Opportunity....

Thanksgiving is a time when we Americans cram around a table filled with family and friends and share a bird roasted for our occasion. The past two years Thanksgiving has looked differently to me, but this year was probably one of my favorites. This year will never leave my mind for the rest of my days. It was a crazy beautiful international mix of 16 of my friends crammed around a table on an outdoor terrace sharing an Indian feast. After the meal we went around sharing what we were thankful for. The list was long and included all the standard answers of family, friends,and health. It also included all the standard Mercy Ships answers of good coffee, nice chocolate, cheese, laundry detergent that smells nice, and all the other things this big white ship makes you miss about home.......but as I sat listening I couldn’t help but think what I was thankful for was more than all of that. Something so simple sounding at it’s core, but life altering in actuality. Opportunity was the one word answer that left my lips. I am thankful for the opportunities I have been given simply by where I was placed on the earth. This outreach I have had the absolute honor of leading the training program for local Congolese nurses. I have learned so much from these lovely ladies and have had my world view shaken on numerous occasions. They have taught me so many things just by spending time in their presence, and it has made me so incredibly thankful for everything I take for granted. I have never had to put the basic needs of my family up against the luxury of education. I have never had to decide if my money should be spent to get me to class on a big white ship or to provide lunch to my children. I have never had to go to work day after day knowing that even if I gave it my all I would still witness multiple deaths almost helpless to change the outcome because I simply didn’t have the education or the resources. I have been given opportunity after opportunity in this life considering it to be a “right”. Everyone deserves an opportunity to change their path, a chance to put a spin on their life to better themselves and change their ultimate outcome. I cannot explain the joy I feel knowing that I am in a position to pass the gift of opportunity on..... thank you for providing a way for me, for giving me the opportunity to be a part of this amazing organization.  

A letter from my "T"

This is a letter written by Thierno, if you have read my blog, then you know him as "T". If you don't know him, take a peak further down in my stories--he is a staple in my blog for almost all of Guinea..... This guy will forever be written on my heart. I miss him, and would give almost anything to see him again. To hear about how things are for him, and to try to beat him at a hand of cards....Take a minute to read the letter he wrote, It comes to you today from the Mercy Ships Canada page.

A letter from Thierno

Strong Work Media Team.....Strong Work!

So proud of the story this media team put together when they visited the ship at the beginning of our outreach in the Congo. I truly feel so blessed to be a part of this amazing stuff.....I love my life!! Click here for a glimpse at life on the Africa Mercy!

What does Love look like?

This is a question I’ve asked myself over and over in the last few weeks. I think I began asking myself the question only minutes after I received the call that I needed to come home. I thought about it a lot during my nearly 23 hour travel home, and it has consumed my thoughts late into the night after my Grandma has gone to bed. It’s popped into my mind as I look at her across the room sitting quietly in her chair, and it’s blaring as I pack up this life here again only to board another plane to Africa...... What does love look like? Does it look the same to everyone? Does it transcend all languages?  Does it have a universal symbol?

Love is something we all reach out for and crave, it’s what makes this great world spin and what our Father gave to us freely. We see it on billboards and commercials. We sing about it in songs, and plaster it on cards. The Beetles said that “All you need is love” and Ingrid Michaelson said that “love can pay the bills” For me, I have never had a deficit, not once. Even in my worst moments when I have felt alone, I have never ever been without love. I have been shown so much love in my lifetime by so many people, and have felt surrounded especially during this time with the loss of my Grandpa. 

In the last few weeks these are a few ways love has looked to me:

Love has looked like friends putting important tasks and jobs to a screeching halt and staying up half the night so that I wouldn’t have to be alone. It’s listening and crying alongside a friend even when you can’t find the right words. It’s being handed freshly made cups of coffee in between meetings, and it was in the room when I came back after a long day of organizing my departure to find my laundry done and folded. It was there as I was given one last “see you later” hug only to be handed a bag of snacks thoughtfully packed for a long plane ride. It’s in the notes quietly slipped between clothes only to be discovered once my feet were back on American soil. It’s text messages and phone calls across the oceans and across state lines. It’s a handmade card in the mail from a dear friend far away. It’s driving hours one way to be there on a hard day. It’s a best friend dropping all her plans at the last minute in order to cram all proper fall activities into one day. Love is staying up late to just “be” next to a beloved friend and waking up early in order to fit one more cup of coffee into the day......

To my Grandma love looks like cleaning kitchen cabinets and sleeping in her bed so that she doesn’t have to be alone. It’s holding together the pieces for her when her heart was just torn in half. It’s being there every moment of every day as she figures out her new life. It’s being the reminder to take medication when that is the last thing on your mind.  It’s being present when the other part of you has gone missing, and you know that it’s never coming back. It’s making noise, in a house that soon will be far too quiet after spending 56 years in it with the love of your life.

If you put 10 people in a room and asked them to describe love, they may all give different answers. The answers could be simple, flowery, poetic or funny depending on your crowd, but for me;  Love is practical, Love takes time, Love is being present, and Love can transform your life.  It’s thoughtful, generous, and time consuming. It’s putting yourself out there and expecting nothing in return. It’s wonderful to receive and even better to give. It’s in the bigger things, but it’s also in the smaller gestures. It’s in the actions that make the other person pause and reflect, grateful for the people they have surrounded themselves with and the life they have formed.......Love will always win, Love is all around us, and I think I agree with the Beetles.....Love is all we need.

