It's Monday---

I thought I could give you a peek at my Monday, in case you care! (Which if you are taking the time to read the blog I really hope you do--if you don’t, then stop reading creeper). Just kidding, none of you are creepers--I hope. 

Today I got to sleep in! Today was my “weekend” and It. Was. Simply. Wonderful! After I arose I had a 2 hour coffee date with friends, ate lunch, and then headed to a nearby hotel. It is a beautiful place that allows Mercy Ships Crew to use the pool free of charge! (as long as we buy something to eat or drink). It is a truly relaxing experience, and if you don’t look over the tops of the buildings you could be anywhere in the world. Palm trees surrounding, beautiful pool, sipping on a drink. But if you happen to look up you will see the smog of the city, and black smoke billowing out of a nearby smokestack. So we keep our eyes down, pleasantly reading a book, trying to forget what faces us just outside the gates. Insane poverty, lack of clean water, children dying of malnutrition and malaria. At dinner I was talking with one of the Anesthesiologists here on the ship. She was speaking about their recent trip to a local hospital, the one in which our Hope Center is located. Their job was to clean and sterilize their sterilization room, which in theory should already be sterile. When they arrived they were amazed. Searching for words to describe what she saw, she used the image from the first “SAW” movie. (Horror film circa 2006). She said it was tile floor to ceiling, there was dried blood everywhere, needles and scalpels littered about. Where the window should have been there was no glass, but an open area to the dirty world outside. There were two windows looking into an operating room on each side. In one, a C-section was taking place. She said she was horrified at the lack of proper equipment being used, lack of drapes, sterile technique, or once the baby was born- care for the new infant. She said she was in tears watching, unable to step in. They spent HOURS scrubbing the room, careful not to be stuck by the rubbish. Even with their best efforts, unfortunately one nurse was stuck by a needle that was sitting in the grout of the tile.  I know we have a policy for sticks here, but please pray that it was somehow a clean stick and that she doesn’t get HIV or Hepatitis while serving here in Guinea. At one point in their day, she even had a lizard jump out of where she was cleaning and scurry out the window. She said upon arrival back to the ship she didn’t care about the 2 minute shower rule, but stood under the water trying to scald her skin clean. Not being there, but simply hearing her experience brings up so much in me, to know what the reality is here. Sure, I can sit on my nice little ship, adventure to my cozy little places in town, venture out and see mountains, but I can’t escape the reality that these people have. They live in a place that you will almost certainly die before you receive surgery, and if you don’t die from the surgery you probably will die from the infection. Could you imagine taking your family member to a hospital knowing that they probably won’t make it out alive? Would you take them knowing that just about 20 feet away from the entrance there is a dumpster that the vultures circle, and that if you are brave enough to peek over the side you will see body parts that have been amputated. Would you take them knowing that they would risk having surgery awake, because you are unable to afford the medications? Would you take them to a place where you can hear people screaming in agony for help? As you read this I am almost certain that you would say NO! Absolutely NOT! But I am here to tell you this, YES- you probably would, because it would be your only chance. You would, because it is all that you know. Your reality is that hospitals are where people die, and that you only get help if you have the money ready to wave in their face. Your reality would be what I see all around me. You would risk the infection for the surgery, and you would do it just to try to keep their life. It should make you angry, just as it makes me angry. But what can we do? We are here to do all that we can, but even with this big white ship we can’t save everyone. We can’t swoop in and change the world, just because my chest aches. I can’t just change the world with my love, banishing away all hurts and transforming it to glory. What I know is that I can’t, but I can change it for the people who are lucky enough to come to our ship. That my time here will be marked by the faces of the people who come so gladly, trust us so deeply, and thank us so often because they have no other choice. Any time I hand over a medication or prepare someone for surgery they do it, no matter what I say, because they trust me with all of their hearts. 

