I Know Who Holds Tomorrow

Screening tomorrow

2012-01-31T15:28:00.000-06:00

I have been back on the ship for just over two weeks, and ever since arriving, there has been one main focus: reopening the hospital. There are many things that all contribute to the effort. First was the unpacking of everything that was stowed for the sail. Then the sudden influx of new and returning hospital staff that all need to be oriented. There's the setup of the wards back to their normal state, and then there's the events. We had a function on the ship for local dignitaries and such on Friday. Yesterday was a busy day with day volunteer orientation in the afternoon (during which I quite nearly lost my voice explaining to 9 different groups how to make and clean beds). Then in the evening we had an open house in the hospital for all the crew to have a fun view of the hospital, which was an absolute riot that I got the joy of going around and photographing. This morning we had a full evacuation drill which included all hospital patients (random crew volunteered for the roles) being evacuated.
The big event though, the one we have been the most excited for, that requires the most planning and organization? That would be the screening tomorrow. As I type this, a few friends have left already to be a part of the overnight security and pre-pre-screening of those that show up overnight. We have put out posters and radio ads (I think) and all kinds of advertising to spread the word of what we can help with and when to show up to get an appointment for surgery. Inevitably, some will come with problems we can't help. We expect somewhere around 5000 people to show up for screening by our medical staff. There will be areas for those with Facial tumours and clefts etc., for those with VVF (problems post childbirth with leaking urine), those with burn scarring and fused hands/limbs etc., and people with hernias and goiters. Finally, there will be an area for those we can't help. These ones will be lead to a prayer station.
It promises to be a long, hot day. Full of joy and suffering. Unforgettable.
Please pray for those who are there overnight, and for those of us involved in screening in the morning. Pray for safety, health, wisdom, understanding, compassion. Please pray for those who come, that those who are not supposed to come would stay away, and those that can be helped would be there. Pray that they might be safe, healthy, and find hope.
We begin our day before the sun rises. Somewhere around 5am local time. (We are 6 hours ahead of Manitoba time) We hope to be done by around 5pm. I'll let you know how it goes, but for now I need to go to bed.

New equipment

2012-01-29T10:43:00.000-06:00

We live on a ship, a hospital ship. It's a unique environment that results in unique challenges. Fire drills are a normal part of life and practiced regularly, involving all of the crew. One concession made is that we generally don't take our patients off of the ship for this, but the possibility always exists that it will one day be necessary, so there are plans for that too.

Being a volunteer organization, we receive a large amount of donated goods, some of it being things that none of us has used before. We recently decided to try out some flexible evacuation sleds that were intended for hospital use. The wonderful thing about them is they roll up tight and don't take up tons of space. But none of us had ever used one before. (Hard stretchers, yes. Flexible ones provided a bit more of a challenge!) With the help of volunteer "patients", the sled/stretcher got a workout (actually, I think the stretcher bearers got the workout!!!) going up and down one flight of stairs, trying to determine the easiest, safest way to use it.

Using three people to carry it works, but the stairwells are tight and the stretcher bends quite a bit.

Another way to get it up was one person at the feet and one pulling the provided rope at the head.

Attempting to pull it up with the rope provided taught us that it was really made to help LOWER people down stairwells. It was really smooth and easy to use for lowering down the stairwell. Because, in most hospitals, you evacuate by going down. Here we need to evacuate by going up... then down.

More practice is planned. As you can see by the smiles, we all had a lot of laughter and fun with trying out the new equipment.

Travelling to Africa with a Subway Sandwich

2012-01-25T17:08:00.000-06:00

How do you make a really long, multiple flight trip to Africa just a little more interesting? Bring a subway sandwich. It's probably not my story to tell, but I was involved, so I think I'll tell you a little about the saga of the sandwich, mixed in with my own trip from Winnipeg to Lome.
I woke up at 4am after about 3 hours of sleep, showered and threw my pajamas into my bags, and set off for the airport with my lovely parents. At the airport, the lines were long and slow, especially the US customs line (seriously? I was only going through a few US airports, did I really have to go through customs for that?). And found out the international side of the Winnipeg airport is sadly lacking in amenities. Oh well. I had a Tim Hortons cookie and a bottle of orange juice for breakfast. I sat on the flight half awake, occasionally glancing out the window, wondering why it was taking so long for us to take off. As I noticed the sun was rising, I looked down at my watch and saw the time was 7:30 (my flight was supposed to leave at 6:30). My foggy brain was just starting to worry about the long delay on the runway, when I opened my eyes further and realized that I wasn't seeing the long flat expanse of the prairies, but rather those were clouds sitting just below the rising sun. We were already flying. I had slept through takeoff without noticing. And then I promptly went back to sleep.
First stop, Chicago airport. They had a sushi place, I almost stopped there. But then I realized it was 9am and I hadn't had a proper breakfast. So I had a wrap with ham, eggs and cheese instead. Later I wished I had tried sushi for breakfast because it wasn't in any of the other airports.
Next flight also involved some dozing. No in-flight movies. Fairly uneventful. Landed in Washington, DC. Took a stroll through the terminal and found it had a few basic restaurants, but travel belly had set in. I find when travelling, I'm mildly nauseated and don't want heavy food. Chocolate, of course, is always acceptable. I sat around reading for an hour, then decided it was time to stretch my legs and maybe buy a soft pretzel. On my stroll I discovered Laura. Laura is one of the girls I knew I'd be meeting up with along the way and travelling the rest of the way to Togo with. After much smiling and hugs, she showed me her amazing find. At the request of a friend on ship, she had tracked down a Subway in the airport and bought a sandwich (sauce on the side) to bring along as a special treat for our friend. The sandwich was lovingly tucked into her big bag, just under her pillow.
Two hours later, two more friends had joined us to wait for our flight to Brussels. Right about the time that we were supposed to be boarding, they told us the mechanics were working on something and we would be delayed about 15 mins until they knew how bad the problem was. Stacia, one of the girls traveling with us, had been praying that she could watch the Giants game. We were delayed 3 hours, exactly the length of the Giants game. She's certain it was divine intervention. Luckily our layover in Brussels was 6 hours, so no worries about missing our next flight.
Long flight, watched a movie, barely slept. Wandered through Brussels airport in a group, took a couple of tries for the two of us without boarding passes to get them, but relatively easy to get them printed off when we were directed to the correct booth. After a little time walking to stretch our legs, we stopped for a snack and lounged. Laura dug through her big bag... and discovered the flat Subway sandwich. Well, maybe a little bent too. Still intact though. Apparently she forgot she had it and had stuffed her pillow in nice and tight while flying. Ooops. I laughed, and since the handles on her bag had recently broken, I joked that it would really top it off if she dropped it. Ten minutes later as we were walking to our next gate it fell out of her bag. We laughed. Hard.
I picked it up and added it to my purse. I couldn't squish it much more than it already was, and my purse could at least zip shut so we wouldn't loose it. We took the shuttle bus to the "African" terminal, and met one more person who was going to be on our next flight with us. We sat there people watching, trying to guess how many of the people on this last flight were going to be on the ship with us. Seth figured all the white people. But there were a lot of white people. I'd say about half actually ended up joining us, maybe less.
This last flight went from Brussels to Abidjan (Ivory Coast) and then Lome (Togo). I got a window seat on the opposite side of the plane from my friends. The guy beside me was from Abidjan, and was very talkative. Sometimes I forget the rules for white girls in Africa. I was honest with him. Instead of pretending I was married, I stuck with the pure, honest truth. The conversation was mostly in french... I suppose I could have pretended I don't speak french. But I wasn't awake/alert enough to fake it. The conversation started with where was I going, where was I from. It ended with him offended that I wouldn't get off the plane with him in Abidjan, multiple offers of places to stay and going to see him at his job and "anytime I want to visit" he would plan my stay etc. Very nice man, seemed to be doing really good business. Oh, and at one point when he asked me if I had any kids and I said "no", he responded with, "we're getting old." Sigh. Needless to say... I was very thankful to be going to Lome. At least he let me sleep. I conked out for approximately 5 hours straight.
Customs in Lome was interesting. The ship has special agreements to do with visas etc in the country we're serving. As the ship hasn't been in Lome long, they're not used to processing our passports so it took them a little while. They kept them all in a little pile for no discernible reason, so we all took turns waiting on passports while we collected our luggage. Happily we all got them back. Then we had to go through the customs section where they check all our luggage tags to make sure we don't steal luggage (I didn't mind that). Then they x-rayed our bags and we moved on pretty fast after that. Through the doors... and there were our other friends, waiting to pick us up!!!!
Hugs and happy chatter and more waiting for everyone to get through, then off to the landrovers to return to the ship. The drive was a blur. Apparently I was tired. Up the gangway with our luggage, check back into the ship and we're HOME!!!!
Drop my bags in my room and back up to the dining room for food. Leftover salmon. I couldn't do it. Not leftover. Not with a travel belly (remember, the mild nausea? Ya.) So I had rice and an apple. Except, my first bite into the apple... was mostly bruise. Apparently the face I made was priceless!
After eating, my tired brain finally remembered something. I have a Subway sandwich in my purse. I should get it back to Laura or to the friend that had asked for it. (Ali) So I head back to the area where the cabins are in hopes of finding one of them. Sure enough, they've both just headed down the hall to find the sandwich. Softly calling "Laura" and holding the sandwich aloft, they both turned.
Ali reverently took the sandwich, giggling and saying "shhh" over and over. Grinning from ear to ear. Opening the ziplock bag, she took a deeeeeep whiff and sighed, declaring it perfect, heavenly, exactly what she wanted. I have never seen someone so happy to have a Subway sandwich. It was epic. Honestly. It was the best moment, to see the joy on her face. The fact that it was squished, battered, and about 26hours old made no difference. It was what she had been dreaming of, and she had it in her hands.
I'd do the whole trip again just to get a reaction like that at the end!

I live in (or on the shores of) Togo!

2012-01-19T09:48:00.001-06:00

Well, I suppose it's about time I filled you in on where I am now. This is going to be a post geared at people who love statistics and such. As I mentioned before, we finished up our field service in Sierra Leone, and sailed to Ghana for Christmas. Except I didn't spend Christmas in Ghana, I went home for Christmas. It was good. Anyways, once I got back to the ship this week, it was already in a new port, in Lome Togo.

As with many African flags, the main colors of the flag are yellow, green and red.

The Currency in Togo is the CFA franc --- current value is 1 Canadian Dollar = 497 CFA

Official language: French

Population estimate: 6, 619, 000

Capital city: Lomé

Religion: 29% Christian; 20% Muslim; 51% Traditional/Tribal beliefs

And now for some more sobering facts taken from the Human Development Index. ( http://hdr.undp.org ) The Human Development Index is used to calculate the health, wealth and economic stability of a nation, based on figures that each nation supplies. I decided to compare Togo to Sierra Leone, where we were last year, and to Canada for some perspective. (as an FYI, when I was looking these up, I compared them to the US, and if we just compare health stats, Canada's health system works quite well!)

Sierra Leone is currently rated 180 on the Human Development Index out of 187

The average life expectancy is: 47.8 years

The mean number of years of schooling is: 2.9

The expected number of years of schooling is: 7.2

Gross National Income is: 737

Population living below $1.25/day: 62.9%

Under-five mortality rate (per 1 000 live births): 192

Adolescent fertility rate (births per 1,000 women aged 15-19): 143.7

Maternal mortality ratio (deaths of women per 100,000 live births): 970

Togo is currently rated 162 on the Human Development Index

The average life expectancy is: 57.1

The mean number of years of schooling is: 5.3

The expected number of years of schooling is: 9.6

Gross National Income is: 798

Population living below $1.25 PPP/day: 38.7%

Under-five mortality rate (per 1 000 live births): 98

Adolescent fertility rate (births per 1,000 women aged 15-19): 65

Maternal mortality ratio (deaths of women per 100,000 live births): 350

Canada is currently rated 6 on the Human Development Index

The average life expectancy is: 81.0

The mean number of years of schooling is: 12.1

The expected number of years of schooling is: 16.0

Gross National Income is: 35,166

Under-five mortality rate (per 1 000 live births): 6

Adolescent fertility rate (births per 1,000 women aged 15-19): 14.0

Maternal mortality ratio (deaths of women per 100,000 live births): 12

So as you can see, Togo is significantly better off than Sierra Leone, but still struggling and in need of help. I haven't been out in town yet, but from everything I've heard, it's quite obvious that we're in a different country, and things are in better shape here. We will be here until the end of June 2012.

If you have more basic questions about where I am, like about the ship itself... here's a picture of the Africa Mercy that I took off of the Mercy ships Canada website:

The ship is 152 meters long, by 23.7 meters wide. There are 8 decks. It has a capacity of 474 berths, though we're rarely full. The draft is 6,00m. Cargo capacity 1724m2. Originally built in 1980 in Denmark.

Finally, if you're wanting to send me mail... (I love mail!) My address is:

Heather Klassen

Mercy Ships -- Africa Mercy

Hospital

PO Box 2020

Lindale, Texas 75771

*if you're sending a package, please add a final line "Via Container"*

It will take a few weeks to get here, but better than making me pay exhorbitant prices for the international mail. Also, container packages cannot contain anything that might remotely be considered hazardous, such as nail polish, hairspray, deoderant, batteries, bugspray, laundry soap, or anything corrosive or flammable. Etc.

Snow

2012-01-14T00:24:00.000-06:00

There are some moments when I truly believe that there just aren't enough descriptive words in the english language. Tonight was one of those times. As I drove home through the lightly falling snow, I realized just how few words there are to explain the beauty that surrounded me. Words to describe the snow.

Cold snow is different from warm snow. Warm snow (when the temperature is close to zero) falls in wet, sticky clumps that fall fast and make heavy thick carpets. Cold snow (when the temperature is below -10 or so) drifts lazily down. Like glittering hummingbird feathers drifting on a breeze it swirls and lifts with any air motion. It covers the roads in an abstract moving pattern reminiscent of the pattern on a marble countertop brought to life. Wet snow piles thick on tree branches and gilds them with a beauty that makes their naked winter limbs more stunning than any leaf cover. Cold snow shimmers around you like a life-sized snow-globe, drifting and falling and catching on your clothing and in your hair to make you glisten like the world around you.

And as you breath in deep, the cold air is so fresh and clean, there is nothing to compare it. Invigorating. In the night time, you could almost believe the world was covered in glitter. In the day it is so blinding white as it reflects the sun that it hurts to look at it. Either way, all the brown, all the ugly, is made so fresh and new. It covers it all, indiscriminately.
No wonder the Bible says He will wash our sins away and we will be made white as snow. I can think of nothing more beautiful, more able to cover and clean a world of filth.
I love the snow.

Thoughts on going home

2011-12-20T17:16:00.001-06:00

I was sitting alone in my room tonight, mending a shirt by hand in a vain attempt to avoid packing. I had turned on Christmas music to try and remind myself of the coming season and the fact that I should be getting ready to go tomorrow. And my mind was a million miles away. Music in the background and busy hands... it's a great way to get some deep thinking done, even when you don't plan on doing some deep thinking.
I realized something... I haven't been excited to go home. Couldn't really explain it, just put it down to trying to get things done in order, prioritizing activities: close down hospital, pack hospital, work in security, sail to Tema, work in Galley, pack up and switch rooms (yup, moving from a 6 berth to a 4 berth... it's big stuff!!).
Tonight I realized it's not just that. It's old fears popping their heads up again. I have this fear of rejection that I've struggled with since I was a child. It's something I have to get past, so I'm going to going to write it out. Bear with me, or just don't bother reading this.
This year has been life-changing. I know I'm different. I've adjusted my opinions on things, grown, changed, learned new ways of thinking, doing, being. You can't go through Gateway, field service, community life and multiple international friends without being changed. You can't come to Africa without being changed, unless you steel your heart to it. How different am I? How much have I changed? I don't know. It's hard to tell here, so many of us have molded our lives together, have shared experiences that are amazing and heart-wrenching and God-inspired. In the sharing, we understand each other better.
Tomorrow I head home for a holiday, and it scares me just a little. First off, I already know I'm going to miss my friends here as though I've cut off one of my hands. But the fear comes in when I think of my friends and family at home... how different will my views and reactions be? Will they see the difference? Will it be a good difference? And how will they react to me?
I want everything to be the same as when I left, because then I just might know how to pick up and continue. I've been the travelling friend for a few years now, and you'd think I would know how to do this, how to jump in and pull those I love close and be the friend I've yearned to be every moment we've been apart. I know though, that life changes all of us, and they will have grown and changed too, I just hope we have grown in similar directions, and that the bond we've known won't be easily broken. I fear returning and being rejected by friends... who've changed or don't like the changes in me.
I know better though. It's time to focus on the positive. To remember the friends I have left have stuck with me through my comings and goings, have been excited with all my adventures. They know where I've come from and they know me. It's time I stopped doubting them.
So if you notice I'm a little hesitant when I get home, or that I'm not as excited as I should be... please help me work through this. And remember I'm leaving a little piece of my heart in Africa.

Sunrise on the Bow

2011-12-20T12:00:00.000-06:00

I'm not a morning person. But we were told that our last day of sailing was the 15th, when we would arrive in port in Tema, and that the last time the bow would be opened was from 6 to 8am that morning. Since I was starting work at 8am, I decided it would be worth it to get up at 6 and watch the sunrise. I slightly missed it, as it rose before then, but thanks to the mist, the sun wasn't visible until almost 6:30 anyways.

The water was so smooth and silky. The handful of people on the bow were quietly watching the water, contemplating or having a quiet time with God. It was simply soooo peaceful.

There is something about the ocean that reminds me just how small and insignificant I am. That reminds me that there is One who is bigger than all of this, and He's the one that holds me in the palm of his hand. He restores my soul.

Somewhere around 7am one of the girls pulled out a guitar, and a few of us sang along to worship. I've loved the downtime we have on the ship right now. So intimate with less people around. There's a family atmosphere that's hard to explain. (especially when you're talking about 275 people) But it's good. So good.

Packing the Hospital

2011-12-19T23:00:00.000-06:00

Closing down a hospital is something I'd never done before. One ward at a time, we'd close down, scrub everything twice with bleach, take it all apart, and stash it somewhere else, then strip and wax the floors. Once that was done, we'd refill the ward with all kinds of things that needed to be stored during the sail. Everything was packed or stacked tightly and then tied down with various straps so it couldn't move. The process was hard work, but with a little music and a lot of humour, it was also a fun job.

How many nurses does it take to pack up a hospital??? As many as you can spare, makes the work light and fun... kind of.

Scrubbing is important, and sometimes it requires you to get on your hands and knees. We were even provided with kneepads to help protect our knees.

I'm not talking protecting them from kneeling on hard surfaces. No. Protect them while we scrubbed in the stripper. Funny story: Our nurse in charge of packing down the hospital got us the container of full strength stripper and told us we needed to dilute it, but couldn't remember the concentration or how long to let it sit before scrubbing/rinsing etc. So she tried to look it up online. Normally an easy task. Until you use internet in a place where inappropriate sites are blocked and you try searching for "floor stripper." Strangely enough, that was blocked!! hehehehe! There were a few educated guesses made from previous experience until we could get the proper instructions.

We scrubbed by hand.

We scrubbed with a buffer (harder to use than you might think, it takes off in circles around you if you don't hold just the right tilt/lean and pressure)

We dried floors with towels (and may have had towel races and dances etc)

And then we threw cardboard taped together across the floors and packed things up and strapped them down.

Shrink-wrap where necessary.

Please don't pack the nurses in!!

And climb over and around to make sure things are placed properly and there's no stowaways hidden!