Unexpected

I’ve put this blog off for days--2 weeks in fact........ I’ve finally slowed, and have forced myself to put some words on paper. I don’t know exactly what to say, but I know that I need to explain my long absence. I had to leave the Africa Mercy for awhile, and today 16 days after I arrived home, two weeks after he died, and one week after we laid him to rest, I write this sitting in my Grandpa’s chair. 

On July 22nd, my 25th birthday, one of our worst fears came to be. The pain in my Grandpa’s ribs that we had talked about for 2 weeks was more than just an ache. He had bone cancer in multiple spots the worst of which was in his back. I was at the very end of six amazing weeks at home, and the next day I was due to go back to the Africa Mercy. It was a horrible night of contemplation, but based on him saying, “now Hannah, you ARE getting on that plane tomorrow and you WILL go and help people” I went. The next day I boarded a plane and met the ship to sail into the Republic of Congo for another field service. The last two and a half months have been off and on, one step forward and two steps back. I have talked to my Mom almost every day getting updates on what was happening with Grandpa. As time went on we had small victories and major setbacks. It was horrible to watch my family struggle from another continent. Helpless was the word I used most to describe my feelings. It was consuming, and insanely difficult. We always left each conversation with me asking, “Do you need me?” and my Mom always replying, “Not yet Boo...not yet”.  Many doctors appointments, radiation treatments, a feeding tube, home oxygen and several transfusions later I received the phone call that I knew deep inside me would eventually come no matter how much I prayed it wouldn’t. Grandpa was ill, and It was time for me to come home. Only after all we had battled through, this one hit my family like a 90mph curve ball---my grandpa had suffered a devastating stroke while in hospital. We didn’t see it coming, and there was no way for us to anticipate this twist.  It didn’t look recoverable, and over the phone at two am locked in my friends bathroom, my family and I had those horrible end of life conversations that no one ever wants to have. In a little over 48 hours I filled out all the paperwork, handed over my job educating the local nurses, said goodbye to my amazing friends, took one last ride through Pointe Noire and boarded a plane home. The 22 hours of flying time were some of the longest. Finding a place for internet at the airports, waiting for that message, unsure of whether I would make it home in time. I arrived back on US soil the 13th, my Brother and Dad picked me up, and we drove straight to the hospital. I got in at 7:15pm.  Jet lagged, greasy, and emotional I went to see him.... 

I had 24 hours with my Grandpa before he passed. He was not conscious any of those hours, but it was a time for me to just be with him. To tell him stories of the Congo, reminisce about all those times we had while I was growing up, and share with him my deep love for him. To tell him that it was okay for him to go be with Jesus, and assure him that we would all take care of Grandma. It was so difficult, but a beautiful time for my family to surround him. It was incredible that during his entire illness, he never had to spend the night alone. He had someone with him around the clock. He was loved so deeply, and it was evident during his last days how greatly he was cared for. How many lives he had impacted, and how well he had raised a family. My Grandpa went to be with Jesus on Monday October 14th with 6 of his surrounding his bed. We wept together, and as he left this world we knew that he was going somewhere far greater than here.  For the next week we camped out at my Grandma’s. Supporting one another, mourning together, sorting through photos, and just celebrating the life of one of the greatest men I have ever known. My Grandpa was a proud man, and he constantly made me laugh. He was famous for his printed T-shirts with clever sayings, his sandals that left permanent tan lines on his feet, and his 2 sweaters that he had worn for the last 20+years. He was known for his glory days in the Barber Shop quartet, his many years behind the meat counter at the grocery store he owned, and his 25+years working for Pitney Bowes. He will be remembered for his ridiculous ability to rig anything with a rubber band and a paper clip, his affinity for tarp straps, and his jokes. He will be remembered for his amazing cooking, his love for motorcycle trips, his proud service to the military,and his use of the saying “simmer down” to his giggling grandchildren. He will be remembered for his incredible ability to remember dates, his long stories, his love for fishing and his hilarious emails. He taught me to save, to take care of what I had, to re-use things. He taught me loyalty and how to honor those you love. He taught me how to serve with zeal, and that you should always give to another human. He was highly regarded by all who knew him, and he will be so deeply missed. There is a definite hole in my heart, and I really can’t believe that he’s gone. His life is permanently ingrained in my soul, and who I am today is in so many ways because of him.....It won’t make sense to any of you, but as far back as I can remember he always said it to me, and I always knew it...... “I love you bushels, pecks, heapy gobs, and more and more too”.

I love you Grandpa, and I can’t wait to meet you again one day.........

Adjustment....

This week has been a tough one on the wards. They have seen heartbreak and success, and I have only shared in a brief moment of it all. I love my new job, but I feel absolutely disconnected from the place I love most. I have my second shift on the wards this evening after they have been open for a week, and I cannot wait. It feels strange to walk down the hallway multiple times a day, and to not be a part of the beautiful life happening behind the doors. To have a heavy heart for all the hard cases and joy for all the happy ones, but not really know the patients at that core level. To not have them excited to see me, because after all, who am I? The girl who walks through and greets everyone, but not the one who stays late into the night holding their hands when they are scared. I guess it would be safe to say I am mourning the loss of my old job.......I can't put any words to the week, but I know my friends Deb and Amy can....please take a moment to read and pray for sweet little baby girl's family.