Tonight I spent some time down in the ward trying to clear my mind with one of our newest patients who has been pulling on my heartstrings since the moment I saw him at screening. He is 38, a former professional football player (soccer), and his life changed drastically five years ago when a bump appeared on his right cheek. His story is full of heartache, and will bring you to tears, it has been a long and twisty road, but it has brought his mere 90 lbs of skin and bones here to us. To this ship, where he is receiving the best care he could every imagine. Where he has swiftly gotten a Tracheostomy and a feeding tube into his stomach so that he can be promised air and nutrition. He will stay in our ward for at least a month, trying to gain a few pounds to even become strong enough for surgery. I promise to tell you more about him later, but for now I can tell you this. He has wonderfully kind eyes, he grips your hand as though his life may drastically change at any moment, that at one point he was teaching children all over the nation football, that he worries more about his mom than himself, he beats me at every single game we play, and that he is a fighter. So as I sat in the ward tonight on my day off playing games with him while my favorite little man “L” squirmed in my lap. I tried to remember that I can’t change the world, but that I can do my very best to change theirs. That my love will never be enough for this entire nation, but that I can love these two with every fiber of my being. I can be a light for them, and I can show them love through my words and actions. I know that I will be changed day by day walking through their triumphs and struggles, and I hope that one day I will find the words to explain this to the two of them.  I pray that I will be able to express that I came here to try and help them, but that they are in fact helping me, every single day. That they are transforming my heart and making it ache in ways I didn’t know were possible. That they are pushing me to become a better person, to do more, and to work harder to change even a small corner of this world.

An upcountry adventure---To Kindia!!

This past weekend we headed upcountry for an adventure. We went to the city of Kindia, which is about 85 miles North East of Conakry. We headed out early Saturday morning with our fearless guide, Chico. 10 ladies, Chico and our 2 drivers all piled into our van and we set off for one of the bumpiest rides of our lives. The journey took about 4 hours including two “stretch breaks” to let the car cool down, one stop because the van was mysteriously smoking, and 4 stops for the checkpoints. Had we not had Chico the checkpoints would have been rough. He has made friends with a lot of the guards and brings them cigarettes in order to prevent us from having to pay the bribes simply because we are white. 

Leaving the busy, dusty city of Conakry

Not too far out of the city the landscape transforms to a beautiful green

The view on our first "stretch break"

Two wonderful New Zealand ladies and I

My backbench mate Ann during the bumpy 4 hour ride

Some kiddos in the village who came out to play (and stare at the white people)

Our second "stretch break" at a river

Our leader for the weekend Chico!

Just walking through the jungle

This little one stole all the attention at the djembe concert. There were at least 10 half naked African men putting on a show and this little one got the attention of 14 women.  

Our palace where we stayed the night. 

The ridiculous furniture

This little one just wanted to hold my friend Jen's hand out of the bus window. I gave them all Life Saver candies---some loved them, others gave them away. At least they all got eaten :)

The Waterfall! We took this picture standing on an extremely rickety bridge of sorts

Chico gave us a fantastic tour of his agriculture center with which Mercy Ships is partnering. His family owns hundreds of acres and has huge plans for the land. Chico has started by bringing men from the cities out to the bush to change their lives. He encourages them to change their lives, teaches them a trade and gives them the resources to sustain it. He really loves empowering people, and I have no doubt this model will succeed. He has donated a portion of the land to Mercy Ships to begin teaching farming practices to the “teachers” who will then master it and take it back to their communities. It’s a beautiful model, and one that really could change the way people live here. 

I had no idea this is how pineapple grew!

Grass at the farm

A beautifully crafted bridge

Chico helping everyone to cross the "broken bridge". Only one girl went in! He called it his "team building" part of the tour.

Compost pile on the farm. This picture is for Emily and Sarah Barks---I think your compost pile is better :)

Our second day there we decided to make the climb up Mount Gangan. We took about a 4 hour round trip hike which our leader Keto said was about 9kilometers. Keto is the West African champion for the 800m run and was proud to show us pictures with his medals. Each year he organizes a race up the mountain to promote athleticism. He said the winner is typically a teen who lives atop the mountain who is used to making the trek. As we huffed and puffed both up and down the mountain we saw people making the journey barefoot while carrying sacks of bananas or nuts on their heads. Even the cows who live on the mountainside we far more graceful then us.  Part way into the journey we started calling Keto “Jack”. This name came from how nimble and quick he was. The saying evolved into “Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, Jack climbs mountains in flip flops”. At one point we needed to cross a small creek that was about knee deep. A few brave souls kicked off their shoes and socks, then my dear friend Ann looked at Keto and said “Bumba?” Which is what mothers do to carry children on their backs. He laughed and said yes, and began carrying each one of us across the water. What a champion! The trek definitely tested all of our balance, and we each wiped out at least once. I brought home a nice elbow bruise as a souvenir. 

The mountain view before we began the hike

Heading up the mountain

Crossing the stream 

All the sweat is worth the view!