Dolphins and More

2011-12-19T12:00:00.000-06:00

As you already know, we were out at sea for a few days, sailing from Freetown to Tema. Along the way, we had the opportunity to spend time on the Bow of the ship, which is a wonderful, relaxing place on the sail. Many people went there for the sea breeze, or the fact that if you were seasick it was less intense (like riding in the front seat of the car). Some people went to the bow just to watch the endless ocean rush past, or to watch for the miriad of sea creatures. Sometimes you could watch for hours, and see nothing but the occasional flying fish winging swiftly away from our oncoming ship.

Occasionally, you'd see jellyfish float by (only got blurry picures of those). And once, only once, while I was out on the Bow, one of the girls spotted a sea turtle with it's head out of the water, and we all got to enjoy the sight of it swimming by! But the true gems of the sea are the sea mammals. And when dolphins or whales are spotted from the lookout point on the bridge, they would make what many claim is the best possible use of our PA system. Only three times that I'm aware of on this voyage, they used it to announce the sea creatures going by, telling us where and when to watch for them. Twice for whales. Once for dolphins.

The first time was for Pilot Whales, which I ran to the starboard windows and saw their backs and fins arching out of the water, sending up plumes of water from their blowholes. No pictures, they went by too fast. The second time was barely enough time for me to get to the bow, and the whale(s) passed by too far away to get anything but the spray of water in a picture.

Here are some friends enjoying the sunset and the whales going by. The time they spotted dolphins, though... they said we had a pod about a nautical mile away and coming in fast. I ran for my room and camera after a swift internal debate about whether I had time for it... sooooo glad I grabbed my camera.

As soon as I stepped onto the bow, I could see them in the distance. Hundreds of them. All leaping and heading for the ship!

In ones, twos and threes, like sets of synchronized swimmers, they lept and showed off, until they reached the ship, where they dove under and surfaced on the other side.

Many decided to swim all around the bow, as though playing a game of trying to keep ahead of the ship. Sometimes it was like they were dancing in random patterns through the water.

One even jumped and spun in the air beside the ship. Grace and beauty in the water! A small group of maybe 5 or 8 stayed with the ship for at least half an hour. I think everyone found it to be one of the best events on the sail!!!

Adventures in Accra

2011-12-18T09:19:00.000-06:00

Time flies when you're having fun, and adventures abound. I have many, many stories to tell, some that started a few weeks ago, but right now... I absolutely MUST tell you how I spent the day yesterday. It was a true TIA ("this is africa" - see Blood Diamond to know how it applies) kind of day, and everyone along agrees that it made for a great day. We made vague plans the day before, including a little research on Accra that told us the Old Jamestown area would be the most interesting place to go. In the midst of that, we were invited along to a large shopping mall that is pretty close to western standards, so the PLAN was to go to the mall first for lunch and then move on to Jamestown. But as you know, "the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry."

Saturday morning, bright and early we got up for breakfast (okay, okay, maybe it wasn't so bright and early, but I was up at 8am on a Saturday when I wasn't working, that's bright and early enough for me!) and packed lunches etc for a day out. The only real rules were that we needed to be back before curfew, and couldn't leave the area of Tema and Accra since we hadn't signed out our passports the day before. The large group of about 17 people that we were travelling to Accra with gathered in the lobby and set out together. A short walk through the dock area brought us to the taxi station just outside of the port. First stop was Community 1 where we were going to switch from Taxis to Tro-tros as they are much cheaper. (Tro-tro is the Ghanian version of the Poda-podas in Sierra Leone. Except Tro-tros have padded seats instead of hard metal seats and appear to be in better repair) So we split into groups small enough to fit in Taxis, told them we wanted to go to Community 1 to catch a Tro-tro to Accra, and off we went. Laura and I shared a taxi, and made it clear we needed to stick with our friends. Noel, Justin and Michelle were in the taxi behind us, so our taxi driver made a point of keeping track of them. The other 12 people in the group... we lost track of. COMPLETELY! We arrived in Community 1, at a spot where we could catch other taxis and reminded him that no... we wanted a tro-tro. So the two taxis set off again and dropped us on the street telling us to stay there, we were at a tro-tro stop, and one would come by to take us to Accra.

There we were, 5 of us waiting on a Tro-tro and no clue where the other 12 people in our group had been dropped off. Not the best start, but we figured it wouldn't be too hard to meet up for lunch once we got to the mall. As each tro-tro passed we called out "Accra?" Soon enough, one with enough space that was headed in the right direction stopped. This tro-tro stopped about every 2-5 mins along the way, picking up and dropping off passengers. The roads varied from paved to pitted to full out pure-potholes dirt roads. We never seemed to leave populated areas, and I don't think we got out of second gear more than once or twice. The journey that we were told was about 1 1/2 hours took 2 1/2hours, until as we went around a corner in Accra, a sudden lurch combined with a grinding/dragging metal noise brought us to a halt. (It reminded me of the noise when the catalitic converter dropped out of the car I was driving... very unpleasant to the ears!) A couple of passengers peered out of the side windows, and suddenly we were all piling out. We had lost a wheel.

Wait, let me clairify, we had lost an axle and a wheel. Yup, God had his mighty hand upon us. We lost the axle and wheel without flipping anything, without any injuries, and we never went at high speeds down a highway where it could have caused a major accident. Instead, we lost it on a slow turn, right within the two mile radius we had originally thought to stop and explore when we made tentative plans the night before.

After discussion with some fellow passengers, we realized where we were, and the fact that we were miles and miles from the mall we had planned to have lunch at. Which meant that Michelle, who had plans for a leisurely day at the mall was now stuck with the rest of us adventurers who wanted to walk around and see a little history and culture from the area.

Within minutes of beginning our walk, we came across a "Fan-milk" vendor. Similar to ice-cream, Fan-milk is what gets sold on the street here as a sweet cold treat. We stopped and each got some, wiping one end of the plastic off on our shirts to "clean" it, and then tearing the corner open with our teeth and sucking the popsicle-textured treat out of a corner of it's package. Excellent treat to begin a walk in 30 degree temperatures. And it helped to make up for Michelle's change in plans.

Our first intended stop was the Jamestown Lighthouse, which took us just over half an hour to reach. As we passed the Jamestown Fort (which was also on our list of things to see), a man dressed all in white who introduced himself as Alex stepped out and greeted us. He was volunteering to be our tourguide of the area for no cost... just whatever we wanted to give him at the end. He would take us to see the Fort, the Lighthouse, the Palace and the fishing village and we could take as many pictures as we wanted. He quoted us 5 Cedis (local currency - worth about 60 US cents per 1 Cedi) per person, per area we wanted to tour, but said the palace and fishing village were free. We argued that we had heard the tours were 1 Cedi each and we weren't going to pay more than that. We also didn't really want a tour guide, so after some discussion, moved on.

As we approached the lighthouse another prospective tour guide latched onto us and tried to convince us how we needed him there to negotiate a better price of 3 Cedis a person to tour the lighthouse. Again we tried declining. I'll spare you the details, but after a lot of talk and attempted negotiations, they both ended up taking us to the Palace for a short tour.

It was a little anti-climactic, somewhat like an abandoned home... where none of the girls were allowed to walk in certain areas, because we were still of "menstruating age." The paintings on the walls were three-dimensional, which was kind of neat, and the explainations were interesting.

The hand holding an egg symbolized how a ruler needed to lightly grasp power, not grasp too hard or it would break, and not to let go or it would fall and break.

What we really wanted, though, was to tour the lighthouse. We finally decided it was worth the 3 Cedis each, and walked back to the lighthouse.

Sure enough, the views were spectacular, and gave us a view of the fishing village, the local area, and far beyond to the castle we were hoping to see (but ended up not getting to as it was getting late).

We also took the opportunity to relax and have some lunch.

The door at the top of the lighthouse was small, and we had to go through it backwards as we went back down.

Mainly because it led to this lovely ladder... or shall I say these two ladders, because one was missing a few rungs.

The rest of the stairs were kind of a fun spiral... though Michelle was asking us not to go bowling... ie: falling down the stairs and knocking down everyone else below us!
Skipping the fort, as we didn't want to pay more, and skipping the fishing village because we didn't feel the need to tour it, we decided to try and find a market to walk through. We had a few marked on a map we had printed out. Along the way we stopped for some fresh coconut to refresh us. Soooo nice. One coconut each, and bought a few bags of water as well(500ml bags, ripped open with your teeth and sucked out... just like with FanMilk). Always important to stay hydrated in this kind of heat.
Once we found the Culture Life Center/Market, we split up and agreed to meet at 3:45 back at our starting point. So many neat things to see, but Laura and I focused on fabric and had some fun bargaining. We got back first and sat out in the sun waiting on our friends. Noel and Justin got back next and were followed a few minutes later by a man intent on selling them pants. Bargaining continued and Noel got them for the price she wanted!
That's about when we met a new friend... Colin Powell. At least thats the name he introduced himself with. Asking each of us where we were from, he proceeded to correctly identify capital cities and other odd facts of our home states/provinces. He continued to try and wow us with his geography knowledge which I will readily admit is far better than mine! He even sang the Canadian anthem... completely off tune but all the right words. Michelle finally showed up after almost 10mins of us chatting with Colin Powell. We asked him if there was a restroom nearby and he guided us to one where we paid 30 pesewas (like cents to a dollar, 100 pesewas make 1 Cedi) per person, were given a small allotment of toilet paper and running water to wash our hands after.
Then he offered to show us his shop which was "right nearby". A short walk through a small community, jumping large ditches of black water, we arrived at a small cement room filled to bursting with wooden carvings that he had made and polished. They were gorgeous, and he soon had talked each of us into purchasing at least one item.

Afterwards we got a picture with him. He was a character we won't soon forget!

As we walked from there, we passed the point where our Tro-tro had broken down, and sure enough, the gouge in the road remained!!!!

We walked to the station where most of the tro-tros and taxis start their journey, and got in line for a tro-tro to Tema. Fortunately it wasn't a long wait, though we didn't get on the first one. They don't actually leave until the Tro-tro is completely full. As we waited we bought more Fanmilk, this time I tried the strawberry flavored Fanyogo (as you can probably guess, this one is made with yogurt instead of milk), since Laura said it was better than the fanmilk. I think I agree with her! And Laura bought some fried plantain chips that she shared with us. They remind me of potato chips with a bit of a banana flavor to them. The tro-tro was even nicer and bigger than the first one we had taken... and it took the toll road this time, which meant it could go 100km/hr... something that is very, very rare in West Africa, as most roads are not in that great of shape to be travelling at speed. Though it did cost a little more because of the toll road (1 Cedi instead of 70 pesewas like our trip to town cost)

We passed the mall that we had planned on going to for lunch, after about half an hour of travelling, which made us glad we hadn't tried to back-track when our tro-tro broke down at noon and we realized that we had passed our intended first stop.

Once back in Tema, we decided to try and find a store we had heard was the African Walmart...Melcom Plus. We asked one person and were pointed in a vague direction. Walked another 100 meters and asked another person, again vague pointing... continuing this pattern, only one person pointed us opposite of where we should go, and after about 10 mins of walking, there it was... the biggest, brightest store in the area. Even entering the parking lot we were a little overwhelmed. The store was... everything we had heard it would be. We found a few foodstuffs for snacks and in case no one had saved us supper, and then went out to find a taxi to the port.

Arriving back, we were welcomed by Christmas lights and decorations. Home sweet home, what a great day!!!!

Hospital visit

2011-12-11T16:37:00.000-06:00

I walked in and I smelled India.
Well, to be more precise, the hospital in India. Except I'm in Africa. But there's something about hospitals... and apparently the ones here remind me of the one there.

Tall metal bedposts with folded mosquito nets hung high above the beds. Beds with random mattresses and bare sheets. Children of all ages, some who could have been poster children for a charity ad, many with IV's, some draped exhausted on their beds, others held in a parent's arms. All with big brown eyes. It was not a pristine hospital. Roaches and rats roamed the room.
At least... at least they were getting care. And it was free for those under 5 years. At least there was hope in that room.
Approximately 20 of us from the ship went to spread some holiday cheer. We brought a small box of props, and sheets of Christmas music. We practiced carols as we walked from the ship to the hospital. Once there, Megan introduced us and led us in the first song. Then she read the Christmas story from a Krio bible. We asked for volunteers to play the parts of the characters in the story, and mothers pushed forward those children who were well enough to take part.

So we draped pillowcases on a couple heads to play Mary and Joseph, strapped wings to one child and gave animal masks to others. They stood confused, or perhaps had no energy for the parts. The parents probably got the most out of it.

Then we sang a few more carols, and I saw some of the adults singing along. Finally, we prayed for them, and then split up and visited with patients. Beautiful, beautiful children. And the families were so grateful for the visit. Made me wish I had visited this hospital before this, found other ways to spread hope and encouragement.

I'm glad I went. The hospital may not be up to western standards, but it is what they have here, and is helping those who most need it.

We're Sailing!!

2011-12-11T08:00:00.001-06:00

Once the hospital was packed and locked down, and all the other departments had successfully tied everything down, we were about ready to sail. In the last few days before we left, I was reassigned from hospital duties to security. I was a little uncertain what in the world that might mean, but on the whole, it was a FUN week. Part of my job included searching high and low for things that weren't meant to be here. I was given access to pretty much every part of the ship (on my assigned decks), and a clipboard to keep track of things. That part of me that loves to explore, the kid in me that went on grand adventures exploring the neighborhood, the woods, or anything else I could was let loose. I was amazed at how many areas there are on ship that I knew nothing about.

At the end of the week, there were a couple of nights where I helped watch for stowaways and got to hang out on the stern for a short watch with a friend.

So, all done packing and checking and watching etc... we got set to sail on Saturday. Role-call was done in the form of an emergency drill, where we all had to put on lifejackets and practice for any at-sea emergency.

And then they got busy bringing in the last thing from the dock... our gangway. We all watched in growing excitement as it lifted off and was brought onto Deck 8. Time to release the mooring lines and rev up the bow thrusters!

Actually, I'm not sure how much they revved, because I didn't notice any extra noise as I sat on a chair on Deck 7 talking with someone when they called out from the railing that we were pulling away from the dock. We lined up along the railings of Decks 7 and 8, waving goodbye to those who had gathered on shore, to the city of Freetown, to our sweet Salone (the locals don't call it Sierra Leone, but rather Salone).

Slowly the ship turned around and headed the other direction... so we ran across from the starboard to the port deck and continued to watch this home of ours fade further away.

The pilot boat followed us out and the pilot left as soon as we were out of the harbour.

As most vehicles here do, the pilot boat let out a big black cloud as it took off.

The excitement over, and out into open waters, we decided to grab some lunch. On my shortcut to my room I walked past the pilot door, which remained open. I... chatted with the deck hand and slipped into the room to check out the open doorway. Sooooooo cool. I wasn't allowed to get too close, but I did get up to the yellow/black stripes! :D

Later in the evening, right around supper time, they opened up the Bow. During the sail, so long as waters are calm and there's no other issues, they let us on the Bow between sunrise and sunset. One of our nurses doubles as a deck hand (and LOVES it), and you can see her here on lookout... she spotted some dolphins, but I wasn't out at the time.

The sun set while we were out... sadly it was hazy and didn't make for good pictures.

The water is blue-blue-blue when the sun is high, and even without the bright sunlight you can see the blue as the waves crest on the Bow.

No sunset on the Bow is quite complete without guitars and worship!

I will follow

2011-12-08T17:19:00.001-06:00

Today during our worship time at the community meeting we sang a song by Chris Tomlin called "I will follow." And as we sang 'When you go I'll go, when you stay I'll stay, when you move I'll move, I will follow...' I started to think about what I was singing, and how we are called follow the call of our
God. I was thinking how many of the people I was standing and singing with have done just that. Have stepped up to follow the call of God in their lives. I was surrounded by people willing to leave lives and families to go where they're called for whatever amount of time that may be.
As the song continued, 'Who you love I'll love, how you serve I'll serve, If this life I loose I will follow you.' I thought about my own commitment. I thought about recent conversations with friends where we talked about the future and how I planned to be living back in Manitoba next year. And it really hit me that there are no guarantees. Not if I truly meant what I was singing. Not if I am going to follow God's call no matter where he goes, serve as He wants me to. I don't know.
My mind rebels against that. I want the control, I want to determine where I go. I'm a control freak like that. I'm content right now, knowing I'm where I'm supposed to be, and much as I think I could continue here indefinitely, the thought of leaving behind those I love at home scares me. I love them too much to make this a long term decision. And yet... even as all those thoughts ran through my head, so too the verses from Matthew 10:37-39 - He who loves father or mother more than Me is not worthy of Me; and he who loves son or daughter more than Me is not worthy of Me. ³⁸ And he who does not take his cross and follow after Me is not worthy of Me. ³⁹ He who has found his life will lose it, and he who has lost his life for My sake will find it.
I know there's no promise that the christian life is easy. I know He doesn't call us all to leave our families, and maybe he's not calling me to leave mine... but He is asking me to be ready to follow his call wherever that is. Here, Manitoba, Iqaluit, or somewhere else. It really doesn't matter, so long as I'm willing to go.
Scary? A little.
Reassuring? That too.
Why? Because there's a trade off there.
He may want me to give him my life, give away the control, but he wants to give it back to me. He wants to give me something better than I could plan. The beginning of the song goes: 'all your ways are good, all your ways are sure, I will trust in you alone. Higher than my side, high above my life, I will trust in you alone.' And it's true, this God who asks me to follow, his ways are good and true, his thoughts are higher than mine (Isaiah 55:9-For as the heavens are higher than the earth, So are My ways higher than your ways And My thoughts than your thoughts. ), and he really does want the best for me. He knows it better than I do.
Sure, I have a list of wants, preferences, but I know they're not needs. He knows my needs, and he will honor my commitment. I'm learning little by little to let go... and let God.

A walk on the beach

2011-12-05T10:42:00.000-06:00

A few weeks ago I decided to go to the beach on a Sunday, and it was an absolutely beautiful day! I had the weekend off and didn't feel much like going anywhere on Saturday, but didn't know who was doing things on Sunday. So I went and checked the "join us" binder in midships. There I found a group going to "River #1" which if you ask most people, doesn't actually exist. Can't even find it on a google search for river number one sierra leone. (believe me, I tried) I decided that it was very likely the group knew where they were going and so long as they provided me with an interesting day, I was up for it!

It was also a rare opportunity to be going with a group that was driving one of the ship vehicles. This meant no walking down the street with beach gear, trying to find a poda or taxi and negotiating a reasonable price. Instead, we just piled into the landrover and took off for the day. And found out that River #1 does exist, otherwise known as Lakka Beach.

We spent the day sunbathing, swimming, watching the local fishermen, reading etc. And they made us lunch of fresh-caught fish. Everyone got a different fish. I think mine was barracuda, a small one. In the early afternoon, a bunch of us decided to go for a nice walk down the beach. Two people were walking in front of me, two behind me, and I ended up with two new friends...

Moses and his "brother" (sorry, can't remember his name anymore... I know, such a bad memory for names, I should write them down or something!) walked with me. Moses is 10 years old and in Class 3. His brother is 8 and in Class 1. (Classes are like grades) They have different mothers, and Moses' mother died when he was small. Their father makes boats for a living.

When we passed this structure, Moses kept telling me the soldiers did it. His english was more Krio than english, and I didn't quite get any more of the story out of him, but I'm guessing this is one of the casualties of the war.

We walked for about 45 mins in one direction, and the boys walked on either side of me, holding my hands almost the whole way. They dragged bits of wood tied to a string and carved into vague boat shapes. We chatted about random things and they would randomly dart away and come back. Eventually, they decided they needed to turn around and head back. About 10 mins later, my friends and I decided to head back in the other direction... after a short dip in the ocean. The boys weren't too far off, and as soon as they realized I was returning, they were back at my sides.

I pointed out the crabs that were darting in and out of the waves and asked them if they were fast enough to catch them. They assured me they were, and then grabbed one of their blocks of wood, ran at a crab, and crushed it with the wood. I was a little shocked, but figured maybe they would eat it. So as Moses returned with his dead crab in his hand, I asked him if he would eat it. No. I didn't figure out what he said after that, but he proceeded to throw it back into the ocean. I wasn't impressed.