Amy's blog

Deb's blog
-->  please read further down as she speaks of other patients on the wards


As for my one patient I have been able to care for, she had her surgery yesterday. We will call her "G" and when I went down to visit her after the case, her mama had nothing but tears of joy. I can't wait to share her after photo with you all...she is beautiful.

It's all about perspective.....

After posting my blog earlier today, I began thinking that maybe I could help you to read about the screening day from at least a few of those 311 angles.

To read about Jay's perspective click Here

Read what's on Deb's heart Here

To read from my dear friend Jasmin click here

To hear from the highly loved Ali click here

Read about Josh's take on the day here

KJ writes about here day here

Michelle writes here

I'll post more photos as they are released to us through the media team, but for now here are a few from the big day......

...A view of the line...

...The prayer station...

...Our founder Don Stephens with a woman who was waiting in line...

...Thousands patiently waiting...

...This looks into where my friends at pre-screening stood...

This very well be one of my favorite pictures from the day.... This is a photo of John, our finance director onboard. He was a patient escort for the day, and this was captured as he gave a mama a break from carrying her severely disabled son......it is moments like this that helps me to know why I am here.

**All photo and video credits go to the AMAZING Mercy Ships Media Team**

A day of hope....

It was written on the faces of every person I saw on Wednesday---- hope. Hope for an opportunity, a chance to be helped, a chance to be made well by this big white ship.

Wednesday was the day we had been looking forward to for months. All the prep work had been done, and the anticipation was at max. As we set off in the land rovers at 0530, the excitement was palpable. Today was the day we were going to finally meet so many of the people whom we will share this next 10 months with. This was the day we would meet the faces we would laugh, cry, and rejoice with. This is the day that the patient stories would begin for this outreach. The day that we would meet the thousands who have been hopeless for so long, and to finally give them a chance. 

Although the line began forming the night before, it continued to grow throughout the day. Over the course of the day we have estimated that there were 7,534 people in line. 4,236 patients and caregivers came through the main gate and 1,326 were given a “yes” by the prescreening nurses to be seen by the surgeons. It was a long and overwhelming day for all involved, but it was also an amazing day. It was a very special day to be a part of, and I am so thankful to be given the opportunity to continue living out my passion. 

What I have written below is my account of screening day. If you were to ask someone else, they will have a very different story. It’s amazing to think of this day from all 311 angles of the crew on site. No two of us will have the exact same memories or the same lingering feelings--it was a unique experience for each and every one of us. We all were a part of a greater story that day, all a part of the bigger picture. Some crew members spent their day taking histories of potential patients, some spent the day handing out water and food, and some assisted the surgeons. Some wrote out patient appointment cards, some helped to walk people from one point to the other and some spent their day praying. There were joyful moments to the day, and if you asked me for my overall view on the day I would say that it was absolutely incredible how many people we saw and could help. However the people who I will remember forever are not the ones we said “yes” to. But rather those I had to look in the eye and say “no” to as I watched their hearts break and spirits whither.

I knew going into this year that my experience would be different from the year before. I knew that as a “line screener” I would have a much harder job. I had prepared myself, but It still for me was one of the hardest days I’ve had in Africa. Actually, I take that statement back-- it was one of the hardest days of my life. As a “line screener” my role for the day was to walk up and down the lines essentially picking out the people that I knew we could not help. I was paired with a wonderful Congolese man name “Cena” to translate for me. When we began walking the lines at 0630 I quickly knew that we were going to be a great team.  We said a quick prayer for wisdom and safety and with our hearts pounding in anticipation headed out into the crowd. 

One of my very first patients of the day was named Victoria. I saw her almost instantly from far away, and as I slowly approached I braced myself for what I knew was to come. Victoria has a severely misshapen body and although I have never seen this condition in the West it is not uncommon here in Africa. I have seen many people who look just like her in the markets both here in the Congo and in Guinea last year. Due to her crumpled, twisted skeleton, she actually moves about on all fours, something very similar to a dog. She wears flip flops on her hands to protect them from the African soil and is considered the lowest of the low here in Africa shamed by all that look at her. She had been waiting in line with her mother for hours--hoping that maybe this would be the day her body could be changed. I spoke with her for a few minutes telling her how sorry I was, but that unfortunately this was something that we could not do. I was crouched down with my knees in the sand so that I could look her in the eyes as I delivered this terrible blow. She held it together, stoic, unwavering.....until I told her that I thought she was beautiful. Tears began streaming down her face, matching the ones coming down mine. I honestly don’t know if she had ever been told that before. Imagine living your entire life without one person ever saying that you were beautiful, that you were worth something. I prayed for her and sent her on her way. It was not even 6:45am and I stood tears still lingering in my eyes as I watched her maneuver her tangled limbs back through the line. 

I took a deep breath, regrouped and moved on, knowing that the day would not be getting any easier. 