Us in one of the villages at the top of the mountain

Insanely sweaty girls at the top~ 

Look at the waterfall! There were two that we could see on the hike

This view just made us all stand for a moment and think. There we were--representing 5 nations, hiking in West Africa. Crazy right? Can you see the two waterfalls?

Favorite sites not captured:

The amount of stuff that can be piled on top of vehicles is amazing. Every single car/truck/bus had a pile of goods strapped to the top almost as big as the car itself. Sometimes it was bag of produce, others was wooden boxes, and twice we saw live goats strapped on bundled up with all the stuff. Basically every taxi had at least 4 chickens tied upside down by their feet on the back window. I believed these chickens to be dead, until we stopped once and they all started moving their heads......

It was a fantastic weekend, and on the way back we talked for hours  with Chico about our dreams, and how we want to impact this world. He made us think, and I’m so thankful for him. I plan to go further upcountry with him in the coming months. Thanks for reading about our adventure--sorry its about a week late!

Cheer him on!

Last Friday night something epic happened here on the ship. It was beautiful, spontaneous, and something I will remember forever. My favorite little guy on the ward, “L”, had to go back to frequent dressing changes after he had a complication with his eye. Initially they were every shift, then once a day, then once every 3 days. These changes are sheer torture for him leaving him in a trance like stupor for hours after. He is so afraid that he actually avoids the room where we change them, or if someone even mentions the words dressing and change he hides. I mean I really can’t blame him. It’s one of the most sensitive areas on your body, and we are manipulating it, applying pressure, and causing pain. A six year old doesn’t understand why it is necessary to help in the long run to shrink the area in which his tumor was removed. To him in this moment we are the biggest meanies on the face of the planet. When he was on the ward the first time around we were actually giving him medications to both make him drowsy and block the changes from memory. This second admission we decided to take a different approach. Because the changes were no longer required to be sterile, we were letting him take down his own dressing. This kind of played into his “I’m six years old and I want to do things my way”. We would let him slowly start taking it down an hour before we wanted to change him, and we were having much better results. Instead of screams of torture and tears we were getting quieter whimpers and smaller tears. If you remember from a previous blog, he once got so worked up during a change that in a moment of mania he bit his Poppa when we were releasing him from his swaddle---- no good! Last Friday night we had been playing lots of games, had just had a dance party, and then were settling in for a movie. As I sat with him on my lap my friend Jen told me to have him start taking it down. He was very hesitant, but doing it at the rate of molasses. For some reason I started saying “Go L Go!” , “Go L Go!” kind of bouncing him on my lap to a beat. Fara, a dayworker, joined in too! We started clapping, chanting, and cheering him on. Within a couple of minutes the ENTIRE ward joined in. All the other nurses, caregivers, and even several patients gathered around, all clapping, cheering and shouting him on. Encouraging words were being shouted in not only English, but French, two tribal dialects, and Krio. As he sat on my lap, legs wrapped around mine I kept peaking around his tiny body to see the priceless look on his face. It was one mixed with determination, pain, and excitement. He made it through the entire change without shedding one tear or even whimpering. As soon as he had his ointment applied and the new bandage sealed the high fives started.  Literally every person in the room wanted a high five, people were congratulating him on being a “big man” a “brave boy who no cry”. He was being hugged, slapped on the back, shaking hands, truly a celebrity. Many of our patients had been witnesses to these daily changes with him, heard his cries, and saw his after effect. They all had gone through the torture with him, and realized how amazing this was. There were smiles plastered to every face in the room, so proud of their friend, playmate, and co-patient. When he was all done he just jumped down, gave me a hug and ran off ready to move on to the next thing like it was the easiest thing he had ever done. It was so amazingly beautiful, I could feel the energy from the room in my chest, choking on the beauty of it. Our ship family all joined at “L’s” side, cheering him along on his path for a different life. I thank God every day for bringing this little man and his poppa to us-- I learn something from them every single day, and that night I shed a tear of joy for this little man--one of the bravest boys I know. 

October!

The story of a weekend of nightshifts-- In a few unrelated nuggets.