The boys met some friends and wanted me to "snap" them with a fishing boat. While we stood there, a young man joined them and asked me all about where I was from, and told me how he wanted to go there, and maybe he could be my boyfriend. This is a common occurence here... men try to propose to us white girls in hopes of a better life. I tried to tell him I wasn't interested but that doesn't go far here. So then I told him my father wouldn't like it. Which got interpreted as "he do beat you?" "ya, he do beat me if I get african boyfriend" Somehow, that he could believe. Sorry dad, I put words in your mouth. It's all about damage control. Of course, then he offered he could just be my boyfriend here. Nope, dad do beat me for that too. And then I said my goodbyes and continued walking.

While I walked with the boys, I contemplated how friendly children are here. You walk down the street and they yell and wave at you, smiling the biggest grins. They run at you to shake your hand or touch your skin (apparently there's a rumour that our white skin wipes off), or to hold your hand and walk with you for a while. Their whole face lights up just from being acknowledged.

I kept wondering what makes children THIS friendly. How come they are so eager to meet strangers here, but at home children are more stand-offish and shy? Do we teach kids that? Have we made so many taboos on their lives and their relationships that they fear approaching new people? Or am I just meeting all the most outgoing kids here and missing the fact that some are hiding somewhere and don't make an effort. I just feel like, in general, the people of all ages here are more friendly. They have no qualms about pulling you out of the way of a moving cart/vehicle in the road or helping you if they can. We were in a small town one day and a child walked with us for half an hour to show us the place we were looking for, not expecting anything in return. People happily go out of their way to help. It is truly amazing. I love the cultural concern for those around you. There's a lot we could learn from these people!

Thoughts today and a walk to town.

2011-12-04T06:39:00.001-06:00

I've spent a bit of a quiet day so far, hardly speaking, lots of reading or thinking time. We all need quiet days at times. But it's interesting where those thoughts can take you. I've realized that while I'm very, very content here, I also miss elements of home.
I miss the changing of the seasons. Seasons here go from no rain, to torrential rains, to hardly any rain (where we're at right now.) and heat pretty consistently, but more heat goes with less rain. At home, it's likely a winter wonderland already. Here the Christmas decorations went up on Friday... and they seem really out of place. Something about the lack of winter, and the lack of advertisements or christmas music all around, and the neverending summer... all make the idea of Christmas coming seem wrong.
Yup, I said it, lack of advertisements. Other than what we see on the internet, or the rare tv program I watch with people (maybe once a month I'll actually sit in front of a tv program for half an hour?) there is no external advertising. I don't miss advertising. Here the only influence is social. Which means you still want things you don't have, but you're not having it all thrown at you non-stop and so it's generally a non-issue.
Back to what I've been thinking on though, I miss my job in Iqaluit. Yup, I'm officially crazy. I miss the labor and delivery portion of it most. Miss the people there. Miss the crisp cool air on a long walk. (Did I mention that you step of the ship and instantly start sweating? It's seriously hot here.) Miss having my own space. (Though I will admit, I'm now down to one roomate in my 6-berth cabin, so we've been enjoying the quiet and the space... and it's almost lonely.) Miss cooking my own meals. (and the vegetables I miss... about the only things we get are overcooked carrots, broccoli, peas and corn... plus bleachy lettuce, cucumbers, tomatoes. I crave squash of all kinds, green peppers, mushrooms, asparagus, cauliflower, spinach... you get the idea!)
Don't get me wrong, there are many, many things I love here, and I wouldn't trade this time in this place for anything. I'm just being honest here.
Yesterday, I walked to the craft market with friends. It takes about an hour to get there on foot. Every time you walk into town, the experience is mildly overwhelming. You step out of the ship and the heat hits you. Sweat blisters your forehead and rivulets down your front and back. As one person put it, by the time you get back you need to wring out your underwear! The next thing to hit you is the smells. They change depending on what your walking past. When you're near the ocean water, or walking past piles of garbage, or walking near the black water sewer ditches on the street, you often get strong smells of sewage/rotting things. The smells come in random waves that it's hard to get used to. Sometimes you walk past people selling oranges, which they always peel for you, and the lovely citrus smell washes over you like a refreshing breeze. Often the cars and trucks belch out thick blue-black smoke that makes you want to cough and choke.
The sounds of a walk to town... you start out in the dock area as you leave the constant engine rumble of the ship. The sound of heavy machinary is the strongest, but there's also the water lapping the dock, and a few voices. As you walk up the road, there's a side path we take sometimes, through protected grounds where the quiet hits you and the smell of growing things surrounds you, and you almost, almost feel as though you've left the city and found the peace of the country. As you get to the main roads, the rumble of traffic takes over. And the voices of a crowded street. Calls come at you from all sides, some directed at you saying things like: apoto, apoto (foreigner!) tsssssssss! (a loud noise made to get your attention... many people on ship have adopted it too.), *loud drawn out squeaky kissing noise* (also made to get your attention, also adopted by those of us on ship), and many, many random yells as people here seem to prefer animated discussions even when they're not mad at each other, "hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!" as someone pushing/pulling/carrying a heavy load/cart/broken vehicle comes towards you and tries to pass you, random honks of vehicles as they draw near to warn you that they are coming and don't intend to stop. The noises are many and endless.
And the crowds... vary from something that reminds me of India, with carts/bikes/people/animals and every form of motorvehicle all vying for the same space, no lights or stop signs, random police in intersections to direct things. To the extreme that is a combination of the mall on Boxing day and the busiest day at a local fairgrounds. The streets are mainly paved, with concrete ditches for the flow of sewage water. Sometimes the ditches are covered by 3foot x 1 1/2foot slabs of concrete that randomly end, have gaps or are cracked/tilted. Sometimes they're wide open. These are the sidewalks. As you enter the center of town/ market area the sidewalks are often half-covered by booths selling wares of all kinds. The street sides are littered with small tarps covered in goods for sale. There is room for one-way traffic between everything, but that space is covered by so many people walking that you are constantly jostled and bumped into. People also walk around with goods for sale on their heads, in bowls or baskets, yelling out what they're selling, wandering past vehicles to try and make a sale. And the traffic attempts to slip through all of this. And when the big trucks come through, they blast their horns and just keep moving. People move to the side, tarps are slid out of the way or picked up. I'm not quite sure how more people are not crushed. Days when you walk into town and are not almost hit, grabbed by a friend and yanked out of the way of... something... are few and far between. The buildings are a random combination of fairly well maintained and falling apart and abandoned. There is one old church with no inner walls or roof, all stone outer shell, covered in climbing vines that have bloomed. Gorgeous, yet sad. Crumbling buildings that still have people living in them. Most buildings are cement or stone. All different styles and makes. All appear old, thanks to the damages of war and poverty. I cannot begin to describe the all the sights. I've taken videos and pictures I will try to post another time.
On our way back from the craft market, I saw a sight that turned my stomach a little, and saddened me. Two men came racing through the crowds, yelling and making a path for those behind them. People parted a let them through. Three men held a man between them, lying slightly sideways, no stretcher. Open wounds to his arm leg and face, obviously in a lot of pain but awake. The men trotted along, rushing him to the nearest hospital. This is the ambulance of the poor. I could watch them go by, but there was nothing I could do to help. Nothing but pray.
It's odd, much as I've seen of poverty, people scraping by, children on the streets trying to make money etc. This is what hits me to the core. This desperate run to the hospital. And the helpless feeling as I watch them go by.

Another way to say goodbye

2011-11-26T14:37:00.001-06:00

Every week, at least twice a week, nurses are leaving the ship in large numbers. Now that surgeries are finished and the hospital is closing down, we aren't the ones who are crucially needed anymore. And so as the goodbyes get harder and harder, we also try harder to make the last days together memorable. One of the many I really don't want to say goodbye to is Merry. The night before she left I was trying to track her down, hoping to spend some time with her.

Completely lacking manners (or just comfortable with my welcome, you be the judge), I went to her room and opened the door without knocking. There stood Merry, Alyssa and Noel, busy writing... something... on papers on the wall. Suddenly Noel and Alyssa are standing facing me, blocking my view and looking very guilty, shooing me out of the room. So I left.

I didn't even get as far as the door to my room when Noel is back in the hall waving me into their room "quick, get in!!!" They had decided I could be on their team. There they were, happily writing the same message over and over on little post-it notes. "Meet on the dock at 2200" with the person's name at the top. Once the "guest list" had been decided, notes went up on many doors, and hopes were high that people would be trusting enough to show up without knowing who was doing the inviting or what it was about. I was told to meet the guilty party up in the crew mess at an earlier time in order to help fill balloons.

We filled 5 buckets of balloons, and then had to figure out how to get them outside without being noticed. Like a spy film gone wrong, 5 giggling girls all holding buckets of balloons followed one guy who was our look-out down two flights of stairs and through a few hallways. We burst onto the gangway, slightly worrying the guards by our behaviour. So Noel gave one of them a waterballoon too. We proceeded down the gangway and to a square of the dock where we could set up waterballoon stations that wouldn't be easily noticed. Then we grabbed a bunch of chairs and started setting them up in a circle.

Half an hour later, at the preset time, people started warily showing up. We did our best to reasure them, Merry pretending she just wanted to hang out and look at the stars. Finally, there were so many people that we had to add benches. And deciding the mood was right, Merry launched into a lovely little speech about how much she appreciated everyone here, how she would never forget us, etc. Someone joked about what a relief it was that that was all she wanted. Another said something about how she thought they might be ambushed. Which was the perfect opportunity for Merry to reach down and grab the water balloon from her purse and say, "you mean like this" and pop the balloon above the head of the girl beside her.

SPLOOSH! And the fight was on! Those that had been in on it scattered to find balloons and we just started throwing. Within a few minutes we were out of balloons... I even handed out balloons to a few people, and got one dumped on me for being generous. A couple of the team-leaders found canteens of water, I'm not sure where, and went after Merry with them, dowsing her well.

In the end, everyone a little wet, we had to get a group shot.

Followed by a group shot showing "knee-vage" a term that we've made up. The dress code here includes not showing your knees, and so kneevage is the new cleavage.

And finally, a giant group hug to end the night.

I'm gonna miss these girls, every one of them.

Last ward shift (this year)

2011-11-22T17:03:00.001-06:00

I want to tell you about so many different patients, so many amazing stories, but I'm tired and it's time for bed and I'm hoping to have the energy to tell you more stories tomorrow. For tonight though, I'm done.
I finished my last shift on the ward.
The hospital will officially close during the day on Friday. In small groups we're sending all of our patients home. Mostly healed. Some not quite. Some will need to do their own wound care. Some will go to a local hospital for wound care.
Already, B ward, my ward, has closed. Everyone transferred out this morning, or was discharged. C ward closed last week. A ward will close on Thursday. And D ward will close on Friday.
Tomorrow I will join the ever-increasing number of nurses on cleaning duty. Emptying wards, packing things aways safely, scrubbing everything down. Scanning charts into computers, shredding documents, unpacking containers, whatever jobs need doing to start preparing us for the sail. Here, we really learn to be flexible.
In the midst of this cleaning and packing are the plastics patients that I've gotten to know since September. Our long-term patients. All with little problems healing that have kept them here far too long. They are the ones we are praying over. For healing.

Little Lesha is 2 years old and had her fingers seperated (burn injury). She is a little ball of energy and attitude, somewhat spoiled, but loveable all the same. She still has two tiny open spots on her hand and a couple on her donor site, and they are infected. But mama is good with dressings and will take over her care when we go.

Mohammed is 6 and launches himself at you when you enter the ward. He has a bad habit of sneaking off the ward to play in the hall or slipping into other wards to look for friends. He even escaped to other parts of the ship once. He had his hand opened up from the odd-shaped fist that he came here with, caused by boiling water at the age of one. He has been sooo close to healing for a long time now. And still we pray and hope that the spot between his fingers and on his wrist will close.

Kadiatu had an infected ulcer on her leg that they tried to treat for a year. Finally, when she came to the ship we were able to help close things up. The area has taken a while to heal and had finally closed up... when she got a skin tear yesterday as the skin was still so fragile. She was really disappointed but we're teaching wound care to her and her mother. Kadiatu is a really sweet girl in "Form 1" which is about grade 9 and she tells me she wants to be a nurse, so she is always watching closely what we do and wanting to learn from us.

And the last one I want to tell you about is Ramatu. She had extensive surgery on her leg to release contractures. She is a very strong willed little girl and talks like a little dictator. I wouldn't be surprised to see her go far in life, given the chance. Absolutely charming and fun when she wants to be.
Unfortunately, she developed a horrendous reaction to dressing changes. She became completely uncontrollable, no matter how many staff we had on hand or how many pain meds we gave, and finally they had to resort to anesthetic just to not let her open up all her wounds as she thrashed and screamed. We've been praying over her for weeks now. Today we had a miracle! She needed no meds. She made it through two dressing changes with nothing but distraction. She is still not healed, but our hearts are at ease over this transformation. Pray that healing is swift.

If you need some ideas of what to pray for, please remember these young ones, and others that we are having to say goodbye to. That they will heal in miraculous ways. That God continues to touch their lives. We will miss them all, but it is time for them to return to their homes.

End of Surgeries

2011-11-17T17:13:00.001-06:00

Today was the last day of surgeries.
The last day.
I'm not sure how I feel about that. I've never been in a hospital that closed down before. Little by little we're double bleaching wards, cleaning and organizing anything that is not going to be needed for the next week. Teaching patients how to care for their own wounds. Making arrangements for some to be seen by other doctors at other local hospitals. I'm not sure I want this to end.
At 3pm, we gathered on one of the half-empty wards, on the side where we are down to 4 patients (plus caregivers). We pushed empty beds against the wall, brought in stools, and invited all the mobile patients from the other two wards, all the nurses who didn't have to stay behind and monitor non-mobile patients, day volunteers (locals who help translate etc.), patient life (chaplain style worship leaders and counselors), doctors, and anyone else who wanted to come. We filled the ward to overflowing with people in the hallway beyond the open doors. We pulled out the big drums (and one little three-year-old at the back beat his own tune on a small djembe) and one of our great African crew members welcomed everyone in.
We were there to celebrate the end of surgeries. To celebrate all the surgeries that had happened this year. To celebrate sending people home to new lives. And we were here out of love, not religion. Relationships, not money. We were there to be blessed as we blessed others. And that's when we started the music.
I have learned a few things about West African music. 1. You need a good beat. 2. You need LOTS of enthusiasm. 3. Volume is important, the more the better. 4. Being in tune is not important. 5. You triple clap. I haven't exactly worked out the rhythm, but it's something like clap, clap, clap, pause pause clap clap clap. 6. Smile, and move... or someone will make you move!
We all stood as the music started, and voices cried out in exuberant song. So loudly that if you didn't know what they were singing, you had to watch their lips and try and lip read between the few words that made sense. One of the mamas had a baby tied to her back with a lappa (piece of fabric), and the baby was shaking so much as mama danced that I was slightly worried that it was bordering on shaken baby or that the lappa was going to come untied (no worries, everyone was fine). One of the male patients was so excited and into the music he almost drowned out the rest of the voices, though they were all very loud, and he kept wanting to dance with all the nurses. One by one, he pulled women towards him to dance beside him. I thought I might escape it, since a few were having a lot of fun dancing with him, but he spotted me and tried to wave me over. I scooted behind another patient. He sifted through the crowd and pulled me into the middle. So I danced a little too.
It was fun. To see so many smiling, praising, excited for God and what he had done. After about half an hour, the music stopped to have a few people give testomonies about healing, and to give thanks. I came close to tears at one testimony. We then had some calmer worship songs that mearly involved standing and singing with some clapping and swaying. And then I thought we were done.
We started leaving, people returning to get meds and dressings and whatnot done. I left to make sure the ward I had been on was fine and there was nothing I had forgotten to pass along. And I heard music coming from the hall! About 20 or 30 people had stayed behind (I told you it was crowded, right?), and the drums started up again. And the voices lifted in praise. I returned to check out what was up, and the party had restarted. There was an almost visible haze of heat in the room, and you started sweating almost as soon as you stepped in. And somehow, we started something similar to a conga line without touching each other. Singing "walk, walk, walk, walk, walking in the light, walk, walk, walk, walking in the light, walk walk walk walk walking in the light, walking in the light of love" We circled round and round, singing song after song, and my ears started to feel like I had been sitting by the speakers at a concert, and I realized just how loud it had all been! I slipped out to accomplish a few things after about another 20 mins, and as I walked down the hall I could hear the music right up until I went through the heavy fire door. I went upstairs, other end of the ship two floors up... and you could just barely hear the voices still raising a joyful noise to the Lord!
More succinctly, a quote from my facebook status: "What a great way to go deaf! Cram nurses/patients/translators/chaplains/etc, etc into a half-empty ward with some beds pushed to the side, pound on the drums and shout out the music! Praise God at the top of your lungs and dance to the three-clap beat. Babies bouncing so hard in lappas you think they might fall out, children clapping along, men and women filled with joy and thanksgiving. And multiple testimonies thrown in between the songs and dance. And then not being able to end because they just want to keep singing and dancing. That's the way to celebrate the end of surgeries for the year!!!"
I left there feeling like I couldn't be in a better place. I love this place, these people, this crazy ship life I'm living. I'm awed by the people here. So amazing. I can barely describe it.

The Krio word for friend

2011-11-16T02:07:00.001-06:00

Friend. It's a word that exists in every language. Everyone needs a friend, and some friends come easier than others. Here, some friends come and go as fast as the weeks flip by. Every week you wonder what new face will come, what friendly face will disappear. This time of year on the ship is fraught with goodbyes, and sometimes I get wrapped up in how many are leaving and momentarily forget to just enjoy these amazing people while they are here. But you see, the goodbyes are because we are ending our field service. In two days we will finish the last of the surgeries for Sierra Leone. In one week the hospital will close until we arrive in Togo. And this means the nurses depart in waves over the next few weeks.

But it also means that loose ends need tying up. Loose ends like the eight-plate kids. Who are the eight plate kids? They came in last spring to have their legs straightened. Small children with bent legs, young children still growing swiftly. These are the ones that got a special opportunity. Instead of having to surgically break and straighten their legs, they had something called "eight plates" put into their bones. These plates give their bodies the chance to straighten the legs as they grow. Unfortunately, that means it's a bit of a gamble. Put the plate in, send them home to grow, hope they return when you tell them to. Hope they've grown enough to straighten their legs. It's a great way to fix things, so much less pain. So they sent them home last spring, after a bit of time in hospital, and asked them to return in November. And return they did, every one of them. Here are a few that I got to know, with before and after pictures:

This is Osman before:

and after:

Fatmata before:

and after:

Mariama before:

and after:

Abu before

and after:

Now, I'm sure many of you can see that the results are not perfect on most of these kids, but there has been a change. Fatmata was well enough to remove all her plates and go home straight-legged. Some of the kids had just certain plates removed or revised. Those who have plates still in will be re-assessed when the ship comes to Guinea next September, as the x-rays show they won't over-correct by then.

Thanks to their visit last spring, the kids and their caregivers were already familiar with the ship. So the very day they arrived they were busy and playful, and all over us. And I learned a new word: padi. It's Krio for friend. Fatmata, I think, was the one who used it most. Every time you turned around, actually more often when you DIDN'T turn around, she was calling out "mi padi! mi padi!" to get your attention. She didn't need your name. None of them did. Padi was enough. Just walking into the ward, you would get mass hugged and a handful of little voices crying out for your attention "padi, padi, padi". Crazy, busy, loud, loved. What more could you ask for?

