Everybody Has a Story: After 46 years, a return to Ghana, and a powerful reminder

In 1971, as a 19-year-old student at the University of Pittsburgh, I was one of dozens of students from across the country selected to participate in a program run by Operation Crossroads Africa. My particular group was sent to the Volta Region in southeastern Ghana to help build a middle school in the community of Anfoeta. Our group included nine other American students, two students from Ghana, two students from Cote d’Ivoire and our American group leader.

During our summer in Anfoeta, I became close friends with some of the men in the village. After leaving, I’ve had a lifelong dream of returning. In early June of this year, after 46 years, I finally had that opportunity.

I recently did some work for the Association of African Universities, based in Accra, and was invited to attend their General Conference and 50th Jubilee Celebration that took place the first week of June. My participation was generously sponsored by the European Commission, which even agreed to allow me to stay in Ghana for a few extra days in order to visit Anfoeta. Would anyone there even remember me and my group?

It so happened that a former graduate student of mine, Brenda, was living in Ghana, and she and her husband, a videographer, agreed to drive me from Accra to Anfoeta and to document my reunions in the village. We would arrive completely unannounced and had no idea of what to expect.

As we drove into the village, memories came pounding back. Little appeared to have changed. Sure, there were more houses, and Anfoeta now had electric lines and culverts along the road. But the road was still red dirt, and life in the village seemed tranquil.

We stopped at a small storefront where three men were standing. Two of them looked old enough to remember our group. I brought out my photos from that time and they immediately recognized their neighbors: “Yes, that is Emmanuel, and oh, Michael, and Stephen, oh. But Marcus, oh, he passed … but his son is right here.” Marcus’ son, Alfred Bitoy, joined our conversation and knew that he had been named after our group leader, Earl Bitoy.

We were told that Emmanuel lived near but was sick, having suffered a delibitating stroke 10 years ago. The men took us to his house, where we found Emmanuel lying on his bed. But within moments, he sat up, alert and increasingly excited as his remarkable memory resurrected details from decades ago: the day we climbed a nearby mountain, the day we walked to another village to buy a drum.

Soon, Michael joined us with his brother Richard, who was just a boy in 1971. They took us to the middle school we’d built. It was damaged from a recent storm and under repair. It was now part of a newer vocational-technical school complex with new classrooms, a dormitory and bungalows for faculty.

We left the school for a final visit to Emmanuel, where we enjoyed some sweet palm wine and boiled groundnuts (peanuts). Emmanuel struggled for words to convey his joy but managed to say “I love you” over and over. I shared those moments with my own tears of joy from being so fortunate to see my old friend again. As Brenda wrote in a subsequent Facebook post, “[we] met as strangers many years ago, [but we] parted as lifetime friends who had never left each other’s memory.”

It was a powerful experience that resonates with me even as I now sit in my house in Vancouver. I think we all learned an important lesson: We almost never know the lasting impact we have on other people. I was blessed to witness that impact for a few hours in a remote village halfway across the world.

Everybody Has a Story welcomes nonfiction contributions, 1,000 words maximum, and relevant photographs. Send to: neighbors@columbian.com or P.O. Box 180, Vancouver WA, 98666. Call “Everybody Has an Editor” Scott Hewitt, 360-735-4525, with questions.