Nightshifts really don’t feel like they do at home. Because we don’t go to work until 10pm, we have ample time to wake up, share dinner with friends, play a few games, and then prepare for work. The other huge difference is that people SLEEP here--- weird right?! I was blessed enough to spend 4 nights with my lovely friend Emily. She and I conquered D ward one night at a time, making plans, coming up with a skit for our friends, crafting, dissecting a siamese banana that appeared on board, listening to tunes, and chatting with dayworkers. All while trying not to wake up patients--- truly tricky stuff. I have also decided that the quieter I try to be is when I am generally at my loudest. It is inevitable that while trying to be quiet I will knock things over, drop things, stumble into inanimate objects, etc. I honestly think I made more paper crafts in the last 4 nights then I have in awhile. 

The Siamese Banana-- It was two fused together in one skin!

Our ward is now beautifully decorated in paper chains, paper hats, paper figurines, and snowflakes (thanks Andrea)--yes- its cold enough she was inspired to make snowflakes! It looks simply beautiful! I think that half the reason we all decided to start decorating the unit was that we felt so empty after the kiddos left. We can connect with adults, and get close to them, but at the end of the day its just not the same. I just keep saying that with a kid you can run around, pull them up on your lap, snuggle them, and they can feel your love by just wrapping your arms around them. I can’t exactly do that with grown men. Even though I do care for them its obviously much harder to show it with the language barrier. I mean don’t get me wrong,  I am thrilled that all the kids are one step closer to home and restarting life, but we feel that void so greatly. I have been to the Hope Center every couple days to see them, to play with them, to hug them, and just BE with them. They have become like family. Each time we go to the Hope center the moment we round the corner into their view it’s like a welcome home party. They are yells, jumping, clapping, and kiddos breaking through the gate and rushing into our open arms. The Hope Center, is located on the lower level of a building in the middle of the local hospital compound. It truly is a single gem in the middle of a dusty mine. It’s such a bittersweet experience. The reality for OUR patients and the patients that have no where else to go here in West Africa are so very different. How this arrangement works is that Mercy Ships asked for a space somewhere nearby the ship in every field service. We renovate the whole thing, use it for 10 months and then at the end they get it back brand spanking new. New paint, lights, floors, windows, doors--the whole nine yards. Because of this we are in this little bubble but all around us people are literally dying on the pavement. The other day I heard someone screaming out in agony. It was heart wrenching. When walking through the compound you can look in the window frames (no glass) and see the people basically laying in shower stalls.  We see dead bodies being wheeled out on stretchers, people begging for help.........its crazy and it wrecks my soul. The healthcare system here is insane, and one of the worst parts is that people just accept it. Just like everything else Its not culturally appropriate to rebel, and to put up a fight, they just take what life gives them and figure out how to deal. Even though it can be hard I keep going back- pulled as if by magnetic force to these people. In a place that is constantly changing, these few hope center friends are the patients and caregivers with whom we have had the longest. The ones who have touched OUR lives, and have changed our hearts. I cannot tell you how overjoyed my heart is when I even think of them. I’m attaching a few pictures of them so you can see their beautiful faces. 

"H" and her Mama

"H" suffered burns to her face and arm when she was 2 years old from a candle--she had 2 skin grafts during her time with us. She is the funniest little dancer I know. (She's the kiddo who picked up English)

"L" and his Poppa-- you can see why his smile is infectious and he's my favorite right?

Some of the ladies

H's Mom and L a tad grumpy after a dressing change

Little Mr. "M". We repaired some scars that had contracted after previous surgery to repair a facial birth defect. He kind of always has this look on his face--a tad suprised. He is a little spit fire!

 A highlight to night #4 was the blind man in bed 10. This man I swear to you was trying to navigate the brand new environment by sonar. He would get up, out of bed, and somehow make it to the center of the room before beginning clapping and shuffling his feet. At the beginning of the shift I was shocked at his gumption to just bolt around a new place. I quickly cleaned all of the stools out of his path, hoping to not cause a fall. After that each time we heard a clap we all jumped up running over to help him find the restroom. His 15 year old son soundly sleeping under his bed is his sole caregiver. He takes such care for him, making sure he knows where everything is- setting him up for meals, showers, etc. He lost his sight in 2006 over a period of just 2 months. I can’t imagine being in the light one day, and the next all you saw was darkness. He is having a biopsy done of a large oral tumor, we will soon find out if we can help him.....I really pray that we can help this sweet man. To change his life, to give him a chance at his 50’s and beyond..