The slowly calming plastics ward, where we were down to 3 children, was instantly transformed back into chaos. You couldn't do anything without a child trailing you, asking "mi padi, popo me!". Or a child going on in conversational way in a language I have no hope of deciphering, but with all the confidence of a four-year-old that the adult she's talking to understands every word. Honestly, a little hard to get anything done. The small incisions on their legs to remove/revise plates did slow them down a bit, but it only meant they asked to be carried more, or walked stiff-legged like little storks.

During worship time one morning, when the patient life team came to play music and sing with them, we made them dance. Holding hands in a circle, one nurse per child, we pulled them gently to the music, making them move their feet. Slowly getting more creative, we moved our feet forward/back/sideways/tapping/jumping, trying to get them to imitate, to move their knees. Nothing could make those knees bend. But they danced. A week later, they were bending their knees like normal. Ready to return home. They went home yesterday. And the ward feels empty. No more cries of "padi, padi." Only two children hanging off me when I try and get my computer work done. But thats okay. Little by little we are sending everyone home. They're healing. Soon we will have to leave, and my prayer is they all go home healed.

More thoughts on Bunce Island

2011-11-12T06:53:00.001-06:00

There is a distance present in the crumbling of castles
Stones fallen to the ground
Half fallen buildings covered in vegetation
A vague beauty in the unknown
Beneath the curtain of green and growing things
There lie the bones of what once was mighty
The bones that dealt a crushing blow to far too many people.
A silence lies so deep and strong your ears ring
And in the silence your hear the echoes of a thousand moans
The pain, despair, fear, agony that soaked into the foundations

Disconnect is easy when you stare at fallen buildings
It's the stories that are told that bring the place to life
Here is where they kept them for three days with no food or water.
Tiny doorway, steep slope, no light, no sun, no windows,
Damp and cold, small stone room
Fear is real in this room.
Bats shriek overhead, I can almost imagine how it might have been
in this space, cramped with frightened starving people.
Almost. And yet, I don't want to.

Another building, another story,
Branding all the slaves.
Sorting by gender.
Left to wait to be chosen.
Is chosen to sail as a slave any better or worse
Than being left in a room to await your fate?

This building was the last one they went through on the way to the ship.
It's not a gateway.
Just another stone building.
Falling apart,
Here where the iron is placed around necks and ankles.
Here where they leave the continent for the last time.
Leave behind all they've ever known,
Unwilling immigrants,
With no way back,
and no idea how to return, even if they could go back.
Families left to mourn their unknown fate.

Graveyard as a final stop.
Divided.
Some issues are black and white.
How many souls lie here
Unmarked.
Why does this place affect me more than the buildings?
Here it is obvious.
Here I see the dividing line.
The carefully carved stones on one side
The meadow on the other.

How God must weep
over the choices of his people
If only we were good at learning from the past.
If only examples like this made things change.
If only slavery was a thing of the past.

Bunce Island

2011-11-12T04:58:00.001-06:00

Yesterday we went on a trip to Bunce Island. I'd been talking with some friends about it being on my list of places I wanted to see before I left Sierra Leone, and there were quite a few people who agreed with me. So myself and three friends poured over the nursing schedule and realized... we had none of the same days off. Luckily, trading shifts is not too hard, and so we found a day that looked to be easiest for all of us to get a day off, and somehow I was organizing this trip. Got the number of "a guy with a boat" who could take us to the island from a spot a short walk from the ship, negotiated briefly for a decent price, and sent out the word that we could fit up to 15 people in the boat.
Less than a week later, at 8:45am, we were meeting in the cafe with our packed lunches, water bottles, sunscreen, bugspray, hats, sunglasses and reading material for the long ride. Myself and twelve others (11 nurses! Yes, we left a few on the ship.), all geared up for a day in the sun.
Now, I knew basically where the boat would be, but as we went out the main gates of the port and walked off to the side in the direction of the closest slum, I paused a second. Have you ever been to the dump? In sandals, on a hot day? Add the fact that the area is also used as an outdoor toilet, and as a place to take a bath or wash your clothes and you're beginning to get the picture. Careful steps down a dirt embankment to the shore. Walking on piles of hard plastic bits, random bits of unusable garbage and rotting things, and trying to avoid anything that squishes. I accidently stepped in a bit of..uh.. I mentioned it's used as a bathroom, right?... 'nuf said!
Down at the water line, we met Mohammed. A local man who speaks fairly good english, and was the one I had called about the boat ride. He met us with a smile and a handshake and was eager to begin the day. The trash didn't end on the shore line, and was gently floating in the first few feet of the gently lapping waves. I had been warned ahead of time that the way they get you onto the local boats is carrying you. I looked at how... gross! the water was, and even though I considered refusing, when he motioned to me to come closer so he could pick me up... I stepped forward and allowed myself to be the first deposited into the boat.
Let me say: It is a humbling experience. To walk through trash, knowing people live and work in this daily. To allow someone to carry you when you are perfectly capable of walking. I am priviledged. And yet I am no more deserving than the man who was carrying me.
Our boat was a timber canoe, with spaces left between the floorboards specifically for bailing purposes. And they did bail out water a couple of times during the ride. The boat was wide and deep enough we could have crammed 40 or 50 people on it if we wanted to sink it down close to the water line, but for our purposes, it was a great size. Motor at the back revved up, and we were off on our adventure, saying goodbye to our mother ship for the day!

Almost 3 hours in the boat going up a massively wide river, we had plenty of time for goofy pictures...

And time to fall asleep in the middle of the boat

We swung by a few small docks where they grabbed cooking oil and fuel for the motor, waving at the villagers as they called out "apato, apato" which means foreigner. Nothing quite like the whole village running along the shore waving and yelling out to you!

Finally, after almost 3 hours, we arrived at Bunce Island. Where only a couple of security guards were there to greet us.

Once again, we were carried, though this time the waters were only muddy, and not garbage filled.

We were then shown the rules of the island. A little hard to read, and slightly humerous. The guest book that everyone "has to" sign was taken by the man who used to run the tours (he quit a little while ago). So there was no book, and they were trying to find a new one or get the old one back. The bathroom facilities you are required to use... don't exist. And half the rules are written in such light paint that you can barely read them. Oh well, good to know what the rules are!

Our boat driver, Mohammed, then proceeded to start the tour, telling us stories and guiding us around the island as though he himself was the tour guide. Not sure if he had all of his info correct, but it was interesting none-the-less, and definitely thought provoking. Here's a well beside possibly the biggest tree on the island. One of the tree roots goes straight down the well like a rope hanging into the depths!

In the hundreds of years since the island fortress has been used, nature has taken over. One of my friends commented on how any place with so many negative emotions was bound to crumble and fall apart. It is amazing how nature takes over!

What is Bunce Island? Well you can look it up on the internet, but the basics is, it was an old slave castle. The local people who had captured slaves in wars or other means and wanted to trade them for goods would bring them to this isolated island and sell them there. After a while of "processing" they were ready to be negotiated over and sold to slave ships bound for the southern states. Apparently, the people from this area were really good at growing rice, and were specifically chosen to be sent to rice growing areas in the states to help the plantations grow mass amounts. Of course, a place like this provided lots of potential profits and so was guarded with canons, which are one of the few objects still left other than the stone walls of buildings.

The first place the slaves were taken was a holding room, meant to see if they were healthy enough to make it all the way to America. The small wooden opening you see half hidden behind a portion of tree root is about 3 feet high. When you duck in there, there's a steep dirt slope down into a cave-like room. We called it the bat cave, because that's what it now is... see girls all ducking to avoid having a bat fly into them! This room is where slaves were kept for 3 days without food or water. The ones that were alive at the end of this time were ready to be branded and seperated by gender, waiting to be selected and sold to slave traders for goods such as fabric, guns, salt, beads.

At the end of our tour, we were taken to see the graveyard. It was surprisingly small, knowing how they allowed so many to die in their first three days here. The graveyard has a row of stones seperating the "white side" from the "black side". Engraved stones mark the graves of white men, telling of what great men they were. Except for one marked grave of a tribal chief on the black side, it is a blank slate. Unmarked. These are the forgotten.

I spent my first Rememberance day outside of Canada at a Slave trading castle. Instead of fallen soldiers, we all took time to remember those whose lives were lost or forever changed by slavery. It was definitely a different kind of day, lots to think about. I'm glad I took the opportunity.

A short update

2011-11-10T15:11:00.001-06:00

Welcome to writers block. Which would make sense if there was nothing to write about, or if I hadn't STARTED writing at least four different blog posts.
Why is writing a blog post here difficult?
Well, for some odd reason my computer has decided to reject the cable that would give me wired internet in my room... cable works for everyone else, and there is no wireless there. Which means I must bring my computer to a public area with wireless, or use one of the public computers. Both options mean I'm surrounded by people, and lets face it, people are far more interesting than computers. Just in the last half hour since I sat down at the computer here, I've been people watching more than anything else... and chatting with friends (live, not internet chat). Hey, and there is frequently food nearby too! People bring random snacks to share in midships, or the starbucks cafe and ship shop sell goodies just downstairs. Right now they're handing out our regular helping of icecream (free), and I just polished off my bowl of chocolate and coffee flavored icecream.
Also, I'm a touch tired. I spent a week with fast fast... which I have narrowed down to three possible culprits. 1- spent the day out with friends and bought shwarma and then soft serve ice cream on the street. Street meat is always slightly questionable, but since we saw them cooking it, that wasn't the problem. The salad fixings added to it may have been the problem. We're also told not to eat creamy things, but the shwarma was so spicy, we all needed something to calm the burn, and the icecream shop was right beside the shwarma place. And I must say, they were both GREAT, and I'd eat there again! 2- I got back to the ship slightly dehydrated that day, and yet chose to go sit by the pool. I somehow forgot to grab a waterbottle and was too lazy to go back down 6 flights of stairs to get mine, so I drank from my friend's waterbottle, who may have had some fast fast recently. 3- About 3 days after all that, the day the fast fast started, I went to the beach with friends and had the freshly caught and cooked fish (maybe barracuda?). Usually the fresh cooked meat is the best stuff and unlikely to cause trouble.
Anyways, the fast fast wasn't horrible, and a number of people were getting it around the same time, so I'm just happy to be better, but it is a little draining.
The number of things I want to write is getting so long that it's hard to know where to start. And my days off are all planned out with outings for the next two weeks. Tomorrow I'm off to Bunce Island, next week to see the Cotton Tree and museum in town, out of town for a day to a small inland town, then off to a beach overnight. So if I'm silent for a time, it's because there's too much happening to sit on a computer!

Going fast fast!

2011-10-20T08:55:00.001-05:00

There are all kinds of things that are different from one culture to the next, not the least of which is language. All the nurses here by necessity start to pick up at least a few Krio phrases, and they often end up being used randomly even when we're speaking to each other. Some examples are:
1. "small small" in reference to amount of pain or size of things, that often gets used jokingly as a sarcastic remark. ie: Are you hungry? Ya, small small. or Did you forget to put on sunscreen? Ummmm, small small.
2. "fine fine" in reference to being good, fine, or very good.
3. "fast fast" doesn't mean what you think it does, this means diarrhea. If you have "fast fast" you must run fast to the bathroom or it simply comes out very fast. We will jokingly use it for anything done fast.
4. "waka waka" is to walk. Simple.

With these in mind, picture the scenario a friend described to me that happened in the hospital hallway the other day...

Small child, about 3 years old, is walking down the hallway on two bandaged feet. He's been encouraged to walk normally on them and we like to praise him for making the effort. The nurse sees him and gets excited at how well he's doing, and calls out to him: "you go fast fast, you go fast fast!" The child looks at her, and squats! Suddenly realizing she just told him to go have a fast fast bowel movement, she quickly tries to correct the situation: "No, no, stand up! Waka waka, you waka waka fine fine!!!"

Another prayer request...

2011-10-17T04:04:00.000-05:00

I feel like I keep asking you to pray for patients... but that's a good thing, right? I've got another one for you to add to the list, but this one is a touch more urgent. Before I tell you about him though, I will mention that Mafula is steadily getting better, and we're down to only two infected wounds, and we only change the dressings once a day!! They are looking so much better too!!!

Not too far from the ship, there is a building that Mercy Ships has done some minor renovations on and turned into what we call the "Hope Center". In this building we house all those patients who live far from the ship and are having surgery in the next few days or have already had surgery and need to return for check ups or dressing changes. On Saturday evening, James, one of the patients who was staying there, was rushed to the ship and taken to the ICU. The staff on for that shift called a code, and after working on him for a couple of hours, he was sent to surgery to try and help him. The end result is, he has an infection in his brain, and we don't know if he'll be able to wake. The surgeon can't do anything else for him. We are doing what we can for him, but at this point, it's wait and see. His family has been contacted and his cousin and sister have come to see him. What he needs now is a miracle. Lift him up with us, the whole ship has him in their prayers.

A little info about the ship...

2011-10-14T18:10:00.000-05:00

I'm gettting questions about the ship, and starting to realize I haven't told you much about it other than what fits in stories. I'll have to try and do a photo tour soon, but in the meantime, here's a link to a 360 tour of the ship:

http://www.mercyships.org/index.php/pages/about-360tour

The ship is 152 meters long by 23.7 meters wide, and a draft of 6 meters. Originally built in 1980 as a Danish Rail ferry, it was refurbished to be a hospital ship by Mercy Ships. Approximately 400 staff are housed on board, from around 40 countries, but this can change on a daily basis as people come and go. Living quarters include 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 8 and 10 berth cabins as well as family cabins. There are 4 wards (A,B,C,D), an ICU, recovery room, and 6 operating rooms.
It is NOT a cruise ship, but we do have a Starbucks cafe where the beverages are only 50c to 1$US, an internet cafe, midships lounge, communal dining room, lounge chairs on the upper deck (only about 5), a small pool (that we call a wave pool because of the way the rocking of the ship makes the water rush from side to side) on the top deck, and a small play structure on deck 8. It's comfortable, if you're okay spending most of your time surrounded by people, a little crowded if you get overwhelmed easily.
Please ask any questions you want about the ship, and I'll answer within my abilities.

Esther's mastectomy

2011-10-13T18:01:00.000-05:00

Sometime in August, while I was still relatively new to the ship, I was handed my assignment sheet and noticed a diagnosis I hadn't yet seen here before. Mastectomy. Working on the General ward, there were a lot more males coming in for hernias etc than anything else, and to see a female admission for a mastectomy was definitely not something I was expecting. I found out later that there's a specific surgeon that will do a few on the ship if it looks like it's localized and the person is willing to take medications for 5 years.

Esther walked in with all the other patients, settled in easily and I got ready to try and use some sort of broken english as my fake Krio, in hopes that she might understand a little of what I said. Only to swiftly realize that she understood English much better than I could hope to speak Krio. Which made talking to her about the ward, what to expect and what her operation would involve much easier... and harder. Harder because there was no middle person, no buffer zone. It was her and I, talking about the fact that she would soon loose her breast in hopes of battling breast cancer in the only way we could offer here. There would be no chemo treatment, no radiation. There are pills she will take for the next 5 years, but all they do is decrease risk of reoccurance. She understood all too well. But she was pleasant, happy for the chance at an operation she likely couldn't get here without Mercy Ships.

She was not my patient for the next week, but I saw her frequently, and it wasn't an easy recovery. I can't honestly ever recall her complaining. There was a small complication that meant she stayed almost an extra month to heal up. She got to know the nurses and the patients. She came to us with encouraging words. She wrote goodbye notes to nurses that were going home. She would talk about how she prayed for us. Never focusing on herself, she instead reminded us how God is looking out for us. One nurse told me the note she received made her feel like she was the patient and Esther was the one looking out for her. Often at handover from days to evenings, she'd come join the nurses to sing and pray.

Finally, in mid September she was sent home with a small wound and all the supplies to help it heal.

And then, just this last Thursday, as I was doing my first ever shift in Outpatients, I stepped around a curtain where one of the nurses had just brought her to sit down, and a smile lit my face! ESTHER! The other nurse asked if I knew her and swiftly offered me the opportunity to take over, and I took it happily. She showed me her wound... which was fully healed. And I got the rare opportunity to not only admit a patient, but do their final discharge as well. Such an exciting time. Only, there was a bit of a downside... she may be back soon...

We chatted a bit, and she has a second lump, in the other breast. She says it's been there for a year, so she doesn't think it's anything, but the plan was already in motion for her to get screened on the 21st of this month. Pray that all goes well and the doctors make wise choices. Pray for full healing for this beautiful, godly woman!

I couldn't find many pictures of her, but here she is with my friend Merry.

Outpatients

2011-10-13T17:00:00.000-05:00

My day yesterday didn't go as expected. I expected to work an evening shift on B (or A) ward. I was asked instead to go to the Outpatients department. Which meant getting up for breakfast... oh poor me, I can't sleep in. Poor me, I need to jump into an area I don't know. Yup, I was deep into "woe-is-me" as I started the day. Okay, maybe not that bad, but a little. My attitude could definitely have been better. But new experience = stress = small internal freak outs about inadequacy = not at my best.
Deep breath, get over yourself, get the most out of this... they obviously think you're capable... or flexible... hahaha. Ya, the note on my door asking me to work outpatients is one that is well known to the hospital staff: "blessed are the flexible" followed by how you can help by being flexible. But I digress. I got over myself, kind of, and hid my nervousness as best I could by moving forward and doing what I was asked. To be honest, I kind of wanted to try working in outpatients just to see what it was like. The first couple of hours I felt a little useless as there weren't enough spaces for all of us to work, but I made use of it by learning how things went and lending a hand however I could.
I'm now convinced that working in outpatients once a week or so would be the perfect way to raise the spirits of the nurses on the wards (hey, it worked for me!) I got to see some of my favorite patients, ones who have stories I still need to tell here. I got to see smiles so big on some that had healed or were almost healed. I got to hug some as they were leaving, for good, to go home whole. Healed.
It's... such a reminder why we're here. An infusion of joy! Beautiful Esther, who I think I'll dig up some photos on and tell you about soon... Binta, down to just one wound, smiling and happier than I'd ever seen her... Mbalu, still struggling with wounds and yet so positive, her eyes so expressive... The kids bouncing in the chairs waiting their turns to be seen, making silly faces and acting like they're there for a visit not a dressing change.
It was refreshing.

Forklifts can't swim

2011-10-12T18:19:00.000-05:00

I learned something yesterday... apparently the cardinal rule for forklift drivers is that you ALWAYS get into the vehicle before touching anything or turning it on. Sometimes... generally... rules are meant to be followed, and are there for a reason.

I was enjoying a quiet afternoon in the Starbucks cafe onboard. (Sitting and reading/chatting with a good friend) When suddenly we heard an odd bang/scrape. I can't actually remember exactly what we heard, but we also kind of felt it, and it was definitely out of place. So I leaned back to look out the window and see what was going on. And I saw... the metal fence that normally runs along the edge of the dock was now leaning against the boat. Odd. I moved so I could plaster myself against the window and see more of what was happening near where the fence touched the boat... and realized there was a FORKLIFT leaning against the side of the boat. NOT good. I announced to those around me what I saw, and suddenly half the people are trying to see out the windows. I'm already moving away from there towards reception, trying to think who needs to be told (and wondering if maybe it's already in the works) when my friend Brenda pipes up with "should we call for the emergency response team?" Good thought. We both head towards reception.

The captain was moving a lot faster than me though, and crossed paths with me, already on his radio and in charge of things. I took a quick gander off the gangway... and was promptly shoo-ed off since they wanted to keep things clear. But it was long enough to see that the forklift had no one in it... phew! Big relief! Moving back in, I miss seeing the attempt at pulling the forklift backwards which unfortunately coincided with the ship moving slightly, and the forklift landed in the murky depths between the dock and the ship. Within minutes, the dive team was already assembling. I will say this, the people here are ON THE BALL!!!!

Having ascertained there was really no use for me, and knowing this could be very interesting, I found a good spot to watch from the 7th deck! The forklift in this picture is not working. The people are looking down at the spot where the other forklift tried to swim, aka: disappeared.

