I head to the hospital early as I will be spending the day with Tommy. (He will not let me use his full name.) However, I can think there is no one who has come through Nalerigu who does not already know Tommy. He is greeted by shouts of “Tommy!” from passing tractors and by solemn handshakes from village chiefs. Tommy has been in and out of Mamprusi districts for almost 25 years. He “works in the villages” among the 
Compared to other missionaries of my acquaintance, Tommy lives an austere life. He lives in Nalerigu proper (rather than the hospital compound) in a house with a single common room/kitchen, and a small bedroom. He has a Ghanaian cook and a small watchdog, named “dog.” Tommy lives entirely as a Ghanaian. He is bald, tanned to a crisp and well into his 70’s. His speech betrays his small town South origins and he would be at home behind (or underneath) any John Deere known to the hand of
Tommy started coming to
We follow the ridge south through Nagbo where we pick up Rachel, “a faithful.” She has consented to help today. Wednesday, Thursday and Sunday (weather permitting) Tommy sees his small congregations among the villages. Rachel is in her mid-thirties and races over the forecourt of her home in Nagbo, remarkable because she has lost her right leg and is on crutches. We exchange greetings all around (“Dasubah… naaah… naaah”)
“Naah” by the way is one of those essential words one discovers in a language which makes one wonder how other languages get along without it. It has no precise meaning. It is a universal answer to all greetings and most social settings. It is said with affection and gusto and drawn out to a wonderful extent. When I asked one of the boys what it meant as an answer to a greeting he said immediately “It means you have been greeted.” The morning was filled with these brief greetings, as the truck stopped, people piled in or out; “Dasubah (“I greet you in the morning”)…naaah, naaah, naaah.”
We continue down the increasingly dubious road, the ridge becoming lower and less distinct as we travel south, past Tianoba, over the bridge and up to Joanni, and take the right turning to Tunni. Here we are to pick up a preacher for one of the other villages we will go through. However when we arrive we discover that the man’s mother has died that very morning. She will be buried before nightfall and already mourners are walking and pedaling from the countryside to attend. Burial is prompt in this warm country but funerals are usually all held in the dry season when farms are at their slowest, perhaps as much as 6 months after the event. The dry season is also when many of the older members are carried off by chronic disease or malaria.
We greet all the mourners on the road and continue on to Kaliba, a Kokoma village. Like Mamprusi villages, the houses are made of sun-dried brick with conical thatched roofs. Each house is a compound with round rooms for each woman and her young children, a square room for each man and a windowless low room for older children. The entire house is then connected by a smoothly plastered mud-wall giving it a pleasing substantialness. In
We stop in Nakpuliga, at the top of a rise since we see a school in progress. A typically African affair, it consists of a crooked wooden sun-screen and a tired blackboard. Tommy invites me to make the acquaintance of the school teacher. She is a young Ghanaian who seems quite in charge of her three dozen children ranging from 4 or 5 to early teens. All are solemn quiet and well-behaved. “Good Morning, Sir” is said with a deferential bow. All is of the highest decorum until I ask to take a picture. Discipline wilts against the opportunity to see oneself. Giggles, smiles and jostling erupt. A small bag of balloons has found its way to the teacher and discipline is re-established on the simple basis of bribery. The teacher, as I go is anxious to tell me her plans to use the school as the site of a church meeting.
We stop at the next village, Ba’ali, to drop off Rachel. We are greeted with enthusiastic drumming singing and step-dancing to a
Church planting is an irregular affair. Tommy notes that his ground work sometimes takes a decade of well-digging, friend-making, funeral–attendance and showing respect to the chiefs before “overnight” a group of believers is found and regular meetings are held. A major failure has been Nagbo, only a short distance from the hospital. This is primarily because of the attitude of the Muslim families whose children convert; they are locked up, without food or water until they recant. Many are then abandoned if they still refuse, giving up all for their faith. Even so this is preferable to the “honor” killings seen elsewhere under similar situations.
Tommy is extremely short-handed today and what might have been regular services are reduced to greetings and sharing the news of the death. Ba’ali is the destination for Rachel and we arrive to drums and singing under a shade tree. Rachel is introduced and we are off to Bakuli, a
We are off again and reach a large flat area, the floodplain. Near the river we see a large herd of very fine cattle. They are from
Once past the river we stop briefly at Sou, a Gombu village, to greet, share news and pick up a translator. Our final stop is at Tiini, literally “one tree.” That one tree is an impressive baobab, one of the largest species in the world. In the dry season, one can see why it has been described as an “upside-down tree. “ Its thick trunk supports short root-like branches and tiny leaves. We arrive as the celebration is in full swing. The service is held in a shade of the other trees. The congregation of about thirty, dance in a circle and sing the line-response songs so familiar in much of 
We greet the village chief and Tommy heads into the dancing, his translator having had the privilege of carrying Tommy’s Mampruli Bible in the dancing, Tommy has hand free to keep time with his hands. I make a round of picture taking, doing close-ups of the usually somber faced Gombu and then showing them the results on my camera. This immediately gives me huge smiles for the taking (which was my original intent). After several choruses, the dancers sit on wooden benches under the trees and Tommy begins. These are usually practical messages on Christian living. Today’s is on being known “by your fruit.” Tommy is an animated speaker even in translation and he gestures and points at the trees around us in explanation. He asks questions of the audience who respond in severalty and volume. The points are simple and to the point. Afterward I see a few children and we take the road back…rewinding the road as we had unwound it during the morning. The road seemed longer and certainly hotter on the return, probably about 100F but dusty and dry.
The road back was filled with talk of missions and methods. Tommy is very adamant regarding the mode of successful missions; he thinks that a missionary needs to imitate the culture, to live as and with the population. Tommy lives his convictions. Nevertheless, he is very supportive of the role of hospitals for Christian evangelism; medical missions have suffered an eclipse for the last 30 years despite its seminal role in opening many mission fields from Africa to
Tommy’s success also comes with private support; he supports himself and is not affiliated with any mission board. Nevertheless, as we collect and drop off people and produce along the way back to town, I wonder what a 21st century apostle would look like and I keep coming up with an image of Tommy.