This week my patient from bed 13 in my last blog was able to go home. It was quite an ordeal getting him there, but he made it. He moved to another ward a few days ago in order to make room for other max/fax patients who were heading to surgery. I visited him often, and he said several times how much he missed our ward. Through talking to him I realized that upon discharge, he really didn’t have a plan as to how he was getting home. He had no money, no idea of where to catch a bus, or even the timeframe for catching a bus. He said that it may be “small difficult” to find his way but that he wasn’t worried. The more I heard from other people about his journey here it turns out that it was more than “small difficult”. He actually arrived in Guinea unsure of where to go. He spend 2 days wandering around the city, sleeping on the streets-completely unable to speak any of the languages. He eventually found a Chinese shop owner who spoke a few words of English. He got some general directions as how to get to the port, and by the grace of God a Mercy Ship crewmember found him and brought him to the ship. Could you imagine wandering in a foreign land for two days, searching and praying that someone would speak your language and be able to direct you to the “big white ship”. By realizing all of this, I was so insanely convicted that we couldn’t just turn him loose and expect him to find a way home.  After about 4 hours of me and a friend advocating, calling people, asking around, and coming up with a plan--we figured out a way to get him back to his country. At 10 pm the night before he left we told him the plan and he had tears in his eyes. We got up the next morning early, ready to begin the trek to get him on the proper bus after a few taxi rides across town. We packed a lunch, and snacks then we headed into the ward and wallah! Someone had listened to our cry for help and decided to do the right thing. He was going to go to the Hope center for the weekend and on Monday Mercy Ships would arrange all the transport and pay for it. I have so much praise that it all worked out, but the whole process was hard, emotional, and one of those "weight of the world" moments......I got a note from him today passed through another patient and it brought tears to my eyes. He said that he thanked me for all I had done, that he would never forget me, and that he prays God’s blessing over my life and my path. He said that he hopes I will never forget him....I can promise that-I will never ever in a million years forget bed 13.

 To end this blog on a high note I can share with you all that my FAVORITE patient in the whole wide world came back yesterday morning to have the stitches removed from his eyelid. I know that your not supposed to have favorites, but I do. I am simply in love with both him and his wonderful caring poppa. I have seen him at least every 3 days lately by making visits to the hope center, and now for some more time he is back in the ward. He arrived Monday night, but he was already asleep by the time I got to work at 10pm. After lots of hugs with poppa I decided I would just have to wait for him to wakeup. I selfishly kind of wished he would wake up in the middle of the night--but he didn’t. So at 6 am when he FINALLY woke up I was like a kid on Christmas. He had to take his pre-surgery shower, but before that happened his Dad carried a sleepy little boy to me and said “look who it is! Auntie Annah here!”. My. Heart. Melted. I held him for a few minutes then passed him along to the shower. When he got out he was crying-- there he stood, shivering, buck naked, weeping. After finding him some clothes I bundled him onto my back in a “bumba” which basically means he was tied to my back kind of in a piggy back position completely hands free so that I can do nursing work, but still warm him up. His poppa was laughing at us, smile spread across his face. I mean we were quite the team doing morning vitals and prepping people for surgery. He was burrowed in, but after a while and his core temperature raised he morphed back to his usual playful self. As I walked past Emily he reached out and SLAP, he got her in the back squealing with laughter. Emily and I took some time running around playing tag ( with L still tied to my back) it was pure bliss. His joyful face just makes my week. Even now as I am writing this I just got back from visiting him on the unit. My heart might burst with joy...

 Highlight of my Wednesday is that tonight we had family dinner. After a long day of walking around Conakry hitting up the market for vegetables and visiting the super market for the necessities the cooking began. It was a wonderful night of cooking, laughter and fellowship. The day was really fantastic too! It’s a super chaotic, hot experience in the markets here. Walking down the paths its pretty typical to be surrounded by women balancing things on their heads, the days catch either cooked or raw (eyeballs, scales, and all) fruits and vegetables lined up next to brooms and clothes, flies everywhere. Add a good helping of mud on your feet and my friend that is an African market... overwhelming and wonderful--I. love. it! 

Some of the family dinner crew

Last tidbit for the day. Pat (Emily’s Husband) got an email today from ABC asking to buy rights to one of his songs for one of their primetime shows! Hoooray for Pat!  Did I mention he was in a band in Washington State? The band is Mon Cheri--check them out!

Iles de Los-- The Island Adventure!