Eventually, the dive team took a leap (a ways away from where the forklift went down, because they had no idea how or where it landed. Safety first!!)

The broken forklift was in the way, so it got dragged to a new location more off to the side. Thank goodness for all these 4x4 landrovers!

The port authority must have been called, because they got the Terex (pronounced like the dinosaur, but bigger in size) in! These things are some of the most dangerous things (to people trying to walk or drive around the port) in the area. They are used for moving and stacking containers, are absolutely massive, and are something we are all careful to give a wide berth to.

Lots of people, biggggggg machine, beautiful sunset, what more entertainment could you want?

Wild hair thanks to a bit of wind... (or so I like to claim), hanging out with a great friend (Lycia) after supper, 2 hours into the saga of the drowning forklift. Up on the 8th deck, with an amazing view!

Looking down at other friends who were also enjoying the spectacle (Hi Amy and Brenda!!!) Not a just a few prayers went up for the safety of the divers through the 2 hours we watched.

The sun went down, the divers were tired and the Terex couldn't connect well enough to the forklift, so everyone took a break for the night.

I worked during the day, and took a late morning break. As I walked upstairs, I noted people were once again plastered to the windows (NOT a common occurence) and asked if they were making any progress, only to be told they were lifting the forklift now. So I ran down two flights of stairs to grab my camera, and back up 4 flights to the 7th deck to grab some pictures.

And got there just as the crane was setting down the forklift.

A crowd had gathered to watch the event.

The very dirty, somewhat bent forklift. The guy I was chatting with at this point figured maybe this was the futuristic look for forklifts? Sleeker, smaller, lifts at an angle. You can also see the fence they pulled out of the mud sitting beside it.

Having chatted with one of the divers who went down for the forklift, it was apparently 30 feet of water, and they found nothing, then realized they'd have to dive into the silt. The top of the forklift was about 5 feet deep in the silt.

And as much as it was an entertaining thing to watch... I can't help but think of the miracles... that no one was in the forklift when it plunged... that the divers weren't harmed in any way, even though there were a hundred reasons why this was a dangerous dive... that the ship doesn't have a hole in it... and many more.

It's 2am

2011-10-08T21:42:00.000-05:00

It's 2am and I'm surrounded by silence.
No, perhaps silence is the wrong word.
There is a constant engine noise rumbling beneath the floor,
ever present
keeping things running.
There is the higher pitched noise of the airconditioning blowing from ceiling airvents.
There are the gentle snores and quiet breathing of 22 sleeping patients and their caregivers.
All have had their surgeries,
and now all that's left is the healing.
I'm surrounded by people who are healing, growing stronger
regaining hope, strength, and hopefully,
getting ready to return home whole, accepted.
By day, we give them pills, we do painful dressings,
we practice exercises, we check vitals, we play with them,
draw with them, make funny faces with them,
blow up gloves to make funny balloons, we have dance parties in the hallways,
and many, many other things.
But at night, they sleep, and dream of better lives.
Peace.
I'm surrounded by peace.

Strength in weakness

2011-10-05T17:34:00.000-05:00

How do you stop yourself from crying when the person in front of you is crying?
How do you continue to do what you're doing when the very act is what is causing the person to shed copious tears?
How do you convince yourself that the good you're doing outweighs the bad?
How do you continue when she's begging you to stop?
I asked myself those questions and many more this weekend.
It was a long weekend (not a holiday, just long emotionally/work wise)

I need to tell you about a patient. Her name is Mafula, and she's one of the strongest women I've ever met. I'm not going to post any pictures of her, because I don't want you to focus on her scars, which are plenty. I want you to see the inner beauty that shines through. Today, I want you to see the beauty that resides beneath, hidden behind a body that she no longer recognizes.

Mafula tells me that she doesn't remember what happened. Apparently she was burnt in her bathroom last November. I've asked around some, and my friend Lycia recently found out that Mafula's bathroom was cinder block, and nothing else was burnt. The rest of the house is fine. No gas lines, no open fires, no wood or electricity, no reason for the fire. People question whether it was a curse from a witch. In case you think that's an odd/superstitious thought, you need to remember this is NOT north america. Here, there are many witch doctors who will take money to curse someone for you. (for more on this, check out what she wrote - click here)

I am told that before all this happened, Mafula was a good business woman. That doesn't surprise me. She's smart, I can see her figuring out our routines, learning what we're saying (even though she doesn't speak english, she's learning it!), and just generally catching on quickly to what we try to teach her. She has burn scars to portions of her face/back/arms/chest, that left her unable to move her neck and left arm. So Dr Tertius used skin grafts to give her the movement back. Unfortunately, there are a few areas that became infected, and now we need to deal with those.

Due to the overuse of antibiotics in this country (they sell them to anyone on the street... even for a headache!), the risk of superbugs that won't respond to antibiotics is a problem. So the doctors on the ship prefer to use things we can put on the wounds. Betadine is a favorite... but when we're in the process of getting rid of germs, we go to stronger stuff. With the infections last month in general surgery, we were packing wounds with a bleach mixture.   With the plastics patients right now, we're using a dilute vinegar mixture that we soak the wound in.

At times, it feels barbaric. As though we are in a torture chamber. Crying. Screaming. Shaking. Pulling away. Silent tears. You see many different pain reactions when applying soaks like these. Mafula has three wounds that we have been treating. As soon as we begin removing her dressings, she grabs our hands, pleads with us to "pray for me, pray first", and we do. Every day, twice a day we spend 2-3 hours carefully soaking and cleaning her wounds, then rewrapping them. Each one done seperately. We pray aloud as we work, 2-3 nurses needed to do things properly. And as we apply the painful vinegar soak, a broken, wraspy voice wavers through a tune. Her voice lifted in praise.   Tears streaming down her face. Sobs breaking through the words.
    "Tell 'im tenki, tell 'im,
      Tell papa God tenki,
      Tell 'im tenki, tell 'im
      Tell papa God tenki!

       What 'e do
        Fo' me
       I do tell 'im tenki
       What 'e do
      Fo' me
       I do tell papa God tenki!"

(Tell him thank you, tell him, tell father God thank you. What he does for me, I tell him thank you, what he does for me, I tell father God thank you)

And we join in, take over when she can't sing. Repeat it over and over. I'll never again hear that song without seeing those moments in my head. And the first time she sang that with me, she started to explain herself. It was in Krio, but I knew what she was trying to say. About how this God that had made her didn't make mistakes. That he made her and that he made the circumstances. He knows all and is always there and she trusts him. So she will thank him because he knows better than her. And has a purpose.

Her faith, her strength, it humbles me. Every dressing change she sings, every time she thanks God. Slowly, ever so slowly things are getting better. I'm writing this now, because she's right, she needs prayers. Please pray for her. Lift her up to God. Her surgeon leaves the ship tomorrow. We will continue to treat her, but only God can heal her.

All about Alberta

2011-09-30T17:11:00.000-05:00

I'm learning.
Learning to use the quiet moments on the ward to sit and enjoy the patients and their caregivers.
To hear about life from their perspective, and to share my own.
A couple of weeks ago, I sat on a stool, sharing back and forth about lives on different continents, from different cultures. As I sat and chatted with Mariah, 6 year old Alberta quietly outfitted each of my fingers with a playdough ring, and made a big playdough bracelet for around my wrist.

At 47, Mariah is a beautiful godly woman. She is married to a man who works in "agriculture" in Liberia. They grow at least 6 different crops that she listed off for me (corn, peanuts, cassava etc) as we compared what plants grew in Canada to what grows in Liberia. She has 5 children and 3 grandchildren. Her children range from 24 to 13, and they miss her.

You see, she travelled here with her granddaughter, who also lives with her and her husband, for a solution that they had been praying for for over a year.

Back in Dec 2009, on an evening like any other, they were deep frying some plantains after the children had gone to bed. Alberta got up and wandered over to the pot, groggy and sleepy, the boiling oil ended up spilled down one side of the 4 year old's body, and catching flames from the open fire. Taking Alberta to the closest clinic, they ended up frustrated at the lack of care. The hospital they finally took her to had minimal resources, definitely no physio therapy. So even though the wounds healed... she was left with a problem:

Months of treatment with "lotions", but now... now her left arm was fused to her body. They searched and prayed for someone who could help them. According to Mariah, the children that were Alberta's friends "abused her and laughed at her." Finally, someone they talked to put them in contact with surgeons from the Africa Mercy who agreed that they could help her with surgery. A local organization that Mariah helps out with got together and raised money to send her and Alberta to Sierra Leone for surgery. And finally, in May of this year they arrived to the ship.

The surgery went well, and her newly released arm is now functional again. Sadly, the place where they had to take the skin from to fix her arm took much longer than normal to heal. This extended healing time meant that the lovely Alberta became one of the most well-known and well loved residents of the ward. Her laugh is contagious and she's one of those children that is everyone's friend. Mariah told me that Alberta has always been one of those people that makes friends with everyone, just like her father and her grandfather.

There was one day where things were going well on my ward and I needed to chat with a nurse on the ward where Alberta was. I went over there and was standing and talking to my friend (who was sitting), and Alberta was watching quietly for a couple of minutes. Then she stood up off her stool and slowly dragged it across the room, shoved it behind my legs, and pushed me towards it. As soon as I sat down, she climbed up on my lap and snuggled in.

She doesn't need long to learn names, and when she notices people that she considers her friends (almost everyone) come into the room, she will yell out your name to come over and talk to her. We attempted to put her on bedrest at one point, in hopes of getting things to heal faster. The very first day, she was dancing the "waka-waka" dance on her bed. When reminded that she was on bedrest, she told her nurse "but I'm on my bed!" I think every nurse who met her was in love with her.

So when we realized her birthday was coming, we had to have a small celebration. But the celebration took some planning. African culture is about community and sharing, so we couldn't just do something for her, because that would not only upset the other patients but likely cause issues with jealousy. So the day before, Noel, one of the nurses, baked cookies. The day of Alberta's birthday, Sept 26th, I collected the cookies and brought them down to Alberta, who had the job of handing them out to all the other patients. She was very sweet about it, in general. But she is a 6 year old, and there was a movie playing (Madagascar), so she needed reminders to hand out cookies at times and not just stand staring at the TV! Her favorite thing to hand out were the balloons we gave to the kids/adults who had had facial surgery and weren't allowed to eat. She got really into it and was blowing up most of them!

That night, we gathered on one of the outside decks and Noel brought her upstairs (which she often did to give her a little fresh air). When we surprised her, she almost wouldn't come out. Our social butterfly was suddenly shy!

We did get her to come outside and join us for a cupcake and small party, and after a little while, she was in her element once again. She loves the camera and suddenly decided that she needed a picture with each and every person there.

Mariah thanked all of us for the care and love they had received in their 4 months on ship, and left most of us tearing up at the greatfulness to the staff and to God. In the end, I think the best news is that Mariah and Alberta have gone home to Liberia, just this last week. And Alberta told someone before she left that when she gets home, she will go to school "and swing my arm like THIS, and speak english to everyone!"

Answer to the last post...

2011-09-22T17:56:00.003-05:00

It was the scariest thing I've done since the last time I strapped skis to my feet and stared down a mountain! I spent at least the first 5 minutes repeating over and over in my head "God be with me, God protect me, godbewithmegodprotectmegodbewithmegodprotectme" A helmet wedged onto my head, no chin strap, the helmet slowly working its way loose with every bump we hit. My hands both behind me, gripping the small bar with so much force that had we been in an accident I likely would have dislocated both shoulders, because there was no way I was letting go. My first ever ride on a motorcycle can be described in one word: terrifying.

Let me back up a bit...
A couple of friends from the Gateway group, Sing and Huejong, have made the difficult decision to end their stay on the ship. So the day before their departure, they asked a few close friends to come out to dinner with them. I was one of them. Now, unless one of your friends on ship is a ship driver, you must use your feet or local transportation to get around. There are three main options for getting around in West Africa: Poda Poda, which is the equivalent of a 18passenger van, with metal benches and usually minimal choices in routes unless you pay the price of a filled van and the driver actually knows how to get to the destination (many a trip has gone awry thanks to this small detail). It's the cheapest option and often chosen just for that reason. Option two is to take a taxi. Second cheapest option for a group, and depending on time of day, they may let you squeeze far more people in than they are technically allowed (4 passengers is the official maximum,and they get fined if they are seen by police with more than that.) Third choice is Okadas. They are motorcycles that get used as taxis. While it's the most expensive option for a group, it also is the fastest option, since they can weave between traffic that is literally bumper to bumper.

As you've already guessed, we chose Okadas. Candace, one of the people going, had never been on an Okada before and was really hoping to get the opportunity that night. Since we knew traffic at that time of the evening could be horrible, it really was a good option. Only problem was the restaurant we were going to was a long drive away, approximately half an hour in good traffic. We waved down one Okada driver, told him we needed 5 total, and he helped us wave down the rest. After some negotiating, we brought the price down to approximately 3$ US per person. The first guy we had waved down was the kind of guy that is very vocal and likely a type A personality. For some reason, he had picked me as his rider, and all through negotiations kept telling me to get on his bike. As soon as we had struck a deal, he handed me his second helmet and told me to get on. So I did.

Those first few seconds sitting on the back of the bike I wasn't sure I'd ever find my balance. Knowing the power in the motor, this was no pedal bike ride, and I think the fact that I had no control over it made it scarier. We roared off up the hill, following behind 3 other bikes. I think we were about 10mins into the ride before I actually found my balance and learned when to lean which way as the driver leaned. Every time we were near traffic of any sort, my driver was yelling at them... sometimes it seemed friendly, other times he seemed to be frustrated, the way most drivers talk to people from a car, except in this case they could all hear what he was saying. I came to prefer the times with lots of traffic, because it slowed him down. I didn't have sunglasses on (whoops, forgot them on ship), so slow was nice because it meant I wasn't being pelted with dust in my eyes. I squinted but wouldn't close my eyes because I NEEDED to see what was ahead so I could lean properly and brace for the potholes. And we LITERALLY weaved through traffic. Circling some vehicles, sliding between others with bare inches to spare. I slowly grew to trust my driver's instincts and abilities, and relaxed, as much as you can whipping along mountain roads that twist and turn and aren't meant for passing. My driver and Candace's driver kept passing each other, and we lost sight of the rest. Some roads we used in the city couldn't have handled more than one car at a time they were so narrow. One time we went around a car waiting to turn into traffic that really wasn't moving, but the space beside was not much wider than the width of the Okada, with a ditch right beside it. (ditches in town here are concrete-sided holes running alongside the streets and are less than two feet wide and about 3-4 feet deep, running with "black water" or some sort of mix of run-off water, garbage and sewage)We made it past, very slowly and carefully, but I think I held my breath the whole time. At another point, a mother literally grabbed a child who looked to be about 18months and toddling across the dirt road, out of the path of the okada a few seconds before we got to that point.

When we arrived, I unclenched my hands from the bar behind me, put my feet on the ground and realized I was a little shaky. I traded cameras with Candace for the all-important photo-op, and paid my driver the agreed fee.

Candace told me after that she told her driver he was going to fast... and he laughed at her. Our friends who arrived later stated flat out that we would not return on okadas. Which was fine with me. We took a taxi back after dinner, and even though the wait was almost an hour for the taxi and the ride took twice as long to get back as to get there, it really wasn't a bad thing... except for the fact that the taxi driver had brought his wife along, and so there were a total of 7 in the car. A little cramped, a lot safer. That may have been my first AND last okada ride.

As a small bonus, we got to watch the sunset from the window beside us in the restaurant!

What did my friends and I do to earn the following comment...

2011-09-20T17:32:00.001-05:00

"I'm going to call your mothers!" said by a friend when she heard what we had just done.
Guess correctly and I'll do an entire blog post about it!!! :D

Time for a haircut!

2011-09-19T10:51:00.002-05:00

If you've known me for at least 3-4 years, you've probably discovered something about me... I need to do a major haircut every few years. It's like an itch I get, that must be scratched! And considering that the last time I cut my hair off was just over 4 years ago, it was about time! I was thinking that I might just see how long I could grow my hair, but then it started to bug me... I hated the fact that it was getting tangled all the time. It never curled properly anymore or did anything I wanted, I almost always had it up in a ponytail, and the whole bang thing was just NOT working for me, but growing out bangs is always a little problematic!

Lucky for me, there's a hairdresser on the ship (who I just happen to be friends with!), and so I signed up for a morning slot at the end of August. We had several discussions about what I might want to do, I kept changing my mind, but by that morning I had found a few pictures on the internet of about what I wanted. And off came the hair!

It feels soooo much better now! No tangles, and all I need is a little water and a finger combing and it's looking good!

Oh, and here's a pic of me with Merry, one of the girls I work with. We have realized that because our hair is the same length and we're of similar heights that some of the patients get us confused. We had a shift we worked together when we tried to measure who was taller, with help from patients yelling out from their beds who looked taller standing face to face (apparently I looked taller), but then we went back to back and they decided we're the same height. Whatever, the joke now is that we're twins. She's great fun, and I'm quite glad to have her on ship.

Of course, the only pictures of me with my new haircut that I currently have of me are from during a hike in the rain... but I'm sure there will be many more pictures to come!

It's all about Malaria

2011-09-10T14:33:00.001-05:00

What do you think if there's a funny taste in your mouth? Maybe that you need to brush your teeth?
When you wake up, and something aches/hurts, what's the first thing you think? Probably that you slept wrong, or that the mattress is bad.
What about when you have a fever? You probably think it's the flu (or something similar)
Diarrhea/Vomiting? First thought might be food poisoning.

Where am I going with this? Well, I'm realizing that where you grow up or where you live affects the way you look at things. And I'm not just talking culturally, I'm talking about illnesses. Here in West Africa, everyone attributes things to malaria.
Funny taste in your mouth? Malaria
Feel too cold or too hot(feverish)? Malaria
Weak? Malaria
Diarrhea/Vomiting? Malaria
Headache? Malaria
Belly pain? Malaria
Body aches? Malaria

For the last 6 weeks (can't believe I've been on the ship 6 weeks!!!), I've been dealing with responses like these from patients. Sometimes it feels like several times in a shift, I'll have someone wave me over and tell me they have malaria, naming off any number of random things that they attribute to malaria. And it's quite likely they're aware of the symptoms their own body gets when they have malaria. We don't ask them if they've ever had malaria but rather when the last time they had it was and what they did about it. Not being from an area where malaria is common, it's hard sometimes to know if I should take them seriously or calm their fears. One man, having recently woken up from surgery, told me that his mouth felt funny and he felt cold and that that meant he had malaria. I've been a surgical nurse long enough to know that is precisely how most patients feel when they first wake up... so that time I knew it wasn't malaria. But it's definitely not something to take lightly. People can end up in ICU here with malaria.

For the past few days, I've been achy and had a slight fever... generally feeling really blah and without energy. I pushed through one night of work, but decided it was better to call in sick for the rest. But before I called in sick, I was telling some nurse friends here how I was feeling, and they insisted I go get a malaria test done. When in doubt, guess malaria. So I took myself down to the ward and sheepishly asked for a malaria test on myself, telling them how silly I felt asking for it. No one thought I was silly though. Luckily, it was negative. And yes, I am taking my anti-malarials... most days... especially this week.

Where does that leave me? Well, my dear cousin Kevin(studying to be a doctor) suggested I should consider dengue fever. But considering my lack of rash or high fevers, plus the fact that it's rarely ever reported in this area, I'm guessing that's not it. Basically, I just feel crappy, and am a little off my food for the moment. Prayers would be appreciated. And not just for me, but for the staff in general as there always seems to be something going around. And for the patients. We have a couple of people in isolation rooms with completely different perfect storms of infections that we're doing our best to keep on top of.
Thanks.

