Lifting Hearts, Lifting Wallets

I'm not a classically religious person. While I value a concept of God, I highly value the secularization of our educational institutions, our places of healthcare and government. I'm a strong, strong advocate for freedom of belief, and for a religious system working FOR you, rather than the other way around. When I came to Ghana hearing of the primacy of belief over proof and the importance of religious institutions to the social fabric, I came interested to see the way they weave together with the society in which I would be living for the better part of four months. I am a little surprised at my first observations.

It did not shock me that my coworkers and host family were surprised I had no church. It was equally unsurprising when they offered--or rather, demanded--that I attend church with them; this was something I had expected from the start.

Rather, what surprised me was the operations of some of the churches I went to.

Sitting in a plastic lawn chair with the words "Assemblies of God Church Nalerigu" punctured into the sides, I watched the people who had spent the last three weeks explaining their suffering, asking me for the water I drank, the food that I ate, the clothes I was wearing and the small change I carried, the people who asked every time that I answered I worked for an NGO "Well, how will you help me out of my poverty?", pulling ten Ghana Cedis--the equivalent of two weeks' pay for many--out of their pocket for the offeratory. A pastor at the front of the church called for donations like an auctioneer, demanding ten as the price of their salvation and watching people leave their seats to trek to the front to contribute, a hero among their congregation. A prayer was said, and another request from the pastor--five Ghana Cedis. More contributions, from more people with children waiting in the aisles, all skinny legs, round stomachs and wide eyes. Yet another prayer; a request for two Cedis. Prayer, then one Cedi. I think of the assembled 80 people dressed in Sunday best bought and tailored especially for church, I was the only one who contributed nothing. I was too at a loss to move or think.

I have no doubt of the positive effects of religion on a population at risk. Congregations can serve as an extended family, a social (and sometimes even fiscal) support net, and a wellspring of spiritual support in the inevitability that times become difficult. Nevertheless, I left the church building paralyzed with anger at a system that can so easily work against the very people who support it. The money given in this way every week could put a KVIP latrine and rainwater collection and storage in every house, and cut malaria, cholera, and the workload of women and girls in half. In this town, it could give electricity and cold food storage, allowing people to keep meat and vegetables for more than one day, and increase the nutritional balance (and therefore the immune system and health) for the whole family. It could buy more uniforms and books to put their children in school than they would need, and still have money to pay for a lunch each day in lieu of a feeding program. What does it do for God? Where does it go, after the journey from the pocket of the impoverished to the offeratory basket is over?

In Canada, offerings like this are pooled to help the needy, the unfortunate, and often those in developing countries. In Nalerigu, the signs of clothing drives, donations, missions and feeding programs are everywhere, from the cast-off 1997 Nike tank top and Addidas backpack on my host sister, to the phased-out western textbooks at the Junior Secondary School. East Mamprusi alone boasts the Baptist Medical Centre, with its prayer meetings and American surgeons, and the Presbyterian Agricultural Station, with its agro-training and farming implements. I have no doubt that the majority of the help or handouts in Nalerigu comes from various religious institutions. But I also have no doubt that they are all Western religious institutions, harnessing the over-abundance of Western money.

I am shaken by the question; Who does Ghana donate to? And what does that say about why I am here?