This weekend those of us who had off from the hospital decided to head off the coast and get a little sun. We had originally planned to stay the night but after several phone calls, help from our dayworker friend Joseph, and a few more conversations we found out that the hotels on the island do not open until after the rainy season--try November or December. Camping was discussed, but after looking at our modge podge of gear, we got realistic and thought a day trip sounded just wonderful!  One thing about African plans is that you can’t just hop on the internet to research or make reservations. Most things are by way of mouth--great for spontaneity but not making solid plans.

The Island chain is just off the coast of Conakry the capital of Guinea (where we are docked). There are three larger Islands, and a few small ones that are uninhabited. The Islands belonged to the British until 1904 when they traded to the French for fishings rights off the coast of Labrador. Of the Island chain, Tamara (known to the locals as Fortoba) was the site where the French would transport slaves to until they were able to export them to the Americas. Because the people were unable to swim they were stuck on the Island awaiting a future they did not want close enough to still be able to gaze at the Guinean shore. Google tells me that one of the Islands actually is said to be what the novel Treasure Island was based on. With their Jungle interiors and beachy sides, they really are a scene from the hit show LOST. (We may or may not have joked about “the others”.)

Roume is located about a 40 minute boat ride away from the shore. A few of the crew members had been to Kassa before, but not many had adventured to the middle island. We decided to make the trek and eight of us set off into the African sun. Saturday morning we took the 20 minute walk down to the area where boats launch. The majority are fishing boats here, but a few are used to shuttle people back and forth from the Islands. The island natives will come into town to trade goods and bring back foods when needed. The shoreline is littered with hundreds of people all with a purpose moving about, trading goods, and bringing in days catch. How did we plan to find a boat in this busy place you may ask, well--- we decided that someone would see eight white people walking towards the shore and decide “they must want to go to the islands!” That is EXACTLY what happened, and we are so happy that Abou was the one to make it to us first. He was a wonderful guide and took such good care of us. He spoke only French but Beth, a wonderful gal working in the pharmacy, put her language skills to work. After discussing the price for the day we headed toward the dock. After a quick stop to gather two more life jackets he asked if we would give him 150,000 of the agreed 650,000 Guinea Franks upfront for Petrol (to put it in perspective the total cost was about $92 US dollars or $12 per person). We obliged and he took off-- we had a good feeling that he would come back. Standing there on the dock we saw many things. People coming and going, gianormous fish being brought in from the mornings catch, fish being descaled, people selling bagged water from atop their heads, and one kid trying to sell his guniea pig. Halarious right?--- we are in Guinea and he is selling a GUINEA pig! 

As we stood, a few of us commented on the boat that was making its way to the dock while someone was using a yellow bucket to scoop water out of the bottom of the boat. I believe I even said, “wouldn’t that be funny if it was our boat?”. Well, it turns out that it WAS our boat! It was of the wood variety, had many a splinters and a tribe of massive wood/water roaches living near the bottom. But hey, if you don’t look down its much easier to pretend they don’t exist, right? At one point, one definitely decided my foot looked tasty and climbed aboard- I jumped and kicked and Abou laughed hysterically. The thing almost ate my toe off- not funny right? Ok, so maybe it was a tad humorous... The bottom of the boat had several planks of wood laid down to create a flat bottom to walk on to get up to your plank of a seat. It was splintered, a tad wobbly, and the paint was chipping, but I couldn’t have designed a more beautiful chariot in which to carry us to the Island. (Remember that I want the FULL African experience every chance I have.) Abou- our fearless leader set us off with the help of one teenage apprentice of sorts aboard the boat, we will call him Skipper or Skip for short. Both Abou and Skip have the balance of tight rope walkers. They run about the boat, front to back while balancing on the 5 inch side, riding the waves without fumble. I really think I would have been in the water in 2 seconds flat if I tried to walk around the edge--it was truly impressive.