The morning continued much the same, walking up and down the lines telling people how sorry I was and turning them away. Working my way through the line, it was obvious to me at one point in the day that people were avoiding my eyes. They were actually hiding behind other people, or turning their heads the other way so that I wouldn’t look at them. I could see their fear and desperation and it broke my heart. I could see that they were afraid that my eyes would lock with theirs, and that they would be the next person I would ask to step out of line and ultimately send away. The thought hit me like a load of bricks.... To them, I was just like a vulture picking out my next prey. My “prey” were the kids with obvious neurological problems, and adults with leg or arm deformities. It was the elderly people who I knew would tell me they have leg, back and body pain---spent from years of hard labor. It was honestly shocking how many people I could peg, before even beginning the conversation. As the day went on, face after face, conversation after conversation, I realized that the hardest for me were the mamas and papas who looked hopefully into my eyes as they took their children off their backs and said “He does not walk, he does not stand, and he does not speak”. Each had the same words, but  even without these I already knew their story.  I knew the words that would come out of their mouths long before they even saw me looking at them across the line. I knew their story after seconds of looking into their deep dark eyes. A few could focus and track my movement, those were the Cerebral Palsy kids. Others had devastating neurological injuries  and had no awareness of what was going on around them, a life filled with blank stares and non-purposeful movements. These injuries for some were maybe due to prolonged labor and others from the high fevers associated with malaria. Each parent that I talked to looked at me desperately as I explained that this was not their fault. That this was no ones fault, and I watched in their eyes as I told each of them that there are children born in my own country just like this. Each one had a spark, for just a brief moment. I could tell they were thinking, could this be true? Could it be true that there are children born in the west just the same? Each parent I complimented on what great care they were taking of their child. How I could tell they were an amazing mama or papa by the facts that their children were clean, without sores, and well fed. I showed each of them how to do passive exercises with their child to prevent their arms and legs from contracting. But this wasn’t enough, because at the end of it, no matter how many compliments I paid and tips I gave--I was still sending them away hopeless. I had confirmed for them that their child would always be this way. That no amount of surgery or medicine could change their outcome. I will never forget the Papa who sat weeping as I prayed for him and his son. I will never forget how he sat for a few more moments, my hand on his back. How he slowly looked over at me, wiped away his tears, gathered up his belongings and walked away carrying his son with his head held high into the world that would not be kind to them. 

This heartbreaking process went on for hours----12 hours and 20 minutes to be exact. My translator, Cena, caught on so quickly. He could tell when I paused and took a deep breath that we were going to approach someone and give the dreaded “No”. He saw parts of me that day that few have ever seen. He saw me praying for people who I knew would continue out their lives without another opportunity for help. He heard my prayers, when all my patients could discern was their name. He heard me asking God to give these beautiful people strength, provision, and comfort. He saw my tears, and he heard my cries to above to give them all that they would need to care for themselves. For him it was just as difficult. I was the one making these decisions, directing these difficult conversations. But ultimately it was him delivering the news. He was the one whose words could be understood. Who they would remember speaking with the day their hope disappeared. 

Some people were stoic in receiving the news, others could not believe it but eventually accepted it and walked away. The hardest were the ones who stood in front of you and continued to ask why. There was one woman who I had to turn away that I feel physically ill every time I think about. As she stood in front of me and I told her that we could not help she transformed from stoic to emotional. I kept explaining and telling her how sorry I was, but she did not move. Finally, she burst into tears. As she wiped them away with her beautiful green dress she looked me straight in the eyes and asked boldly, “If you won’t help me, then who will?” To this I had no words, because she was spot on-- it left my gut aching and my mouth dry.  The two word answer to this question I knew; No One. No one will help her, no one will try to ease her burden, no one will show her compassion, love, or her worth. 

I know that we can’t change the whole world, but we can change it for a person at a time. That day I felt as though I changed many worlds....but not for the better.  I can’t stay wrecked in this sad spot, because I know that for every “no” I said, there were many other crew members saying “yes” to someone else. As much as it is my inclination to think of all the people I spoke to, I actively have to remember all the other faces in the line. All of the people who I didn’t talk to because for them, the answer was an obvious “yes”. 

Starting this evening our wards will begin to fill with patients. I am slowly transferring out of the dark and back to my other way of thinking. I am regaining  excitement for our service here, but am still working out the hurt, the raw emotion and the ache that comes with knowing we can never fix all the brokenness in the world. As much as it hurts, this is the country in which we work and the people in which I have been called to serve. The poorest of the poor. Those without another opportunity, those who have very little hope. 

As this service starts please just be thinking of us over here in Congo. I know that we will do so much good in the next 10 months, and I’m excited to share that all with you as it comes...but for now, please just sit in the reality of why we are here with me.....this sickening, hard, place. The place where as hard as it may be, we choose to see the need in order to feel the necessity for action.

