’m ushered off the tetanus-on-wheels with a smile. Sitting across the road, in a bus shelter that would barely withstand light showers, is Trums. He looks like he’s been waiting for hours. In a green t-shirt and cream cap, with bearded face buried in his hands and elbows propped on his knees, it appears he’s bored himself to sleep on the crapper. He slowly raises his head and his face lights when he sees me. We dawdle down the dirt road towards Volta Home, the orphanage where he’s been for nearly a month now. Trums asks of life outside Volta Home, and I, in turn, ask of life inside it.

Volta Home is one earthen square of cloth in the surrounding farmland patchwork. Its white buildings are cubes of sugar scattered carelessly over the land, with no particular orientation or planning, but built where they came to rest. The school stands proudly as a new rectangular block between the football field and the dormitories of the home itself. To the left of the school is the dirt-patch field, where the children play out their dreams by emulating Michael Essien – Chelsea striker and national demigod. To the right of the school is the scattering of dorms and housing- a handful of unassuming, standalone ‘concrete huts’. The bases of their white walls have been stained by the powdery, reddish topsoil kicked up by the children, livestock, and afternoon zephyrs.

‘Brother Nick! Brother Nick!’ The children shout as they pitter-patter over to us in a shower of bright smiles. They teem towards me, clasping my fingers, tugging at my pant legs, grasping my shirt. A cacophony of questions:

‘What is your name?’, a chorus of them sing.

‘Hey! Chinese man!’, a cheeky one beams. I flash him a smile.

‘Brother Chris!’, a girl exclaims. ‘You are Brother Chris!’, exciting a contagious giggle.

They’ve obviously had forewarning of my arrival, for they’ve correctly deduced my name. The title of Brother Chris makes me feel welcome as part of the family, but also uncomfortably revered and (inappropriately) religious. I ask for names, but the little fish are too fleeting and too many to remember. I’m distracted by their collective titter, stemming from the discovery of my Chineseness (‘Chinese?’, a girl whispers in question. ‘Chinese!’, her audience shouts emphatically). I explain that I’m Australian, which I’m slowly but surely getting used to doing, but they repudiate my efforts as lies (Point Four: ‘It is best that [deviants] leave’!). For now, what they see is what they’ve gotten, and they see a Chinese man.

The children skip beside Trums and myself as we enter the compound, their bare feet pressing so lightly on the soil that they make only the faintest of prints. The soles tangle among the loops of pressed stars from the chicken feet and the linear hoof-print patterns of the resident goats. I am grateful to be here. Most of the children have a shaved head, which seems to be the norm in Ghana. Their clothes are either completely tattered or well into their tattering; all dusty with the exuberance of play. I briefly wonder if any of these clothes were ever attached to a price tag.

Trums and I escape the throng of children and retreat to Trumbull House, the rectangular block that houses the volunteers at Volta Home. Beyond the peeling pair of blue-painted doors, a common area stretches across the width of the block, with three doors leading to austere concrete rooms. The common room is haphazardly furnished with a low-lying table and plastic chairs. The rooms sport a leaning bookcase (from Pisa with an assortment of donated stationery), mosquito nets, and nylon rope clotheslines hanging above head-height. I dump my backpack in my room, the middle of the three, and notice the three wafer-thin foam mattresses stacked in the corner. I can squeeze them together between my thumb and forefinger! Two stale pillows sit on the bed of yellow foam; fillings in a stained grin. The plan to combat malaria, according to Trums, is to cover the mattresses with the sleeping bag, douse myself in 80% Deet repellant, wear long sleeves, pants and socks, and force-field myself with the saggy mozzie net, which will dangle as a languishing cone from the nylon rope.

Welcome Home, Chinese man!

I’m a 45 years old mum with a 17 years old daughter, married, and I’ve been twice to Volta Home, a month each time. First time between February and March 2009 and I just arrived from my second time there for Christmas and New Year’s celebrations.

There had never been nothing better for me to do on holidays then travel around the world with my family. The contact with different people and their specific way of living always interested me but my dream was not yet fulfilled.
I wanted to go somewhere in the world and help children somehow. But as I don’t have any specific skills (not a doctor, or a teacher, or engineer…) and I am just an ordinary secretary that works from 9 to 6, and on the other hand I am not young anymore, I thought it would be very difficult to be accepted in any volunteer program. How wrong I was! I dared to go and to do by myself, what I always dreamed about.