A different kind of hospital

2011-09-08T23:13:00.001-05:00

I could probably write a hundred posts about how life on the ship is different from "real life" as we jokingly call the outside world. For now, I'm going to focus on hospital aspects, since I'm a nurse. I shamelessly plagerized from my friend Deb's blog: http://debsheartinafrica.blogspot.com/2011/09/refreshing-for-my-soul.html . She gathered comments from a bunch of nurses on board about nursing on the ship. All comments in parenthesis are mine, plus the ending part about my own observations.

The main differences between our hospital on a ship in West Africa and others are:
- We hold our bedside curtains up with magnets on the ceiling. (Seriously, walls and ceilings are metal, so everything is held up by magnets!!)

- Our patient’s caregivers sleep on the floor under the bed. (on a mattress... unless it's a small child, then they just join the child in the bed, with a siderail up to make sure the child doesn't fall out. And sometimes the caregiver decides they get the bed and the patient gets the floor. Then it gets a little confusing!)

- Our hospital is floating on the water and we feel it swaying and moving underneath of us. (Took a full week to get used to it, now I barely notice unless we're reeeeeally swaying, or when the ship shudders)

- We use translators to speak to our patients most of the time. (I did use my french today with a patient, but that's quite unusual for this area)

- We are able to pray with our patients and hold church in the ward every Sunday and devotions every morning!

- We have men, women and children all mixed together in the one ward. (And no one even bats an eye when they choose to walk around half naked!)

- Our nurses come from all over the world, often having English is a second language. (Makes for some interesting conversations and miscommunications. And "secret languages" where people can have a private conversation right in front of other people)

- We work in a tiny space with many staff, patients, caregivers, translators and blocks and toys all over the floor! (Tiny is an understatment. The smallest ward is smaller than my apartment yet is set up for 10 patients.)

- My small patients will often ride part of the day on my back as I work (this is called Poepoeing a baby, done by laying them on your back and tying a sheet around... I'll do a picture tutorial later)

- I play games and blow bubbles regularly as part of my work. Sometimes even riding the children’s tricycle outside with patient’s sitting in the back seat.

- My patients eat rice for lunch and dinner every day, usually along with a meat or sauce of some sort.

- My patients can sleep through the drums being played and they don’t complain. (Just the other day, a German crew member came down to jam on the guitar with the patients, playing the most upbeat worship songs he could think of, and had a day volunteer going on the drums, and another that broke out into spontaneous rap! Even the 9 month old baby on the ward couldn't sit still, they were all up and dancing!!)

- If we run out of a particular medication or supply, we change to use something else, because we just don’t have any left and there’s no other way to get it. (And often you can't even read what the label says, because it's in a different language. At which point you're VERY thankful for all those who speak another language!)

- I usually leave work at the end of the shift feeling happy and satisfied that I was able to be part of someone’s life to make it just a little better.

Favorite things about working on a hospital ship are:
- Being able to do free surgeries for these people that so desperately need help and couldn’t otherwise afford it.

- Learning about the African culture from our patients, the patient caregivers and translators.

- Having the freedom to worship and pray with fellow nurses and with our patients during our day at work.

- Playing with the children, cuddling babies and doing crafts that even the old men enjoy doing and learning.

- Watching the interactions between patients and caregivers, even seeing people not even knowing each other before helping each other out and caring for each other. The African culture is so community orientated and we can really learn from them!

- Our patients are joyful in the midst of bad circumstances, pain and suffering, never taking out frustrations on the nursing staff.

- The Doctors, nurses and auxiliary staff are one big team, here to lift each other up and work together Which doesn’t mean disagreements never happen, but we try our best!.

- When you cannot speak a patient’s language and they can’t speak yours, you can still share a greeting through a smile.

Now I'd like to add my own observations to the mix...

You eat, work, play with the same people day in and day out, and yet somehow we continue to enjoy each other's company. There aren't the same divisions between Dr/nurse/admin/cooks/housekeeping that you might see otherwise.

No one questions their care (yup, hefty responsibility there), they seem quite content to do whatever we ask whenever we ask.

Labels have to be peeled off bottles when we're done with medications, since as soon as the garbage goes out people will dig through it and some will try to sell fake drugs in used bottles.

We can care for a patient during the day(my friend Kari got that priviledge), go to a lecture by the doctor who performed his surgery, and finish off the day by getting to see and hold the patient's tumour (brought up in a tupperware container in a paperbag)... and anyone was free to attend the lecture, so not just hospital staff got to learn a little more about what goes on in the bowels of the ship. (My lovely, lovely roommates suggested we take off with the tumour and hang it as a decoration in our room. Ya... )

Hope you enjoyed that random description of how it's special here.

Field Service - VBS

2011-09-07T09:50:00.001-05:00

I made brief mention in one of my blogs of the fact that I did not, in fact, take part in the building of the latrine. And no, it's not because I was lazy. In fact there were many moments when I stepped outside to see what they were doing and wished that I could switch roles. You see, I was, (somehow) running the VBS (Vacation Bible School).
It all started at one of our planning meetings in Texas, as we tried to learn a bit about what we were getting into, and what was expected of us. We learned and researched things about the local culture, we were told about the latrine project, and were told that we had been asked to run a VBS. Then Stephan (the man who was leading our group on this field service) asked questions about who had done what previously. When he asked who had run a children's program before, myself and Jillian put up our hands. I can't remember exactly how he worded the question, but in my mind, the Sunday School and Awana leadership I had done was fairly similar to what he was asking about. I was expecting the teachers (Amy and Kelly) to take leadership with the VBS, but neither felt they had the experience necessary.
So Jillian and I put our heads together to do some planning. Picture trying to plan a 5 day VBS in a third world country, with children not used to doing crafts, who may or may not speak english. No electronics available, and any supplies you want to use you will have to bring with you. And after planning it out, and buying supplies, we ended up NOT doing crafts, because we didn't want to overwhelm the community with STUFF.
Sounds a little silly, but I'll try to explain it. The community is poor. The school is poor. They buy one small package of paper, and it lasts the full school year. There are 176 children enrolled in school. If they buy a package of 250 papers, that's less than 2 papers per child... in a YEAR!!! So if we come in with mounds of stuff... we may place the school in a predicament where people start expecting or demanding stuff. At times, you have to be careful about raising expectations.
Now that I've bored you, let me make this a little more interesting...

Our first day in the village, was a short afternoon where we got to know a few people, got a tour of the village, and generally felt VERY welcomed. It took no time at all for every one of us to have between 2 and 8 children keeping a grip on our hands, our arms, or any part they could reach.

Pastor Mark (beside his wife, Hawa), is not only the pastor of the church but also the principle of the school. Along with the leaders of the village, he has been a big push towards helping the people.

Instead of crafts, we did creative games, like getting them pretend to be a snake coming to tempt someone, and the child being tempted rebukes the snake.

Even though the VBS was supposed to be 5-10 year olds in the morning and 11-15 year olds in the afternoon... everyone came, including baby brothers and sisters!

Sometimes when we had downtime in the afternoon, they'd put on a show for us! These kids are showing us how to dance to the music... they were really wiggling their bottoms! It seems to be the most important part of an African dance!

Here's a shot of the school, chock full of kids! We learned quickly that the best way to get everyone quiet was what they called the "scientific clap". It's what their teachers did to get their attention and silence, and was basically clapping loudly a few times followed by outstreched arms with open hands (jazz hands style) while saying "shhhhhhh". They would all do it with you and be amazingly quiet after. Life saver! We averaged about 70 children showing up each day.... but we never did count. :D

And here's it empty. We always made them all empty out at lunch times, so we weren't eating in front of them. It felt cruel, since there was no way we could feed them all, and we weren't about to start a feeding program.

Here we are at the soccer field. They take the game very seriously, so when we organized a game, only the older ones played and the younger all calmly sat with us to watch.

One of the best ways to make the stories interesting was to act things out. Andrea is telling the story of the prodigal son, and her husband Stephan and children Jordan and Nathan are happily acting it out for her.

We had a big game at the end of the week with multilple stations, getting the children into teams competing against each other. They did math, spelling words with popsicle sticks, climbing trees, getting the ten commandments in order, scoring soccer goals, and taking a canoe to an island and finding Renier and Margot who were hiding in the middle of the island.

It was a fun, challenging week. Sadly, I missed the last day because I was not feeling well. (I was told that we don't need heros, and I gave in and went back to bed, much as I wanted to be involved in the game. No worries, I recovered quickly and was back to normal by the next day)

Surgery on the Africa Mercy

2011-09-01T05:51:00.000-05:00

NO WORDS

Middle aged woman shuffles onto the ward

Silently she stares around

This place is foreign to her

A little piece of the west brought to her doorstep

I wonder what she’s thinking

Standing there so still,

staring.

Gestures bring her to her bed.

We do not speak her language

Every word must travel through two translators

... when we find people that speak her language.

So she sits, staring,

Trying to take it all in.

She is ushered to the bathroom with all the other new patients

Toilets, sink, shower, all explained.

Do not stand on the toilet seat.

Use a bucket to shower

Wash your hands when you finish.

Time to sit again.

And wait.

For what, she doesn’t know.

So she stares at me, watches me as I work.

Doctor arrives and uses a translator to speak to her.

Asks a hundred questions about her life, her body.

I wonder if she understands why we ask,

Why we desperately need truthful answers

And not just what she thinks we want to hear.

This lump, when did it start?

10 years ago.

Did it grow faster in the last few years?

I think so.

Do you have children.

Yes, five.

Have you ever had surgery?

No.

Do you have health problems?

No.

Are you on medication?

Yes.

And on and on and on go the questions.

Whispered responses that say so little

Yet so much

I can only imagine...

Ridicule from friends and family

Did her husband leave?

Did he stay?

Does she have to hide all day?

Is she called a witch, blamed for problems around her?

All because of a lump, a growth.

Translators needed again,

Tell her I must poke a needle into her

It will hurt, but only briefly.

Tell her what will happen tomorrow,

She will not eat or drink

(is this something she lives with every day, lack of food?)

She will have a tube with water that goes into her vein.

She must shower and scrub in the morning.

After surgery there will be pain

We can give you medicine,

you must tell us how much pain you have.

There will be a tube, a drain

Don’t worry, it’s normal, it will help.

Wide eyed she listens. No expression.

She does not smile all day.

Nothing I say or do changes her expression.

She eats or drinks whatever we give her.

Medications taken without question.

I ask her to go shower

And she takes off her shirt,

gathers her towel and soap

does what we’ve asked.

Gown on backwards, I help her turn it around.

Next morning she wakes, staring at me still.

Lies in the bed

IV slowly dripping

No food, no water.

Waiting.

Finally, they call for her.

Translator to explain,

First to the bathroom,

then we walk to surgery.

We walk down the hall to the OR

Big brown eyes stare up at me,

expressing a world of fear.

A trembling hand reaches out

and rests on my back.

Grasps my shirt

Pulls me closer to her side.

I put my free hand on her back

She leans into me as we walk

Slow steps down a long hallway

I get her to sit on the bench

Wait for the OR nurse

Hang her IV bag on a hook.

And she stares up at me

Her eyes scream “don’t leave me!”

I have no words to reassure her

So I step closer to her side,

place an arm around her shoulders

And she leans in

like a child.

OR nurse arrives

Why am I here?

2011-08-22T14:56:00.000-05:00

WHAT am I DOING here?
That's an honest question, one that comes to mind from time to time.
It's not... it's not exactly what I expected.
But then,
nothing ever is...
I'm not sure what I expected.
Perhaps I thought I would really FEEL like I'm making a difference?
Perhaps I thought I would be working with the Max/Fax or plastics patients, where the difference is soooo in-your-face obvious.
Perhaps I thought time off would include a lot more opportunities, social or ministries.
Maybe I'm the problem.
My expectations.
My choices.
I do get out and do things once in a while.
But as with any job, sometimes you're just tired, lazy, choose to be anti-social or simply to do whatever uses the least energy. Because, that's just it. It's a job. It's a very unique job, volunteering on a hospital ship in West Africa. But in the end, it is a job, it FEELS like a job, it tires you out like a job.
And it comes down to choices. I can choose to look at the fact that I'm on the hernia ward, where I dealing with a lot of "simple" surgical patients who come and go so fast (because of swift recoveries) that you barely get to know them and they're gone. They are also some of the patients that we rarely take photos of. They don't have the kind of problems that we plaster all over brochures and publications to send home. They aren't (usually) the cute kids or suffering women.
They are the men. The breadwinners. The warriors (literally had one on the ward the other day, arms covered in victory slashes). These are the ones who are supposed to be the strong ones, but instead they have hernias that slowly make their lives more and more uncomfortable. Mostly they can hide it, but it's not easy, and the truth is, it can be fatal if left too long.
So I can choose to see the positives.
I am a part of an organization where lives are changed daily.
I am taking care of people who desperately need help.
I work with people from many different countries, and everyone is sooo friendly and helpful.
It takes me all of 2 minutes to get to work... if I'm on the opposite end of the ship.
My FRIENDS! I have friends on this ship!! (and they like me!)
There are no operations that are less special... just less recognized. They're all important.
I can step off the ship and find myself... in Sierra Leone!
And if I feel like going for a short walk, I can find myself at the hope center, where there's cute kids who've had surgery or are waiting for their turns, and I can spend some time with them... and remind myself just why I'm here...

(Boy on the left, had surgery on his legs. Baby on the right, waiting to get "fat" enough to have his bilateral cleft lip/palate repaired.)

My walk to work...

2011-08-18T20:51:00.000-05:00

Tonight, I'm working the night shift.
So in the evening, after the community meeting, I sat in midships lounge (deck 6) chatting with some friends. At 9:10, I said I needed to go get ready for work. The girls beside me were both nurses on the ward, and they gave me looks of baffled confusion/incredulity, asking "why?" "it only takes me 2 minutes to get ready!"
I suppose old habits die hard. So I stayed, enjoyed their company until 9:25, when I said, "okay, now I really have to go!" To which the reply was, "ya, you'd better go!" So I walked down the hall, down a flight of stairs, stopped in the dining room to put my dirty coffee cup where the dirty dishes go, walked across swiftly only to be hailed by the girl who had sat in front of me at the community meeting: "She's got a good voice!" (she was speaking to a guy beside her) "Hey Hetha, come ova he-a" Not wanting to continue an earlier discussion about whether or not I'm willing to join the worship team, I called over my shoulder "can't gotta work" and continued on down two flights of stairs and down a hallway to my cabin. In my cabin I quickly put on my clean scrubs that were waiting for me on my bed (I do plan ahead sometimes, you know) and made sure I tossed a book and a waterbottle into my bag for work. I grabbed an extra black pen because the interpreter on nights keeps forgetting his, and left the cabin, walked down the hall, through the water-tight door and into the hospital hallway. Down near the end I went through the door to "B" ward, and was a full minute early for my 9:30 shift.
I could get used to this commute! :D

Building a latrine

2011-08-17T21:02:00.000-05:00

Now that you've heard a little about the people of Sierra Leone, I've got a confession to make... I based it on what we've been told of the people in Old Yam's Farm Warf, the village we spent two weeks working in. For our Gateway Field Service, we were asked to help build a latrine, run a VBS (Vacation Bible School) and anything else medical that would help the people.

This village was chosen for a special reason, they were already trying to help themselves. Why is that important? Because if people don't see a need for change, they won't change. If you don't think you need a new and better latrine, you won't use the one that's built, and it won't make a difference in your community. One of the things we learnt in Gateway is how often short-term missionaries go into communities with great goals, but forget to ask the community what they want. And in the end, many wells go unused because no one knows how to maintain or fix them. Hospitals get built but no one trains workers or makes sure that they have money to pay workers. And so we went to a community that were so eager to have a latrine, they had already started the work themselves...

Here's the hole they dug (Ryan, the one who helped to arrange this project, went in before we got there and made sure that the hole they had dug two years ago - even though they didn't have the resources to complete their project -was the right size and the walls were straight. But the point is, the community did it.)

And this is the toilet they had for the school/church. Walls of palm branches, dirt floor, hole in the ground (filled with maggots less than two feet from the top of the hole. Not sanitary, not very private.) We used it for the two weeks we worked there... at least, those who couldn't hold their bladder for an 8 hour day used it. Some of us got away without using it, some conquered fears by using it. One person... met a chameleon... in the bathroom...

But I digress. The thing is, the community wanted to have their school recognized by the government, and to do so, they needed to have a proper latrine. So they did what they could, and stopped when they ran out of funds. Two years later, along comes our group ready and willing to help. Ryan had the plans and told us what to do (I'm using "us" loosely here, as I didn't really do much with the latrine project, I was busy elsewhere, but that's the subject of another blog...). First step, mix cement, by hand.

The villagers were ready and eager to help, and we definitely encouraged this, as it meant they could take ownership of the project. It wasn't something built by white men (and women), rather it was something they did for themselves, with a little help. If they consider it to belong to them, they're more likely to care for it and maintain it.

The cement was used as the foundation in the bottom of the pit, and was moved there by bowls, passed from person to person.

Little by little, blocks are placed and things start to come together.

Frames are built for the large concrete slabs, and holes are carefully made in certain spots.

Sand is moved and filtered through a loose mesh... I think they used it for the concrete, but don't quote me on that.

The inside of the latrine goes up bit by bit, and once everything is made to specifications, it's time to put a top on it...

Concrete is not light, and it takes many men to move it.

No sooner did they have the concrete slabs in place, than it started to rain... I'm talking pouring rain, by the bucket!

And so up went the tarp to cover it.

Little by little, over the next couple of days the walls went up.

Until in the end, there was a 3-stall latrine finished and ready to be used.

They painted it last week, and cleaned up the work space in front of the school a bit too. Here's the final product:

Sierra Leone through fresh eyes

2011-08-15T23:12:00.000-05:00

Let me take you on a little imaginary journey...
Picture yourself in Africa. Whoooooaaa! Just a second, you're picturing "Africa" as a country, aren't you, or even as a continent that's all the same? Sorry, let's reframe this, because every country is different, every culture special.
Picture yourself in Sierra Leone. Now imagine that you're someone who has lived here all you life. What does that mean, exactly? It means that, if you are more than 10 years old, you have survived a civil war. It means that for you, normal is living in a country that's been torn to pieces.
Your life probably started in a small village, somewhere more than a day's walk from Freetown, the capital city. There, you would have had a family that you lived with, and extended family all around. You would have known every person in the village and roamed it freely. You may have been lucky enough to go to school, or to learn a trade from your parents. You probably had a small garden plot or even some land where your family worked to keep cassava, potatoes, corn or groundnuts (peanuts) growing to feed the family. Most of the population being muslim, you likely had a few goats that you raised for important fesitval sacrifices. A quiet life. Until rumours of war started sweeping through the village. War that was in the north, and moving south. Once rumours of soldiers started to be heard in the neighboring towns, you may have fled, alone or with your family, to somewhere, anywhere that you considered safer. Maybe you toughed it out until the soliders came to you village. If you did, you barely survived with your life. The payment for staying alive? Your hands. Maybe your feet. If you were a girl, you were raped. If you were a boy, you were forced to be one of the soldiers, brainwashed and given drugs, taught to do horrible things, from as young as 5 or 6 years old.
But somehow, you survived. Somehow, you made your way to the one place you considered safe, along with a million others, you escaped to Freetown. Flooding a city built for 400,000 people with about 1.2million people. Many jobless, homeless, injured, scarred mentally and emotionally by war. So you beg, steal, search for any way to live. As the war ends, NGO's (Non-Governmental Organizations... charities) begin coming with aide to help people get back on their feet. They come in and feed you, build schools and hospitals, try to find ways to keep you alive and healthy. You begin to think this is normal. White people give handout. We deserve handouts. All things should be free. And then your government takes groups of displaced people like you, and moves them a short drive from the city into small communities in hopes that you can establish a new life there.
Now, you live with people you don't know well, but must learn to live beside, to trust and rely on. Because you are still poor, and you need each other. Your new home is beside the water, so one option is to become a fisherman. Or you can try breaking large rocks into smaller rocks for building material. Maybe you choose to gather wood and make charcoal. Or find something you can sell on the street. If you are lucky enough to have a trade or a driver's license, you are richer than those around you.
The years have passed, and you have a small family, living together in a one or two room house. Mud walls are as strong as cement if kept up properly. Your family survives on 12$ US a week, if you have a good week. You have a couple chickens, that roam the yard and wander through the house at will. You have a fire pit outside to cook your meal, in the evening. A small garden plot if you're lucky. One meal a day is all you can afford. Some days, you are thankful to have water for that one meal, water from a well in the middle of the village. You want to send your children to school, but the cost is 20$US for a year of school plus the purchase of a uniform, and you would rather feed your family then starve for their education. You get up with the sun, and go to bed shortly after the sun goes down, because you have no money for a generator, and there is no electricity in the village. Malaria is a fact of life, most people you know get it every once in a while, and you know when you have it even without going to get tested. You use traditional teas to treat malaria because medications cost money. If you're really sick, you go to a traditional healer who will tell you who has cursed you or why an evil spirit is attacking you, and will tell you what rituals you need to perform to get better. If your child is born with a deformity, you will be told to leave them in the bush because they are cursed and will bring a curse on the family or the village. If you have a deformity, or develop a growth, you will be ostracized, no one will buy from you, some won't even sell to you, people will laugh and jeer at you and likely you will hide and hope your family will continue to support you.
If you are lucky enough to have multiple children, 1 in 5 will die before the age of 5. Your wife has a 1 in 8 chance of dying in childbirth. Because you and your wife must both work hard to survive, the old children will help to take care of the younger. Your five year old can take care of an infant through the day. Crying is not tolerated, a good slap reminds them that there will be no sympathy for them in this life. You have no time for playing with children. Yes you love them, but isn't providing for them proof enough of that? And so you live, day to day, hand to mouth. Extra money at the end of the day means a new outfit or something else to enjoy in the moment, you had enough food today, why would you buy extra? You life is lived in the moment, because that is all you know, all you can focus on.