Prescreening

It’s not often that a ship filled with 400 volunteers whose goal is to provide medical care flows out into the street. The past two weeks have been a constant coming and going that leaves the streets of Pointe-Noire with a laundry list of questions. Why are you here? What do you mean you live on a ship in the port? What kind of surgery do you do? Can you take me to your ship? Some people look at our skin and guess that we are from the big white hospital ship others have no idea why we are here. Once we tell them that we are here to provide medical care, the question that always follows is what types of things can you help me with? We explain about our specialties; Orthopaedic for children less than 15 years of age, cleft lips, cleft palates, facial tumors, VVF, hernias, cataracts, dental problems...People are typically excited to hear, and It can be a compelling thing to meet potential patients out in the streets. Instructing them to come to our screening day, leaving them with bits of paper with the screening day details and hoping that they will turn up. It can also be a hard thing, when you meet people with very real needs, but unfortunately just not something we can help with. Our taxi driver the other evening actually brought his child to us, just to make sure after we had instructed him that it sounded like something we couldn’t help with. It was an obvious neurologic deficit...something that as much as we all wanted to, we just can’t help. It’s something after a year of being here that you will certainly have to do, but it never gets easier to squash someone’s hope. The look in their eyes as you say, “ I’m so sorry, but we can’t help” is the absolute worst. To see that glimmer leave, to see their hearts sink, and to watch as they pull their emotion back and say thank you. It’s heartbreaking--as much as we want to change their world, we can’t. What we can do is leave them with ideas for comfort measures, and some prayer-- which sometimes feels like a courtesy prize...but I know that our God can take care of things. That he cares for all of us, even that little boy who may never walk, talk, or be considered normal...

As we prep for our big screening day on Wednesday, we are anticipating thousands of people. The team has been planning for months and it’s all hands on deck as we near closer to the day when we will meet so many of our prospective patients over the course of 12 hours....

One story that has left an impact I think on so many of us here on the ship is the story of our first patient. Monday the 12th my friend Mirjam flew in from Holland. The group that came that evening was one the first to arrive by plane into the Congo. That evening we all were able to see the way God weaves our lives together. How he is a constant provider, and how faithful he is. There is a man who lived in Nigeria. He has had a tumor for 12 years, and has been unable to receive help. Recently someone told him that he should go to the Mercy Ship--that they (we) would be able to help. So he found out where we would be next, and he saved, and he put himself on a plane to the Republic of Congo. He boarded the plane with hope and the dream to have his surgery. I can’t imagine all of that planning, determination, and drive only to arrive in the country, and then think---how exactly do I find this ship?

But as I said, God provides. That evening he was sitting out near the airport, and he saw a flip of a sign that had the Mercy Ships logo printed on it. That sign was held by one of our crew, there to pick up a group of arrivals. This could be where the story ended, that moment of sheer joy when he found the ship! But it’s get’s much better than that.....In that group of arrivals happened to be two of the four screening coordinators. (pretty much the very very best possible people to be in the presence of in his current situation). He explained his situation and they jumped into work mode, literally 30 minutes after touching down on Congolese soil. They found him a place to stay that evening, and now he is living at our unopened Hope Center-awaiting screening day this coming weekend.  Can you imagine how many things in that scenario could have gone wrong? How he could have not seen the sign, or how there could have been a different group flying in? But no--God is good, and he put everyone in the right place that evening to provide for the first patient of the outreach. 

Looking forward to this week we need God’s provision. We need his hand on all of us as we try to carry out his work here in the Republic of Congo. We need wisdom, discernment, and stretch to carry out his beautifully orchestrated plan..

#sail with us

A view from the top deck--Does this make you a wee bit nauseous? 

Don't worry--we didn't have to use them!

....Beautiful blue seas....

Yes-we flew kites, and yes-some of them were homemade

Just a few of the dolphins along the way who came to play in our waves

Home Sweet Ship

Photos from the day we hit land!

 View from Deck 7

 Our Pilot ---with the advance team!

 Josh- the first Mercy Shipper to touch Congolese soil on that day!

 Waving hello to the port!

 Our "ambulance" at the arrival ceremony

 The gangway being brought down

 It's almost ready!

 Can you see which one of the paparazzi belongs to us?

 Watching the festivities from the deck

We are now open for visitors!

We have arrived!

We have docked in Pointe-Noire! The gangway is down, we have made our formal introductions, and have re-welcomed the advance team. After country briefings, currency exchanges, immigrations, and all the other details that go into brining a big white hospital ship with 300 volunteers into a country we are hoping to be able to at least set our feet on land and walk a bit on the dock tonight. Hopefully our first Congolese adventure will begin tomorrow! More photos and details to come from our journey and arrival ceremony.....its just so great to say, we're alive and in the Congo--let the adventures begin!

A week on the high seas....

We have been sailing across the ocean blue for 8 days now. 8 full days of crashing waves, sitting in hammocks, gazing at ocean life, and star filled nights aboard the Africa Mercy. Deciding to live your life on a ship has it’s perks, and sailing is one of them! In June the sailing from Guinea to the Canary Islands was a different story. I didn’t love the bouncing of the waves, or the cooped up feeling--this sail has been a completely different story. Turns out after a few days you actually get used to the constant feeling of “catching air” and the swaying actually becomes a comforting motion that rocks you to sleep. I’m not exactly sure where we are, and even if I knew I couldn’t tell you for security reasons. But I know this--we are past Guinea-- this is entirely new territory for me and many others aboard. It’s a new experience that we are all embarking upon together. The air is thick with anticipation of what is to come- a whole new ballgame, and one that we can’t wait to start. 

---Somewhere in the next few days we will cross the Equator and the Prime Meridian at the same time--0 degrees latitude and 0 degrees longitude. To most of you (and to me until about 1 week ago) this means nothing......but as I have learned, this is something that very few people will ever do in their life, and for the sailing world it gives you the prestigious title of  “Royal Diamond Shellback”. Currently I am still a “slimy pollywog”, but in the next few days that will change! --> If you don’t believe me google it--I swear it’s the real deal!

