Navrongo Health Clinic & St. Mary's Orphanage

Lauren here. We just got back last night from having traveled to the north to stay at the Navrongo Health Clinic, in the Upper East District known as Bolgstanga, which lies on the border of Ghana and Burkina Faso. We had the opportunity to meet with the director of the health clinic there, and many of the officials in different areas like PR, technology, research, as well as the doctors who help make a place like this run. The Navrongo Health Clinic is set up to treat people of the district, but also to do research into health problems and possible solutions. We got to ask the director and an entire room of officials questions about the problems that they face in performing these tasks. Many of the problems are universal ones in health care systems, such as the process of receiving funding and using it where it is needed; collecting a database on the people treated and cataloguing all of the citizens (which has to account for possible migrants from Burnika Faso who might be giving Ghanaian addresses); and working with other programs and systems who are trying to do the same thing, help people, but in a different way. An example of the last one would be an NGO who wanted to do research into malaria, and a government-funded project on malaria, both of which would use the same facility for their research. Who would pay for the microscopes? How do they organize the time needed to use certain equipment, how do they share information about the same area? Malaria, by the way, is considered the biggest health issue in Ghana. Many of these problems have come up time and again in our data collecting, and we will expand on this as the meetings with Partners International begin next week. The idea of going to these little rural health clinics though, and consulting people who are out in the field witnessing the struggles of Ghana, is that we are bringing to our following set of meetings a "bottom-up" version of events. We are not going to the sources of funding, the distributors, or any of the "up" people. We are starting on the ground, in the field, seeing the results of research and what is needed for Ghana to become a self-sustaining country not dependent upon outside help. This is the true goal of Ghana, and the goal that people want, whomever we ask. (Of course, when you think about it, this is the goal of every struggling country.) Our other big stop before we left was St. Mary's Orphanage, which is helped by the clinic, but not associated with it. The director was very happy that we wanted to see the orphanage, and upon arrival, we knew why. The road to the orphanage was red, bumpy, and small. We shuddered and bounced our way along until we pulled up next to a small white home. Two or three children peered at us curiously from the other side of the yard, along a yellow and green wall. One man walked a little bit closer and eyed the driver, who got out and spoke with him. The driver got back in. Wrong house. The orphanage had moved next door. We turned around, and lumbered our bulky bus around to the neighboring place, stopping infront of an open metal gate. We clambered out, Lena grabbing a bad filled with gifts for the children. I had a video camera, and everyone else had digitals by their side. We entered, and were introduced to Sister Mary, an old woman in a blue habit who shook each of our hands warmly. "You are welcome," she repeated to each of us. Her smile grew as much as the crowd of children when we presented our gifts upon a table in the open courtyard of the orphanage: coloring books galore, colored pencils, regular pencils and pens, crayons, journals, some glider planes, and small electronic handheld games. Nothing huge or significant, but to the eyes of the children gazing at the vibrant display of gifts laid before them, it might have been gold, frankincense and myrrh. We took pictures, the children, Sister Mary and us standing behind the laden table and trying not to look like we were squinting in the bright, afternoon sun. We talked with Sister Mary, who couldn't wring our hands or thank us enough. The children were curious about us. They gathered around Liz as she showed them images of them on her digital camera, and smiled when they recognized themselves on the little screen. They pulled with tiny fingers at Katie's many bracelets and necklaces, all glinting in the sun with equal vibrance to the toys. The little ones too tiny to run around, who were held by children no older than 13 on one angled hip, stared with big, dark eyes, only offering a smile after we had earned it by shaking their hand with one finger or making a silly face. It was touching, and in so many ways reminiscent of my time in Vietnam, staring into the eyes of children who have seen too much of the world for their young lives. When it was time to say goodbye, every child waved and laughed and ran with us to the bus, trailed by Sister Mary who shook hands with each of us one last time. I had made it a point to ask her, when we first arrived, for her permission to video tape. I thanked her again at the end, and also, more importantly, for her efforts spent at the orphanage caring for these children. She looked particularly pleased and touched to hear this, for I don't think anyone had yet been so specific in their gratitude. We boarded the bus and continued waving our goodbyes until we finally pulled back onto the torturous red road. It was then that we looked around at each other, all of us changed by this experience. It didn't matter if it was someone's first time in an orphanage in a developing country, or if like me, we had seen these powerful realities before. We were all speaking of the movement we felt in our hearts, and grateful for each other to share it with. The best part about it was that we did not come empty-handed.