Nursing on a Mercy Ship

2011-08-09T16:41:00.000-05:00

Today will be a day sans (without) pictures. Because I want to tell you about my new job, but I'm not allowed to take pictures there for confidentiality reasons. Maybe later, if I sign up for a photographer to take a picture of me with a patient...
So today, for the first time, it felt like a "normal" work day. A little slower than normal, to be honest, but enough happening to make it feel pretty good. Though I still have lists of questions at times, they're generally easy enough to answer, if you know the ward and it's routines. But I'm gettting ahead of myself.
I work as a volunteer on a hospital ship. In fact, I pay for the priviledge of working here. We are currently docked in a port in Freetown, Sierra Leone, where we're doing free surgeries for those who desperately need them, generally the poorest of the poor. We have 4 wards, each with a specialty. In "A Ward" we have plastics patients: burn contractures are the vast majority. In "B Ward" we have general surgery patients: mostly hernias and hydroceles, with a couple mastectomies. In "C Ward"... well that's currently the overflow ward and has been housing "D Ward" patients while D Ward gets a good cleaning. "D Ward" is for Max-Fax patients: cleft lip/palate and facial tumours mostly.
For the moment, I've been trained to B ward. One day and one evening shift of orientation (plus two half days of paperwork/routines/rules orientation), and you're on your own! So I have already had two days on my own. And thanks to a handover of surgeons, we've been low on patients and are just now ramping up again to fuller wards.
My day starts about 6:15am (depending on if I listen to my alarm and get up right away or torture my roommates by hitting snooze and falling back to sleep for a couple of minutes). I get up, get ready and change into hospital scrubs that are nicely laundered by volunteers here. I walk up two flights of steep steps to the dining room where I have breakfast. On a good day, there might be porridge or cinnamon buns or something of the sort. Most days it's dry cereal (frosted flakes, bran flakes, rice krispies, or fiber flakes with dried fruit), plain yogurt, toast, and sometimes bananas or mangos. Coffee, tea, water, milk and juice are also available (these ones are out round the clock. Yes, milk around the clock. It's from Europe and apparently they boil the milk and somehow make it safe to keep out of the fridge).
Breakfast done, I head back down the two flights of stairs at about 7am to go to the hospital, on the same deck (floor) as my cabin (room). Once on the ward, I collect the sheet that's been printed off with pertinent info on all my assigned patients, and wait for everyone to gather. Before we get report, the group starting their shift and the group ending their shift pray together for each other, the patients, the hospital, the day, whatever needs prayer. Then we get one-to-one handover on our specific patients, signing off on things in the charts as we get handover. All the patient's paperwork is kept in their binder, so it's a bit of a change for me, used to having a binder for medications, a binder for kardex's, etc.
Through the day, I give out medications, do dressing changes (my favorite part! Yup, I'm weird, though the hydrocele dressings are a little out of my comfort zone... please don't ask what a hydrocele is, if you don't know you don't want to know), instruct patients on washing for surgery, teach using translators, and monitor vital signs. It's really fairly normal as far as what I'm used to. People here are pretty independent, so there's no need to help them wash or eat or toilet. Today I was finally almost busy enough to feel like I was back to working a "normal" job. Though I could easily handle a couple more patients, which I'm sure I'll get a chance to add once we're up to full capacity again.
Sometime through the morning a group from "patient life" usually come by to sing with the patients. It's always loud, and generally kind of fun, though I don't know any of the songs, and they're mostly in Krio, they are very repetative and the tunes are simple, so it won't be long before I'll be able to sing along. We take a half hour break for lunch, and the next shift arrives by 2pm, finishing handover between 2:30 and 3. Makes for an early end to the day that almost makes me feel like I get a half day off, especially after having worked 12hour shifts for so long.
The language barrier is interesting. I'm used to having a patient population I need a translator to work with, but here the majority speak "Krio", which is like English + French + Local languages + Accent. In other words, most of the time it's decipherable. For instance, "tenke" is thank-you... they sound similar. Or they say "wet" for pee and "toilet" for poo. So if I need to ask them about it, I say something like "You did toilet today?" or "You done wet?" and they usually know what I mean. "Halfbacks" are flipflops. "Pikin" are children. "Wasa you nam?" is what's your name. "Me nama" is "my name". I'm picking this up far faster than I ever did Inuktitut. Thank God for small blessings!
After work there are many options, but perhaps that's for another post.

Deep thoughts...

2011-08-03T06:01:00.000-05:00

Time for a quick break from your regularly scheduled program of updates and "what I've been up to"... I'm going to delve into my thoughts a bit...
There are times when I feel my life is all about change. This year especially. I've moved 4 times... from Iqaluit to Winnipeg to Texas to Sierra Leone to the ship. (Yes, the ship is totally different from Sierra Leone). I've quit my job, spent time with family, had an 2 months of classes/practical application, and now am about to start my new job. I've left behind EVERY SINGLE PERSON I know and love, and am busy forging new bonds and friendships. The last 4 months have included some of the biggest stresses a person can go through (Moving, changing jobs, new culture, new friends).
And here I am, on a ship, in Sierra Leone. Nervous to start my new job. Loving my new friends but still unsure because I've known them such a short time... what if they're not as special as I think they are? What if they don't actually like me and instead are just used to spending time with me? Wondering at the fact that I've adjusted so well, and just waiting for the inevitable breakdown.
Suddenly, after classes and a life scheduled for me down to the last hour, I'm dropped into a new culture (ship life) where my free time is abundant and I have time to THINK. And here I am, falling into my old, insecure thought patterns. I know I shouldn't. And I know I've changed and grown a lot already in the last couple of month. But still I do.
And so my theme song (yup, I have a theme song, pretty cool, huh???) for this time in my life is an old hymn: Great is thy faithfulness. Because I have a God who is faithful. The best thing about that song, is the verses it's based on. I want to share the passage from Lamentations 3:19-36 with you, as it's written in the Message Bible, because it's really touched me...
^19-21I'll never forget the trouble, the utter lostness,
   the taste of ashes, the poison I've swallowed.
I remember it all—oh, how well I remember—
   the feeling of hitting the bottom.
But there's one other thing I remember,
   and remembering, I keep a grip on hope:

^22-24God's loyal love couldn't have run out,
   his merciful love couldn't have dried up.
They're created new every morning.
   How great your faithfulness!
I'm sticking with God (I say it over and over).
   He's all I've got left.

^25-27God proves to be good to the man who passionately waits,
   to the woman who diligently seeks.
It's a good thing to quietly hope,
   quietly hope for help from God.
It's a good thing when you're young
   to stick it out through the hard times.

^28-30When life is heavy and hard to take,
   go off by yourself. Enter the silence.
Bow in prayer. Don't ask questions:
   Wait for hope to appear.
Don't run from trouble. Take it full-face.
   The "worst" is never the worst.

^31-33Why? Because the Master won't ever
   walk out and fail to return.
If he works severely, he also works tenderly.
   His stockpiles of loyal love are immense.
He takes no pleasure in making life hard,
   in throwing roadblocks in the way:

^34-36Stomping down hard
   on luckless prisoners,
Refusing justice to victims
   in the court of High God,
Tampering with evidence—
   the Master does not approve of such things.

God takes no pleasure in our suffering. It's good to quietly wait and hope. I'm sticking with God, he's all I've got left. Enter the silence!!!! Don't run from trouble.

Now I'm not saying my life is hopeless or so far gone like the writer of Lamentations. But it is such a comfort to me to read that passage. Especially the part about God's love and mercy being made new every morning. It's hard to run out of something that's always being renewed! So I will trust in my God, who is faithful with mercies anew and has stockpiles of loyal love! I would say I'm in pretty good hands.

When I start thinking too much, when my mind hits those rough patches that drag me down and make me think I'm not special, that I'm not good enough, that I'm not loved (all NOT true), THAT is when I can turn to the ONE who will never let me down!

All that to say, emotionally, I'm doing well. I have my ups and downs, but I know WHO holds tomorrow, and I know that I'm sitting in the palm of His hand. I'll rest here a bit.

Where we stayed

2011-08-02T14:24:00.001-05:00

So, I told you all about how we got here and who I came with, now for the question of where we stayed...

We stayed in a hostel that was part dental clinic, part training center, part hostel. It was located in the town of Jui, which is one of many refuge camps/towns set up for those displace by the civil war here. Jui, from what we were told was set up for those with amputations, though we only saw a handful of amputees. The question is whether they are in hiding because of the general attitude in the area that those with physical defects are cursed, or whether most of the amputees have moved on out of the area.

There was no air conditioning in our hostel, but whenever the power was on (overnight from 7 to 7, and a few hours each in the am and pm, thanks to generators on site), we'd get the fans going to cool us off. On the one hand it helped us acclimatize, on the other hand... the first week it was reeeeeealllllly hot and I didn't even want a sheet to cover me while I slept. Our hostel had a room for the women, and a room for the men. Unfortunately there are an uneven number of men and women on our team. We had 17 females and 7 males. The rooms were identical in size and had mirror-image bathrooms. The men's bathroom was cleaner and had a better cross-breeze, plus all of their stuff was working.

The women's bathroom had one shower (the middle) that was such a slow trickle that we eventually all refused to use it. It would have worked better to bring a bucket of water into that shower stall to get clean. And from the beginning one of the three women's toilets wasn't flushing properly. By the end there was only one reliable toilet. Oh, and there was no hot water. On the plus side, no hot water meant showers were quick and if you were the last one into the shower in the afternoon (after getting back from working hard and sweating in the village), it was rarely more than an hour's wait.

The water we used inside was all filtered for us, but there was also a pump outside where we could wash our shoes off before we came in, or that the guards/workers used for cleaning things.

The hostel was on the banks of a river, and had some great views. I didn't go around to the back until our last full day there, but it had a gorgeous gazebo as well.

We spent a lot of time on the balcony, where we had a view of the street nearby. The views from the balcony were great, and it honestly felt like we were living in luxury. Especially when you consider what most people around us were living in.

Our morning devotionals and our evening meetings were out on the balcony, as well as random games or worship. It was a nice spot to sit and have quiet time, and everyone generally respected your wish for privacy when you sat facing the view with a book/bible in your hands.

There were lots of lizards all around, and the kids had fun chasing them, especially the colorful ones.

The hostel was fenced in with a guard always present, so we were very safe. But from the balcony, we could watch the people and traffic go by, as well as hear and be heard by those going by. This sometimes meant it was hard to hear each other in the evenings, or that people would randomly yell comments at us.

There were numberous walks down the street for roasted corn, popcorn, or softdrinks, which were all relatively cheap. Roasted corn on the cob is great, it's like a cross between corn on the cob and popcorn, a little crunchy, and very tasty! I'd actually like to try making it at home sometime!

Who was in our group?

2011-08-02T09:00:00.000-05:00

I've spent the last 2 months with a small group of people. Day and night, night and day. Sharing food, bathrooms, experiences, laughs, cries, and prayers. When you spend this much time together, you can't help but grow close, become friends, become family. A family that stretches across cultures and languages. And somehow, even though we were mostly female (a deadly combination in many circumstances), there's rarely any problems or disagreements. We meshed well and found a good rhythm together.

These are my friends (plus laborers from the village that we worked in). They will likely be a part of many updates, posts and stories, so you may as well get to know them now...

Margot is an Australian nurse, the elder of our group, and very tenderhearted. She likes to pretend to be crotchety, but I've never yet seen her fail to be friendly. She's full of great sarcastic jokes, and one of the strongest women around. She can lift heavy blocks with the men and is always looking for opportunities to stay active.

Sophie is Swiss and has been on the ship for a few months before joining Gateway. She's amazing at languages and an interesting combo of diplomatic and brutally honest. I love her heart for God and the little side comments she usually has about whatever is going on. She's also a really hard worker and was right in there with Margot on the lifting!

Kelly is our second Swiss girl. She's signed up as a teacher and has a very soft heart for those around her. She also has 3 languages under her belt, and speaks English almost like an American, thanks to her father who is fluent in English. She was my roommate in Texas, and is always willing to share and looking out for others.

Kari is from Georgia. Her accent is as thick as they come, and her attitude is always positive. She'll be working on the wards in the hospital as an ICU or pediatric nurse. She's a quiet one, but I think she hides a lot of insight and intelligence. She's so gentle with the kids and had a little follower every day we were in the village. She was my other roommate in Texas.

Tori is from California. She's always ready with a smile or a laugh, and can often be the life of a party. No fear of embarrassment, she helps us all to keep a good attitude. She's already completed her bucket list (well, her pre-Mercy Ships one at least), and is always looking for fun, or a nap. She's been great to have around, and was my travel companion on my shuttle trip from the Airport to the IOC where we stayed in Texas.

Amy is from Florida and will be a teacher on board the ship. Amy is one of the sweetest girls I have ever met. She's been very challenged by this trip but keeps trying new things, and is being so brave that I'm bursting with pride at all she's done! She's great for a quiet chat or sharing her many snacks. She also has great taste in movies!

Seunghyeon, otherwise known as "Sing" is from South Korea. He is very smart and talented, always surprising us with a new skill. Everything from random crafts he teaches us to occupy kids, to guitar playing, high jumps, massage, origami... pretty much anything he can do with his hands he does well! And as his third language, his English is pretty good! He's also always pulling little tricks/jokes and keeps us laughing at his body language.

Hoejung (pronounced Hay-jong) is Sing's wife, and also from South Korea. She is very sweet, and initially was very quiet. As her English improves by leaps and bounds, we're learning that she LOVES to talk. She can be a real ham in front of a camera (trust me not to find any great pictures of her), and is quite tenderhearted. She's made a lot of sacrifices to come with her husband, and still has a good attitude. Little by little getting to know her better, but she has a lot of hidden talents too.

Renier is South African and has signed on long-term with the ship, bringing along his family of five. He's always joking around, and loves to talk and share with people.

Evilin is Renier's wife and a nurse. She is very quiet, soft-spoken, and gentle. She is a great mother and is a hard worker.

Michelle is the oldest in the family and is a fun, responsible teen. She spends a lot of time babysitting (especially while we were in class), and really seems to enjoy children.

Caroline is the middle child and is full of energy and enthusiasm. She loves babies and animals and is always up to something interesting, or looking for company in her activities.

Renier Jr is a ball of energy. The boy runs non-stop and climbs over anything in the way. He's very curious and friendly and yet when it's time to calm down (like on plane rides) does surprisingly well.

Candace is from Iowa. She is another nurse, and is extremely sweet. She's been busy growing and learning and searching out God, and I'm so proud of her eagerness to seek His will. She seems really quiet at times, but she can be full of spunk and out there with the craziest of us in front of the camera or entertaining the kids.

Toni is the second Australian, and works as a Dentist. She's small and full of energy, keeping up with Margot as they stay active. She has a wonderful dry sense of humour and an intelligent mind. She's very encouraging and great to have around.

Jillian is from Calgary. She's the crew hairstylist and laughs more than anyone I know. She is loud and talkative, and generally quite positive, though accident-prone. She's fun to have around and joke with. You just can't take her out in the sun too long or she'll burn. :D

Abby is from Washington, and is the youngest (other than the kids) in our group. She's very fun, and talented, especially with the camera. She's usually full of ideas on things to do, and is very friendly all-around.

Annika is from Germany, and will be working on the ward as a nurse. She's got a lovely dry wit and expressive face, and she's the one we turn to when we need someone who can say it straight. She has no problem telling the brutal truth, and laughs at us when we try and be polite but can't seem to get anywhere because we won't say what we really think. She is still working on learning English (though I'd say her English is pretty darned good), and is another one with many hidden talents. She's one of the most fun people to be around and I really value her friendship.

Stephan is American... though He's originally from Germany and still has a strong accent. He's the leader for the group and helped us to better understand the culture and guide us through plans for the days. He's wise and knowledgeable about other cultures, always pulling jokes, but sometimes his organization just isn't there.

Andrea is Stephan's wife, and she's an all-American, southern woman, loving her nice clothes and telling stories about her skills with a shot-gun (killing possums etc). She keeps Stephan organized and works well alongside all of us. She's very sweet and has been a fun leader to have.

Jordan is the middle child of Stephan & Andrea, and has been a fun one to have in the group. He's a great worker, and loves games as well. He's very responsible in helping to care for his brother, and integrated well into our team.

Nathan is the youngest child of Stephan & Andrea, and has kept us all smiling on the field service. He's a really great kid, and tender-hearted towards those around him. He helped with skits in VBS and played football (soccer) with the villagers.

Ryan is from South Africa and isn't officially part of the Gateway group. He's been here in Sierra Leone for a couple months already working with the off-ships construction projects. He was in charge of the project we worked on during our two weeks, and so ended up staying with us at our hostel and integrating into the group. He's outspoken, loud, and hilarious. He's a hard worker and really knows his stuff, managing our team and the locals well, even with lots of strong personalities.

So that's our group.

How we got here...

2011-07-31T07:50:00.001-05:00

Have you ever had so much to say that you don't know where to begin? That would be me, here, now.
I'm sitting at a table, on the ship, surrounded by people. A friend at my table (with her computer), and a friend at each of the tables beside us, each with their own computers. Random comments here and there, but we're each kind of on our own as well. On the ship of 450 people alone time is time where you sit amongst people or as far from people as you're able, and tune them out. Sometimes that's going back to your cabin and hiding on your bed. That's not possible for me at the moment since my roommate worked the night and is sleeping. Sharing a room with 6 other people is all about respect!
I'm sure you're all just waiting for pictures...
So here we go, I'll attempt to be brief (no promises though, you know me! If you're bored just skim through pictures, I won't be offended!)
We got up and left our dorms in Texas at 5:45am (no pictures, too early and everyone a mix of stressed/excited/tired), travelled in two large vans for 2 hours (a little longer actually, since there was one inevitable "whoops I forgot my backpack at the dorm" which meant turning back to get it), and arrived to Dallas just in time to check in. Check-in was not without it's dramas, including about 4 people whose connecting flight was not being confirmed for some unknown reason. And a couple overweight bags that meant shuffling of items and a lot of waiting around. Security was easy in comparison.
We flew Dallas - New York - Brussels - Banjul - Freetown. And were blessed with no flight delays or large problems along the way. We were actually fed more than some of us wanted (other than the American flight, where they don't feed you).

