Father Joeker

By Fr Joseph Panabang SVD

To have the feeling
Going from Amsterdam, we stopped at Murtala Muhummed Airportm Logos, Nigeria. More than half of the passengers disembarked. Seeing that the more expensive section was almost empty, I ran and took a seat fro the remaining flight to Ghana. “Oh, just to have the feeling” I told the stewardess who was holding her breath questioningly looking at me.
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“Sa Ghana – Masagana”
Generally Ghanaians are very welcoming, friendly, cheerful and happy people, so happy that I used to tell my audience in the Philippines during my vacation: “In Ghana; kung iinom, abre-GANA; at kung sobra na hiGANA.” “Sigurado ba kayou Father na hind perdi GANA dahil sa GANA sa hirap?” Come and see!
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I Like Fufu...
Fufu is Ghana’s staple food. It is made of mashed yam and cassava and plantain and eaten with stew. On my way back from homeleave, inside the plane, I was seated between two Ghanaians. Before our meal was served, I casually told my Ghanaian seatmate to my left, “I like fufu you know?” it caught him so much that he leaned over to me, looked at my skin and exploded: “no wonder we have the same  color.
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Eight Miles from Here...
Watching a group of women carrying water. I asked casually of my guide. “How far away do they get the water?” About eight miles from here. Water is really a problem here father. When those women arrive in the village, they will be so tired and so thirsty that they will drink all the water they carried.” And they will go back again?” I asked. “Yes”, said the concerned guide.
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Land of Suffering
After relating to Anthony Kwasi Owusu, who works with us at our mission house in Kintampo, how I enjoyed my vacation in the Philippines and how my brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, friends and many others, treated me to restaurants and scenic spots, and what have you, Kwasi, cut in and said, “so no Father, welcome to the land of suffering.”
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“Blow my Horn”
Often I wonder why so many drivers here usually blow their horn before they cross a river at night. Asked why, my church helper told me that usually at night, the rive god is present. So, to ask for his permission, they blow their horn otherwise the river god will push the car off of the road. 7:30 in the evening: I was driving from the village and came to the river, my church helper, steeped in his traditional beliefs, reminded me I must blow my horn just before we cross the river. Torn between my Christian faith and respect to my helper’s custom, I blew the horn angrily, so strongly that a small frightened rabbit jumped off the roadside. “is that the river god?” I shrieked. “No, just one of his bodyguards,” counter –shriek the nervous and equally frightened companion who was more worried whether hit the rabbit or not.