Highlight number one this week - saying 'Lam' over and over again to 300 plus children at Gbantongo (said Bantongo) school! 'Lam' means smile, although if you saw the way they looked at me when I said it, you would think I had said 'boo!' - some laughed, some plain almost cried. Oh dear, not a good start when we need to get every single one of these kids photographed looking happy to please their fee paying sponsors back in South Korea.

It's the time of year where the mission of the Child Sponsorship team (well, Jacob), is to go out and photograph every one of the 3,000 sponsored children, organise the photos onto the database, print them, add them to the letters the children are dutifully writing as we speak (or as I write), and send them out to every single sponsor in South Korea. It's 'thank you sponsor!' time (or 'thank you and please continue to give' time).

Jacob had invited me along with him on this mission as I'd been asking about his programme for while, and was keen to see how things work. He was also in desperate need of an extra pair of hands, as photographing over 3000 is no easy task. I happily jumped on the back of his moto, and off we sped down the dusty roads to Gbantongo school, a place where most of the kids remember me from a song I once taught them during a workshop we ran... great that they remember me, only problem is that now all I hear every-time I arrive is that song over and over again as the kids jump out of classrooms and bounce towards me singing it at me and laughing their heads off like it's the funniest thing they ever heard. I am not sure whether to be proud or embarrassed, so I just pretend to be super cool bout the whole thing instead.

As we arrive, the teacher is already lining the kids up like they are about to go in for an inspection. The sponsored kids in the school know who they are, and come running out of class and down to the mango tree where they huddle for shade whilst they are waiting. I always wonder what it must feel like to be a sponsored child? And what if you're best mate is a sponsored child and you're not? What must that feel like?

Anyhow, once the kiddies are all lined up, looking shabby and raggedy as they do, with shirts unbuttoned and un-tucked, dresses untied and un-zipped, skirts all back-to-front and what not, we explain to them why we are here, andset up our stage for the photos. A spot in the green grass, with the trees in the background. Their skin is so dark we've got to get the sun in the right place at the right time, so Jacob gets all technical on me and starts babbling away about how to use his camera whilst I'm tackling about 20 children at once simply trying to encourage them to dress smartly and stand up tall. Most of them just look at me like I am mad. Its not that they don't speak English, they do. They simply don't understand my strange accent. (I am currently working on my new Ghanaian accent, Hannah will be able to tell you all about that). Or they try to grab my hair, or touch my arm. They are quite simply fascinated by me and my bright blonde hair and freckled arms do not help one teeny bit.

All set up and ready to go, I organise myself as the 'tidier', in charge of tidying the kids up as they come up for their piccies in front of all their giggling friends. Only problem is, because of the way things are set up, we are operating in the sun, and within ten minutes I am literally melting. But no rest allowed we've got all 300 to get through in about an hour, so we're running this like a tight ship. After a while Jacob has to go off to sort something and I am left in charge. A melting white lady with a funny accent who can't sit the black leather chair they've brought out for her because it's too hot, and who is swearing at the camera because she has no idea how to use the settings on this flipping thing, you would have thought it might have made them crack a smile. But no. In front of the camera it's all seriousness and solemn faces, no smiles, no teeth, no chubby cheeks you just want to squeeze. At this stage I am having lots of empathy with my dad (professional photographer who himself finds nurseries a challenge due to all the unruly children, now I know what he is up against). Smiling for the camera is not the norm in Ghana, I'm not entirely sure why. I son learn that 'Lam' is the word for smile, so I try that in all the different tones of voice I can think of, from kind and encouraging to fairly authoritative and commanding, but nothing seems to work. Maybe they think that if they look unhappy their South Korean sponsors will continue to donate more money. Or maybe they just find it too strange smiling at the frizzy haired lady pointing a camera at them.

The ironic thing is that they are encouraged to stand with the world globe in their hands, a World Vision symbol. This is the only time (as far as I know / can tell from my experience in school thus far) that this globe leaves the headmasters office, and I know for sure that most of these kids don't even know what it is. Most of them know that Ghana is in Africa, but when presented with a map they would have no idea where to find it. It's no surprise that most of them want to be pictured with the football that somebody found instead, and look really upset and confused when we tell them they must hold this strange round thing instead. If they can't play with it or learn from it then the children simply aren't interested

About 250 children later (the rest of which are inevitably at home helping tend to the farming), frazzled to almost a crisp, jaw aching from smiling, eyes tired from squinting in the sun, we are all done and wrapped up ready to go to the next school. Well, some half an hour to an hour later we actually leave, in the meantime I'm accosted by about 80 children all squealing, giggling, squeezing in to get as close to me as possible, clambering over the motorbike, climbing up in the tree to get a god view, all trying to shake my hand, asking me 101 questions about who I am, where I'm from, whether I know the queen, whether I will marry their friend (even though most of them are only about 8 years old!) and whether my hair is real. It's only when a stern looking teacher comes out and threatens them all waving a big stick in the air that I'm given enough breathing space and room to manoeuvre the moto out of there. Every time I go to a school it happens, but I don't think I'll ever get used to all the attention, it absolutely baffles me. But the children are gorgeous, and curious and so eager to learn, that I can't really blame them. I'm just going to have to learn some new songs!

With love

Xx