---As crazy as life can be on this ship, it’s home. Where else in the world do you fly kites off the back of the ship, watch movies almost every night, lay for hours in a hammock, and have pirate dance parties complete with eye patches, swords, and pirate tattoos?....This life surrounded by friends in the same season doing something you love is simply the best, and no matter how many times you do it, it is still bizarre to look out the window and realize that your home is puttering along down the ocean with only the horizon in sight....

Six weeks

Six Weeks---It seems like a long time, but when it’s all you have to catch up with friends, family, and supporters it feels quite ridiculously short. I was greeted by the best friends in the whole world at the airport, and from that moment on I never stopped moving. Six weeks were broken down to this: a short few days in St. Louis, a week with family on vacation, a week back in St. Louis meeting up with several friends per day, a rainy week with two amazing friends in North Carolina, a weekend at home, a week back in STL, a fantastic weekend with two friends from the ship, one more week roaming about between 4 different cities to see friends and my grandparents, and POOF! Six weeks had flown by and I was spending my birthday with my two best friends, stopping by a few houses for one more hug, dinner with my parents, and finished the night packing my bags to head off on another year long adventure. On the ship looking forward to life at home was something I was holding on to towards the end of the outreach, but to be honest the transition was sort of difficult at first. I roamed about feeling as though my eyes were open like a bugs and I was completely unable to form coherent sentences. What exactly was overwhelming? Everything. Every single thing. Having friends and family so close, driving a car, going for a walk by myself, going out in public and having everyone understand, dogs on leashes, grass, trees, clean streets and cross walks. The list goes on and on, the wonderful US of A was just too much. Simple daily things like ordering a beer were tough- the options were endless and I had spent the last 10 months with three very similar options. Some days I was fine, then there were others, like the day the face-wash aisle at Target got the best of me. After 10 months of cherishing any half used left behind bottle I could find on ship having an entire aisle to choose from was a breaking point. About 3 weeks in to my time at home I got over my shock, and really sank back into life. I LOVE home, I love the people, the places, the sights, the sounds and smells. I love being able to call a great friend to meet up for coffee at the drop of a hat. I love sitting down for long chats with cherished friends and I love the ease of getting around. I loved the speed of internet, the long distance drives to see friends and the convenience of grocery shopping. By the end of my time I wasn’t ready to go. I had finally fit back in and life was looking great! I had found my groove, reconnected with people, and I wasn’t ready to give up the comfort and familiarity again. There were days I just wasn’t sure, and then I would show someone my photos or talk about life on the AFM and realize that it is exactly where I am supposed to be. Home is easy and wonderful, but in Africa I can use my skills to do something I fully believe in. It was hard to go, and I miss everyone already, but I know that this is in my plan and it is my given purpose. Six weeks flew by, and it was a wonderful taste of what I love so much...but for now, it’s back the the Africa Mercy I go........see you next year USA! 

The taxi man...

     This past week was a roller coaster ride, ups and downs and more ups. The week was full to the brim as our time in the hospital came to a close. It has been so amazing seeing this whole service start to finish. When I came to the ship we were unpacking things, putting together charts, praying over the beds that would soon be filled. And now, we do the exact opposite, breaking down charts and taking beds down one by one as their occupants return back to their families and villages, stashing things away until we will need them again in the next country. The patients were condensed down into D ward on Wednesday and the other three wards were broken down and packed away. The majority of our patients left Thursday...... all but one actually.There was one lone patient on the ward Thursday evening, and guess who that man was-- My “T”. He is hands down my very favorite patient of this whole outreach, and he pretty much has been a constant in the ever changing wards. It was really nice to have him around until the very last day--sort of incredible actually. We took him out to dinner Thursday night as a special treat, and on our way back something happened that I want to share with you all.

     As we were walking back, T said that maybe we should walk down this side street instead of the main road. I replied, “It’s okay T, we are champions of this town, we know where we are going”, he laughed and shook his head, but since we were looking for a pair of sunglasses to protect his eye, we ended up walking down a side road after all. As we got closer to the ship, T slowed down near a corner. He began talking to Sam, one of our chaplains who had come to dinner with us. As the two men were talking Sam simply stopped walking, and was just look intently at T as he listened closely, hanging on to every word. Sam then relayed this story to us, it warmed my heart and I think it will touch yours too.