Volta Home and Mr and Mrs Annabis received me from the very beginning with their arms opened wide. I have been a full time mother of one single child at home. Here I could be, for the time I chose, a mother of almost 50 children from 2 to 20 years old. What a task! What a challenge!

Although there were a few things with which I strongly disagreed at Volta Home right from the start (that I’ll talk about further down), I have to say that I spent there the most wonderful days of my life and I did exactly what I was there to do. I gave English classes to the little ones, I played, painted and draw with the small children, I talked and had fun with the older ones. I brought along with me lots of stuff to share and I bought there what I couldn’t manage to get inside my 2 big suitcases.

In fact, Volta Home children are used to work, and they work hard since a very early age, but they are children like anywhere else in the world, and they play, and laugh and they are happy because they don’t know any other reality. Anything that we can give them, a toy, a book or a sweet they will appreciate, be grateful and share with the others because they know the feeling of not having it at all.

My first time there was to know them, to get used to their way of life, to the weather, to the food.
This time, I was there alone, that means I was the only volunteer for almost the all month so I felt much more included in their community, I already knew all the children, how they are, what they like, I knew their names!! I got used to think that they are an extension of my own family that I learned to love and sincerely I can’t live without them anymore, and that’s why I will be going again..and probably again…. 

We are never alone at Volta Home if we don’t want to. Life starts very early. By 6 o’clock everyone is already up doing their tasks. We wake up with the children voices and all the farm animals sounds : chickens, goats and pigs run freely around the farm and it’s almost certain that you won’t be able to get more sleep. Since we get out of Volunteers House in the morning, we are always surrounded by children, asking us to go with them fetching water, or to the near village buying something that they were asked for, or just to be with them while they are washing clothes, or cleaning the way around the farm, or doing the washing up…
During school periods, children divide their time between their tasks and the classes. The volunteers are asked to help and teach the younger classes if they want to. It can be Mats, Sciences, English, French or even Arts and Music. We have to understand that they almost never have enough books for everyone in the class or even a pen or pencil but we can always provide it for them, always making sure they return it at the end of the class or they would have lost it by the end of the day.
After supper there is time for devotion, and children get together near the bamboo benches to sing and pray to the Lord. It’s a magical moment and I never lost one, although I am not at all religious. But again, this is not about us, the important thing here it’s them so I just went along and enjoyed myself and cried sometimes listening to their small voices praying. At 10 o’clock pm everybody is in bed because next day will start at 6 am again.
To pay for a day at Willi Waterfalls or the Monkey Sanctuary with the kids it means a lot to them and it’s a day that they don’t have to work so it is even more special. Pastor Annabis would always have to agree and give permission for that, of course.

The sanitary conditions on the farm are basic, we still have a bucket for a shower but we have now a box instead of a hole as a latrine. Never I had problems with that, and got used to it very soon. I always try to accept things as they are and don’t expect anything.

The food is absolutely fantastic (I really love it, although so different from home), cooked by Mrs. Annabis or by Sister Mabena. Volunteers food is done with special care and we always have 3 meals a day and plenty of bananas and other fruits.

Volunteers must be prepared to watch things they’re not used to. Children often work all day doing adults jobs and they’re bitten with sticks when behaving “badly”, although I didn’t see it happen this time. Sometimes they even miss school because they have a bucket of water to get from the river, or to fetch wood for the fire, or to sell anything in the market or to work in the fields (the last two it’s older one’s jobs). We must be careful also with the subjects we discuss openly with children and young adults. They all are very religious and deeply Bible believers so, different ideas would get the boys confused and Pastor Annabis very angry. Again we must avoid conflicts at all times. We are there to help improving the living conditions of those children, not to change their way of thinking. We can’t go around and tell the boys that they shouldn’t respect and obey Pastor Annabis because they have rules of their own and we are just there for sometime but they will have to live there for years and years and anything we do or say wrong will affect those children directly after we come home. Perhaps that’s something that can be changed but through out the years, not in a finger click.

After saying this, I’ll tell you that Volta Home is, in general, a wonderful place for those almost 50 orphans and Mr. and Mrs Annabis do their best caring for them and teaching them values that they will need when they grow up. I can’t imagine what it is to have 50 children of different ages to care all year through because I just have one of my one and I know I am always worried… 

So, go there with an open mind, don’t expect anything, accept what you see and what you are given and your world will change forever as it did to mine!! 