We did have a 3 hour layover in New York where we chose to stop at a restaurant to eat "normal" food.

Once we arrived in Freetown, we had been on the move for approximately 27 hours. Ya. Tiring. The last flight was the best sleep for most of us, and I actually felt a little rejuvenated afterwords. In the customs line in Freetown, we were put in a special line for officials and dignitaries because we came with Mercy Ships. We all got through that easily. Picking up luggage, on the other hand, was crazy.

I've been to India and thought I knew what to expect at the airport. Not quite. Here, they allow a certain number of... ?baggage handlers? to 'help' collect luggage, and if you don't get through customs lickety-split, they take all the baggage carts and make you pay for them, as well as wanting payment for their 'help' moving your bags etc. We had been warned of this ahead of time, but they were pushy and managed to get their hands on our stuff, and we were a little disorganized. In the end, we got all our bags, made it to our vans, loaded the roof high with stuff and took off for the ferry.

Note the nets to hold stuff on the roof of the van. And no, we did not all fit in one van, there were two vans plus the car you see in this picture, to help move all the stuff and people. 24 people with 2 bags each can be an unwieldy load.

We were lucky enough to be on a large ferry that carries cars and trucks and so was a fairly stable ride. Even so, I preferred to be out in the fresh air instead of inside. A bunch of us stood outside in the setting sun, watching as we got closer and closer to our new home.

The hardest part of the ferry ride was the two flights of narrow stairs we had to lug all the luggage up and down. Mild chaos, but all bags and people were accounted for. We went from the dock to the Africa Mercy, where they fed us (best lasagna ever... almost any familiar food is great when you're overtired and overhungry - airplane food does not count as good filling food!). We left valuables locked up onboard, and then were off to the hostel where we stayed for 2 weeks.

First stop, Sierra Leone

2011-07-21T13:39:00.000-05:00

So, I have maybe 5 minutes left on the computer, then once again gone for a week.
I'm safe in Sierra Leone, all our flights went well and everyone is relatively healthy. I'm now sharing a room with 16 other females, some have curtained bunkbeds (dark but warm), the other 7 are single beds out in the open (more airflow... guess which I chose?). We get three showers stalls to share, always cold water, and one is less water flow than the tap of a sink. We are continually running out of toilet paper, and I somehow am always the one going down to ask the staff for things ie: top sheet on beds (barely need it, except to keep the mosquito bites to a minimum), fresh towels so we can shower (they took our old ones to wash them), more toilet paper!!!
I bathe in DEET spray. Well not quite, but I put it on every time I think of going outside, and just before going to sleep. Welcome toxins! Only about 6 bites so far. And yes, I'm taking my antimalarials... I know better than to skip them during the worst time of the year for malaria!
Everything is going WELL. We are all learning patience and how to be adaptable, but generally we all get along so good... that I'm getting a little tired of UNO. I accidentally injured one of the guys playing 'Spoons' (dangerous card game, that one). And apparently 'duck-duck-goose' is the kind of game where people get injured (not me, one of my friends, and it was only a few scrapes thanks to rocky ground). We're building a latrine for a school, with help from the villagers. While building, there is a lovely hole we use to relieve ourselves. I must say that is the most maggots I've ever seen in one spot!!! (I think I just made you squirm!! hehehehe)
Oh, and I've decided to make an effort to speak french more often, and that I will know basic german by the end of this year (friends here speak both, so I'm working on it.) We'll see how those goals go. Don't congratulate me yet!
One more week until we join the ship. For now, it's hot days and nights without airconditioning (we do have overhead fans at night, thank the Lord!) Next time I post, I should be able to add pictures. Love to all!!!!!!
Oh, and word to the wise, never eat anything that isn't prepared in front of you, especially if you buy it off the street. (I haven't tried that yet. Boiled peanuts though... excellent!!!) And we're in a place where they eat with their right hands, but we haven't had to do that exclusively yet.

Leaving for Sierra Leone!

2011-07-13T00:49:00.000-05:00

Okay, so... I know I need to get some sleep, we leave 5 1/2 hours from now.... but there's something about the night before I leave... so many thoughts rushing through my head... so many last minute things I think of (like needing to sync and charge the ipod, or update my blog for possibly the last time this month)... that sleep just isn't the right choice yet.

We did a bunch of group pictures, none with everyone due to poorly coordinated schedules:

This one includes Hannah, a great gal from the base here in Texas that won't be joining us in Africa, but we needed to get a picture with her! And let me tell you, it our choice of a black shirt for a team shirt... HOT! Especially when the temp is above 101F! Unfortunately, there were a number of people that didn't show up to this picture shoot... so...

We did a second picture later in the evening. We did take some "nice" ones, but this one is just so much more fun!!!

This morning we had a special hot breakfast, followed by a final class... of sorts. We had to sum up what we learned in the last month, by doing something creative in groups. My table chose to twist the tale of Snow White into a something that could show a number of principles. I had the role of the 911 responder (I told you we twisted the story) who did the heimlich/chest compression that saved her life so she could confront her stepmother the next day about the apple, and make peace with her! After our presentations (that we had about 15mins to put together, I figure we did pretty good!) we got certificates of completion.

This is our small group leader, Sue, followed by the members of the small group I was in: Annika, Me, Toni, Amy and Hannah (Veronica was the other member of the group but couldn't make it today). Sue was reading a limerick she wrote thanks to a discussion we had one day. I won't go into detail, but lets just say Annika and I are nurses and got very... um... informative one day in small group. But they asked for it!!!

By the time we were done with all the details, we had lunch (even though we still felt full), and then it was back to the dorm for the final clean-up and packing. Shock of all shocks, I finished packing the night before!!!! All of our packing and dorm clean up was done by 3:30 this afternoon when they came to inspect the dorm. Which meant we had plenty of time for multiple picture shoots, going out for one last drink at the cafe on the base, and a movie before bed! Oh, we also had a short meeting to go over travel plans... ie: how we plan to stick together at the airports during crucial moments such as customs and make sure everyone gets through okay. And to pray for safe travels. I would appreciate all the prayers you're willing to send our way. We leave here at 5:45 in the morning, and drive for 2 hours to the Dallas airport where we'll arrive 3 hours early, to make sure we can get all our details sorted. Then we fly to New York, Brussels, Sierra Leone, each with short layovers. Finally, sometime after 5pm Thursday local time, we will arrive at our destination, go through customs, take a water taxi across a massive river, and then... uh... taxi's/Poda-poda (I think) to the small village where we'll be staying.

There, we will stay in a "new" 3-year old hotel, 20 people to a room with a curtain to separate the men and the women. There is plumbing and air conditioning... depending on those things actually functioning. No internet until I get to the ship. No phones (that I know of).

While we're there, the plan is to build latrines for the school, do a quick health survey of the kids (height/weight etc), do a dental screening, do VBS (somehow I got to run that one), and whatever else comes to mind while we're there. It is currently rainy season, so we've all been told to buy rubber boots (wish I had brought mine instead of packing them away) and ponchos. The temperature there is cooler than it has been here... but more humid. Our group has 7 nationalities, and two families with children (one family is that of the two people leading the trip). So the dynamics should be interesting, with ages from 4 to 62. Here we go,

off to Sierra Leone!!

The Tale of the Third Son

2011-07-08T18:36:00.001-05:00

For class this week our assignment was to do something creative related to what we had learned. I thought you might enjoy the story I ended up writing...

The Tale of the Third Son

There was a father with three sons. He did his best to raise them with love and understanding and he knew that though each one was very different from the others, they were each special none-the-less. As each son turned 18, the father took him aside and spoke with him at length about making the most of his life and how to be a man who would prosper and go far in this world.

The years went by, and he watched as each son made very different choices. He loved his sons deeply, and wanted the most for them. He cried long into the night when he saw them going through hardships, and rejoiced with them in their triumphs.

The third son was now middle-aged, and the father noticed that he was not prospering like his brothers. The father believed that each of his sons was a hard worker, and yet the youngest never seemed to get anywhere. He had worked in the same menial job for many years without a promotion. His house was small, his clothes rarely new or fashionable.

The father was confused, for this third son of his was actually the smartest of all his sons. He was a deep thinker and rarely got in trouble as a child. The father grew more troubled with every injustice and hardship that he noticed. He thought long and hard about what might be going on with his third son, and decided on a plan to encourage him to be more like his brothers.

So one day, after much contemplation, his asked his third son to spend the day with him. They began the day by visiting the first and oldest brother. The first brother had his own factory that made medical supplies. They toured the factory with all of its amazing machinery and many workers. After the tour, the first brother spent some time visiting with them and telling them about how he started the factory and developed ways to make it prosper. He told about how his days went and the many important people he connected with to make things run smoothly.

As they left, the father felt happy, for he was certain that his third son had learned many good principles from the running of the factory and from older brother’s tales.

Their next stop was the second son’s farm. On the farm they say many beautiful fruit trees laden with fruit, and large bunkhouses for all the workers that were needed to help pick all the fruit. The second son showed them around, and as he did he told of the work he had done, planting the trees himself, nurturing them, working hard to make the farm productive. And the father felt proud of his second son and certain that his third son had learned some new insights into ways to prosper.

Before they could end their day, the father had one last destination in mind. He asked the third son to take him for a tour of his workplace. The place where he had worked at a menial job with no promotion for so many years. The third son heartily agreed, and soon was showing his father into the building. As the son showed him around, the father shook his head at the small space in which the son was forced to work, and he sighed to himself as he realized just how boring this job must be for a man as smart as his son. He looked around and thought of how many missed opportunities there had been.

But then, he stopped looking around in grief for his son, and forced himself to listen to the third son’s words. His son knew every co-worker, by name. He also knew each one as a friend, and was well respected by all of them. He had learned to greet people in their own language. He had spent many years making changes to improve order and safety in his department. He spoke of his job and his co-workers with joy.

And the father started to realize that perhaps his son wasn’t going through as many hardships as he thought. So he asked his son what he thought of the day they had just finished, and here was his response:

“Oh Father! What a hard life my brothers lead! We saw my first brother’s factory, and he looked so tired and worn out. He wasn’t friends with anyone he worked with, and nobody smiled when they saw him walk by! I feel so sorry for him, working in such a sad place. And then when we went to the farm, my second brother couldn’t speak the language of most of the people working in his fields. He has worked so hard, with barely a day off since he graduated, and still every time the weather changes, he must worry about his livelihood! I feel so sad for him! But what a great end to the day! I got to show you what a wonderful place I work in. I got to introduce you to my friends. I’ve told them so much about what a great father I have and how much you’ve taught me, and now finally I got to introduce you to them! Did you enjoy your day?”

And the father replied: “My son, I have learned a great lesson in perspective today, and I thank you for opening my eyes to what I’ve been missing for so long!”

Safety at Sea

2011-06-28T22:45:00.000-05:00

To end off our BST (Basic Safety Training) week, we needed to learn about ship safety. An entire day of in-class learning about safety drills and sinking ships (among other things), was followed by a half-day of classroom training and a half-day at the pool. We all brought swimsuits and towels, and spent about an hour driving to a pool big enough to fit us and our life raft.

Once again, we split into two teams to get things done faster. My team started out in life-jackets, and learned the "proper" way to jump off a boat (practicing from the 1 meter diving board), then swam across the pool. The hardest part was taking off the lifejackets and treading water for a full minute. You know you're out of shape when that leaves you mildly breathless and with a pulse of at least 120. (Especially after the instructor told us a story about his kids treading water for 7 hours before he made them stop and eat) The last task with that group was to climb into the life raft from the water.

Here's the life raft. It's made to fit 12 people plus emergency supplies. We all found it quite comfortable, but could see it being very close quarters if you were stuck in there for more than an hour or two.

Here's Evilin in a life jacket and Kari in a Gumby suit. That was what we learned to use next...

They're not officially called Gumby suits, it's just that they resemble the claymation character "Gumby." They're actually cold water immersion survival suits. As the second group to don the suits, we had to climb into wet suits, with puddles still inside. It was not easy, but we all managed to get them on within the 2 minute time limit. The suits are made of the same material as wet suits, so they're REALLY warm, and they really help you to float.

Here's a group in a train formation, paddling with their arms. It's actually quite comfortable and easy to float!

Here we had to step off the diving board in a suit. We then had to climb into the lifeboat with a suit on... really awkward! But made more possible by working as a team and pushing/pulling each other up.

And the finale... we each took a turn flipping the lifeboat without help. It was all about balance and body weight. All in all, a fun afternoon. And once we were done, we were all treated to a chinese buffet... which included Sushi, so it was really more of a Asian buffet. Not bad, as buffets go. We all enjoyed it.

As a side note, during class Toni and I had a running joke, of reasons why we might kick someone out of a life raft while waiting to be rescued.
1) If they did a #2 in the raft (that's just gross)
2) If they chundered (Aussie for vomiting) in the raft (which tends to start a chain reaction)
3) If they burned the life raft with a flare (though we did discuss fire dance with flares as an option until we realize just how flammable the life raft was! And how hot the flares can get.)

First Aid

2011-06-28T21:46:00.000-05:00

So after we finished learning to fight fires, it was on to first aide and CPR. This felt a little like a day off, other than the exertion of doing CPR. It was simply reinforcement of all I know, but I did stay late with a small group to get my certification to use a AED (the automatic defibrillators they keep in places like malls and airplanes). Not a lot of story for this, but some pictures of us wrapping each other up...

I'm a firefighter!! Kind of.

2011-06-26T23:10:00.000-05:00

Last week in Gateway we did the BST (Basic Safety Training), which is done according to maritime regulations and apparently certifies all of us for working on a ship, any ship. It also makes for good picture opportunities. I'm going to split the week into a few different posts, for size sake. As a quick disclaimer, we shared photos between the group, so while I'm mostly using my own photos, they don't all belong to me.

First things first, we learned about the equipement. There is a lot of firefighting gear, and we had to be able to gear up in under a minute, and then had one extra minute to put on our breathing apparatus, complete with separate air tank to give us a flow of fresh air.

We also learned the different types of fire, what fire extinguisher to use on it and why. We actually spent a whole day on the classroom learning, with a brief bit at the end for finding the right size gear, and practicing putting it all on.

We were back to class at the crack of dawn... well, 6am is pretty darned close to the crack of dawn I'd say! All in the hopes of getting the fire-fighting practical out of the way before the day got too hot.

Once we were all geared up, the first exercise was saving "Manny" (the 75kg/165lbs dummy) from a smoky room. It was just a smoke machine to simulate, but we still had our SCBA (self contained breathing apparatus) up and running. I was paired up with Toni(Australia) for this exercise, you can see her behind me as I open the door. I had to guide us along the side, using the back of my hand to feel the way, and she was supposed to keep a hand on my shoulder, and search the floor for Manny with her feet. Once we found Manny, we needed to drag him to the door, one person dragging him and the other guiding their friend in the right direction. We each took a turn. Manny is heavy. Props to firefighters who lift the real thing instead of the weak drag across the floor that we were doing!

Here's the group waiting their turns to go in, and me sitting on the bench after I finished. You can see the clouds in these pictures too. We started out with a nice cool, cloud-covered morning that swiftly became a full-out thunderstorm moving rapidly towards us. So for safety's sake we headed back to the classroom to wait out the lighting.

Here are Annika (Germany), Candace (US), and Sophie (Switzerland) modelling the sexy suspenders in the classroom.

The storm passed us over with a large dump of rain in a little over an hour, and then it was safe to head back to the field. Let me tell you, it is NOT easy to climb back into those vans fully geared up! This is me with Seunghyeon and his wife Hoejung (South Korea) behind me and Margot (Australia) beside me.

Back on the field, we split into two groups and my group started with the electrical fire. Here I am using the CO2 extiguisher on the electrical fire after Tori (US) disconnected the electricity.

Once everyone had a chance to do that, our group moved over to the gas/propane fire. This time we were getting to try out the hose.

I'm not actually sure who this is, but we each had a chance to man the nozzle. We were in a group of four people, with three holding the hose and one directing the nozzle. There's a lot of power in those hoses!!

Next activity was a gas/fuel fire (on top of water), in a drum. We all took a turn spraying the dry chemical fire extinguisher on it. It was really obvious when someone used the wrong technique with the fire extinguisher, and the fire would flare up even stronger!!

And finally, we were ready for the big finish, entering a container with a Class A fire (wood or other ash-producing combustible), fully geared up and using a fire hose to put it out.

The fire was a few pallets, but it doesn't take much to get a good strong fire going.

They were monitoring the temperature, and thanks to a strong wind adding O2 to the fire, the temp at 6ft height was 400C. At 2-3ft up it was around 200C I think. It was immediately obvious when you entered the container that you needed to duck down to avoid the worst of the heat. It's amazing what a difference it can make! Also, thanks to the smoke, it was almost impossible to see until you ducked down low.

Here I am, helping to hold the hose for my partner, as we enter the burning container. We each took a turn spraying water on the fire, and watching the effect of the different techniques.

Whoever wanted got a cold wet towel to help cool off after finishing in the container. Candace (US) found the towel a little cool for her liking!

And a final thanks to Kelly (Switzerland) who happily used 6 different cameras that day and helped us all to keep a record of the day we faced a fire and triumphed!

International Day of the African Child

2011-06-16T22:32:00.000-05:00

I learned something today... well, to be honest, I learned an awful lot today, the classes I'm in are pretty intense, and quite interesting. But today isn't about me. Today is the International Day of the African Child. Unlike so many other "international days", this one isn't just some feel-good day with an arbitrarily chosen date.
Today is the anniversary of the Soweto Uprising in 1976 when thousands of school children marched to protest the poor quality education they were receiving, and to demand the right to be taught in their own language. More than a hundred school children were shot and killed that day, and as they continued to rally for change, thousands were injured in the next two weeks. Now the day is a day to honor the memory of those who were killed and to bring attention to the lives of African Children today.

As I am joining up with Mercy Ships, and now have access to their database of photos, I thought I'd illustrate this with a few photos of those they've helped, and get you thinking about the outcast children in Africa...

Cowboys in Texas

2011-06-14T20:49:00.000-05:00

What else defines Texas better than it's cowboys?

I'm not really sure, but we decided we had to experience a little of that culture last week while there was at least one person here that had a car. So on Wednesday we went to Cowboy church. That's right, Cowboy Church! It's specifically designed to be a comfortable place for cowboys, and has been around only 8 years, but has already spread from Texas to Alberta and even Australia! The preaching is down-to-earth and in simple terms, the services and activities are scheduled around typical ranch life, and "dressing up" means wearing your good boots and belt buckles, having a shower before coming.

This is Toni, one of the ladies who is attending Gateway with me, couldn't resist a picture beside this massive... uh... can it even be called a motorcycle? It was parked outside the church.

The decorations were so stereotypical cowboy, and we all just soaked it up. The worship team included a steel guitar, a harmonica, drums and and a singer with a voice that could have won american idol! Our only complaint was that there wasn't enough songs during the worship time! The preaching was interesting, easy to follow and definitely bible-based.

On Friday night, we heard about a rodeo an hour's drive away, and headed out.

I think the pictures speak for themselves. Oh, and it was my first time having dipping dots icecream. Very nice!

These are the people I went to the rodeo with. Margot, Kari (my roommate) and Laura(the lovely driver).

This is me and my other roommate, Kelly.

One quick picture of the action. It was later in the evening, and the action shots didn't turn out so well. But it was a really fun night!!