     After we first met T at the big screening day in September, he came to the ship and stayed overnight for a biopsy. The next day he was driven back to the assembly point in the city, and dropped off with all other patients. It was a rainy day, and there were few taxis running. T was feeling weak and pretty empty, it was yet another tough day with a nearly 12 pound tumor crushing his face and airway. As they sat on the curb trying to catch a taxi, not a single one would stop and the ones that slowed would keep going when they saw him. They sat there for quite some time in the rain, and T was feeling pretty low. While they were waiting, a man happened to look out of his home and could tell that T was suffering. He came out and spoke to them, and then promptly stopped the next taxi that drove by. He asked them where they were going, and then asked the taxi driver how much that would cost to rent the car as “private” for their voyage. 50,000 GNF, nearly 8 USD, the driver replied quickly, knowing full and well that it was an unfair price. Without hesitation the man handed over the money without even trying to bargain for a fair rate. He put T and his Mom in the car, wished them well, and sent them on their way. That day he did something that he could have possibly never known the outcome of. He did not know that T would fight the biggest battle of his life and win, he simply saw T and made the conscious decision to better him, without asking for anything in return. In a country where most believe those with tumors to be cursed, this gesture is unheard of. This stranger stepped out of his comfort, looked past his disfiguring tumor, and provided for another human being who was in a desperate place. He gave what he could, very possibly using his own food or rent money to bestow a blessing on a complete stranger. Watching T’s face as he told this story, I know that it was a moment he will never ever forget, a bright spot in his many years of darkness. Every time he comes to the ship, he stops by this corner and shakes the man’s hand who made it possible for him to keep going that day.....As we walked by he was sitting outside, and we were able to shake his hand and thank him for what he did for our friend, our fighter, our beloved T. This is just one of the many things that I have learned here. That you don’t have to be a millionaire, or even have much, but you will always have something, no matter how small, that can change someones life.

Rain.....

The rainy season has begun. Long gone are the dusty dry days under the African sun, and in its place, the humid and muggy afternoons. It has been raining pretty frequently at night for the last 2 weeks, but today as we sat eating dinner we could see the storm clouds coming in across the city. As all ship bound people do, we headed to the top deck to watch the storm roll in. It’s quite the site, so many people standing outside gaping at the sky. It felt so communal and so strikingly familiar, similar to what you would find on front porches of every small town across America. Kids and adults of various nationalities, united to watch the glorious rain. The powerful surges of rain were dancing across the water, and pouncing in the distance. It was one of those moments you could never capture on film, too beautiful for even the finest cameras. We ran around playing for awhile, even turning the top deck into a slip and slide. (which I am unashamed to say was more for the adults than the kids) As this place returns to the rainy season, it too is yet another reminder of all that has happened during our time here. We came to Guinea in the very tail end of the rainy season, and have spent nine months in the lush green that is it’s offspring.  As we prepare to leave this coming weekend the locals are gearing up for another long rainy season to enter. It’s just another tangible reminder that there is a season for everything in life, and for Guinea, this season is full of beautiful rain. 

Full Circle

As we wind down, with only 5 days of surgery left my heart is full. The patients who have become friends are healing and going home. The miracles that we needed have come through, and only a few are left waiting for their turn to finish healing to give them a brand new face to show the world. Old friends are coming back for last minute surgeries before we head out, and so many familiar faces are back. “L” has been back on the wards for a few weeks, and it is amazing to hear his laughter and screams of “Annah”! down the hallways. Just this past week “T” came back in for his last surgery before we leave. This is the surgery he was supposed to have last time to revise the skin on his face and around the eye that was left stretched from the tumor. The results from his biopsies are back, and three of the four tissues we sent were in fact Ameloblastoma. For now, All we can do is pray that we were able to get better margins around the tumors this time and that they won’t return. Until he meets up with the ship again when it returns to a neighboring country we just pray that his tumor does not return. That he can maintain his excellent outlook on life and that he can remain in excellent spirits, and the same loveable “T” that we have been able to spend so much of our time with here in Guinea. As we head into this last week I think we are all reflecting on our time in this beautiful country with these amazing people. We’ve had many heartbreaks, many triumphs, much joy, and above all, so much love. It’s a bittersweet week---knowing how much we have been able to do, but realizing how great the need still is. I just ask that you take a moment to think of us as you go about your week, and just pause to think about the amazing people of Guinea who will always have a piece of my heart. 

My Boys---T and L sporting their eye patches

The Epic Trek

This past weekend was one we have been looking forward to for weeks! With only 3 weeks left of surgery, our time here in Guinea is quickly coming to a close. We planned a trip to Dalaba, roughly 8 hours by taxi upcountry, and where I spent several days between Christmas and New Years. Because of the protests that are happening here in the city, we were cleared to go by the captain with the stipulation that we needed to get out of town by 0630 or we wouldn’t be able to go at all. The deadline of 0630 was put in place because leaving any later would risk us getting stuck in riots that were planned for the day. We talked several times of coming up with a back up plan, but instead persevered and a fantastic friend agreed to come in to work at 545am to let me leave a tad early from my night shift. I handed over my patients, sprinted out to change and grab my pack which I had put together the night before. We made it to the major market and began bargaining for a taxi to get us out of the capital city to the next small town to find a shared taxi to take us upcountry. We bargained, and were jumping in a taxi to head upcountry. Laura set her bag in the backseat keeping her eyes on it, and before we knew it some guy off the street had jumped in, was going through her bag about to pocket some of her cash. Our taxi driver saw him just seconds before we did, and several men had him out of the car, searched, and the money returned before we even knew how to react. Theses two men, Elijah and Erun, refugees from neighboring Sierra Leone--quickly earned our trust. I mean who doesn’t want to essentially hitchhike with two guys who just protected you? We made it to the next town about 1.5 hours out of the city and found out that there weren’t any taxi’s heading upcountry. After spending about half an hour negotiating prices, lots of arguing, chatting in English, French, and Krio, throwing in mangos and a banana to our deal and making them laugh a few times with our ridiculous proposals we all headed off on our adventure. The ride was fairly uneventful, and we picked up a few randoms along the way. My favorite passenger was the man who was heading upcountry to sell firewood and his 6 live and feisty chickens that were promptly shoved into the trunk next to our backpacks like it was nothing out of the ordinary. 