 It took a hot minute to get used to the swaying of the boat, but it really was a beautiful ride. We did quite a bit of maneuvering to dodge the shipwrecks littering the channel on the way out. Some of the wrecks were MASSIVE, quite possibly the size of our ship in their prime. It was neat to think of who created the ships, what were the ships purpose back in the day, and if the creator knew it was resting on the ocean floor with only a teensie bit shown to the world what would they say? “I told you not to run it onto a sandbar?” or had some of them met a more eventful last voyage? I can’t imagine being that close to shore, and planting your ship on the ocean floor. It’s hard to say--but I bet the ships had been there for decades judging by the rust on the remaining carcasses. I guess now we at least know where not to steer our boat. Abou effortlessly maneuvered around the first Island, and it was here that we saw our own version of Pride Rock from the Lion King. A few birds even flew overhead as we began singing various Lion King songs...what a group of dorks right? Jen, my bunkmate, is not the most comfortable in water. I was so proud of her for rocking out the boat ride, and even taking her turn chucking out the water from the bottom. On a side note, during the discussion of heading to island a few weeks ago she was the only one who said she wanted a life jacket or she wasn’t willing to go. The rest of us kind of brushed off the life jackets, being that we are now fearless African adventurers and all. The next day was when the 24 lost their lives to a boating accident. She’s one smart girl right? We still are not sure where the heck all these life jackets miraculously appeared from, but every single boater now wears a neon orange life jacket. I think Guinea must have been the recipients of one large life saving donation, or the government had been hoarding them- not sure which.

Petra and Cathy in the front of the boat

Pat, Jasmin, Beth and myself ready to go!

Pride Rock

Emily and I peeking for roaches

 As we approached, we saw a small group of people hanging out on the shore. We jumped out of the boat into the ocean, narrowly avoided the loss of a sandal on Beth’s part, and walked up onto the beach. Abou introduced us to a few of his friends and he began to set off into the jungle. Wait- we came to go to the beach, isn’t this the beach we motioned? He again waved, “come with me”, so we all kind of looked around shrugged and followed. Best. Decision. Ever. After a short 5 minute walk through the jungle the trees opened up and lying in front of us was one of the most beautiful beaches I have ever seen.

We arrived on shore!

Walking through the jungle

Jasmin taking her turn dumping out the water

The beach!

Abou is in the life jacket

Setting up camp

Rastafarian friends--they love to sing a song with the words Bien Venue, or Welcome to Africa!

My dear friend Emily

Yes my opinion may be tainted by what I see around me now in the city, but really- top 5. It was gorgeous, blue sky, lush green trees, and big rocks littering the shore. We began to set up camp for the day and Abou set off to get a few cold drinks. As if a conch shell had been blown to notify the natives, locals began to come to the ocean to see the white folks. We made some Rastafarian friends and heard a few wonderful songs. One of our new friends had some of the best dance moves I have seen--he even gave us an impromptu workshop teaching us a few of his moves. A while later another band came to play and a few men trying to sell jewelry hit big when two of the girls decided to buy a ton of his charms to make magnets as thank you gifts to their supporters. (sorry, I wasn’t one of them) The Island was pristine compared to what we have here on the mainland. Here in the city when the tide is in, the water appears safe. Once the water sets out though, the treasures of the ocean floor appear. Trash, shoes, discarded clothing, lost items all come out to show their faces. Its not very appealing to say the very least. On Roume, the beach was beautiful. The water didn’t have trash floating nor did you feel it below your feet. Three of us set off into the water and spent the better part of an hour jumping about. Diving into the waves and letting them float us ashore. Some of you may know that I am not quite a seasoned swimmer. I would like to equate my skills to that of a small child, so obviously I wasn’t too keen on going super far out. It turns out that I get a bit anxious when a big wave comes along, and at one point in my flustered state may or may not of yelled “I don’t think I’m equip for this” as it crashed over my head. I turned up a bit further ashore a few moments later, but apparently not quick enough for my two friends to not yell “Hannah!” a few times. woops! I just found out it was easier to let it take you in then try to fight it! I did get a few saline rinses through my nostrils-- but hey, I think that my sinuses are clearer today for it and they now have a great line to tease me with-- win/win situation. The sand was so fine that it went everywhere imaginable and stuck as if superglued. With nowhere to rinse off we had to accept the fact that we literally had swim suits full of sand, sand in our ears, sand in our noses, and the ocean left my scalp literally looking like a mangy dog. Now if you have ever given a dog a bath you can appreciate what my scalp looked like. If I parted my hair I literally had patches of sand stuck to my scalp. Half a brand new bottle of conditioner and about 24 hours later, I am still finding sand stuck in my hair. It was the perfect lazy day of reading, dancing on the beach, playing in the ocean, and multiple sunscreen applications.

    We ended the day coming back across the channel lugging our tired bodies, newly acquired sunburns, and lifted spirits. It was a perfect day and such a relaxing change from the fast pace of this city. We returned refreshed, rejuvenated, and ready to face this week ahead of us. Please pray for us as this week’s surgeries begin that we are able to truly reach all of our patients and that we can change lives.