Post night shift riding in a taxi------     

We arrived in Dalaba around 5pm. Hot, tired, very very dusty, and ready to settle in and make our plans for the weekend. We bought dinner off the street and settled outside to eat our first of many meals of avocado and cheese on delicious crusty bread.  

      We met our guide Lamarana the next morning and headed off to market to pick up food before our daylong trek. Here in Africa it is normal to carry things on your head, not on your back. So we really were quite a site hiking through the streets with big ole packs on our backs. Three funny looking fotay’s (white people)

Our walk was gorgeous through the countryside. The topic of many of our conversations  were our patients. How amazing they are, how they persevere through so much, how they have so much stacked against them from day one and how they still come through against all odds. The beautiful hills of Guinea are breathtaking, and it’s easy to place each of our patients in their home environment. Working in the fields, preparing the evening meal, carrying babies on their backs, and selling goods in the market. 

A family we met along the way in front of their hut 

We found a small lost sheep along the way, and took a moment for a snuggle.

                

These guys are known as "thief" sheep because they will steal things straight out of your home. Notice their "collars" and the sticks that they so happily sport that prevent them from entering through doorways.....crafty little guys!

Apparently one of the things the French brought to the “cold” upcountry Guinea was Pine Trees---I don’t think I will ever get over this. A pine tree forest, in West Africa--how odd, right?

Our dirty, dusty feed after day one of trekking

A few ladies who sold us crafts in their village

Spending the night in the village we sat out of the front porch and had a long chat about the world. As we talked, the idea of how we fit in the world came up. This village, on top of a mini-mountain in Guinea has no electricity. It doesn’t having running water, or a toilet. But it exists just fine, it functions off the earth. God gave them everything they need in the trees,bushes, and animals to survive. They don’t have many of the things we in the west would call “necessities” but it’s their normal, they are happy and it works.......

A major conversation of that evening under the stars included the idea that we were “sitting on the edge of the world”. This village has no idea or need to know what is happening in the US right now. If we told them about the bombings in Boston, or some of the headlines on CNN what would they think? If we told someone in the US about the comings and goings of this particular village in Guinea, would they care? The answer is no, probably not. We both share this earth, but have virtually no interaction. We three girls could be the ONLY American’s to ever come through that village. The only three to ever step on that particular soil, the only ones to ever sleep in that house and use that squatty potty. Letting that soak in is kind of life shattering, huh?

Our home for the night

We planned to sleep in hammocks and sleeping bags, but after carrying them roughly 25 miles up and down mini-mountains we found out that it wasn’t exactly an accepted practice to sleep outdoors, particullarly because we were female. So instead, we swept some mouse poo off the bed and slept on top of our hammocks.  

A group of ladies on their way to the market, goods stored on their heads and babies on their backs

On our last kilometer of our trek back to the hotel a motor bike flew by and as we turned around we say someone hop off and start running toward us. It was Alhassane, a patient from the beginning of the outreach. Laura and I knew him, but Lydia became a quick friend to him. He invited us happily to his home, and was so excited that we accepted his offer. He brought us into the compound and through his front door, pulling up chairs and immediately offered us something to drink. It once again put our lives in perspective, Alhassane had literally a desk with his books on it, and a mat on the floor in which he slept, and he was offering us, the rich westerners, something. As we visited he asked about those nurses who were on the ship back in the fall by name. Remembering them, asking how they were settling back into life in their home countries and asking us to greet them.  As our time came to a close we gave him all the sunscreen we had, being Albino is West Africa is not easy. It is literally impossible to buy suncreen here. For those with African skin there is no need for protection, leaving the large population of Albino people scorched from the sun.  

Along the way we may or may not have had a small run in with bed bugs. I was not completely educated in this fastidious little creatures, but Lydia was an expert.  She had self-diagnosed with Laura’s help and upon returning to the ship, the first priority was stripping down, bagging up all of our stuff, showering, and then researching. Now I do not advise looking up bed bugs unless you want the heebie jeebies. It turns out those resilient little guys could essentially survive an atomic bomb and go nearly all of eternity without food.  After devising a plan to wash our clothes at roughly 122 degrees F we realized that our packs were going to be a different story. Apparently it is not advised to wash backpacks at such a high temperature, so our alternative---freeze it. We placed our packs, hammocks, and sleeping backs inside jumbo garbage bags and froze them for about 7days in one of the ships walk in freezers. These bug bites are far worse than being attacked by mosquitos I am fairly certain. A patient even commented on my nickle sized welt marks on my hands and arms! 

On our way back we piled into a shared taxi with 6 other people (because 7 people in one car is normal, right?) The ride back with “Tante” (our new auntie), Binta, the momma with no identification, the driver, and a chicken strapped to the taxi was one speedy and efficient ride. We bought several kilos of delicious mango’s as snacks for less than one dollar. As we sped along the bends and winds in the road, we were just three girls traveling together across the beautiful Guinean landscape. These are the adventures that we will look back on and think about the fun times when we were in our 20’s and living on a ship and serving the people of West Africa.