Question: What do you miss most while you are in Africa or away from the states?

Answer: I live quite comfortably on the Africa Mercy, I cannot complain...  I have learned that what we as humans may want... I don’t really need. And what I need is a lot less than I thought… I have everything I need. It helps that I absolutely love what I do… I rarely have time to think about what I don’t have. But, for your entertainment…Since being home, there are some things that I realized I sort of missed while I have been away…

My Top-Ten List of things I’ve sort of Missed

1.    Bath Tubs- What an amazing invention! Something really missed when one doesn’t feel well.  One time my Irish roommate and best friend from the ship wasn’t feeling well.  Considering I am a nurse, I wanted to comfort her and help out.  So, I asked Jane if she wanted to take a bath. Her pale face lit up and she said, “Yes, but where? We don’t have bath tubs on the ship?” With a compassionate tone of voice, I told her, “Go into our shower, run the water, and sit on the drain.” Okay, maybe that was a less than compassionate approach, but after Jane finished yelling at me, she laughed her head off. Laughter is the best medicine! I am thankful to have bath tubs again!  

2.    Couches long enough for me to stretch out on

3.    Fresh fruit- Especially berries

4.    Milk products- Never thought I would say that one… I grew up on powered milk, so I thought I could handle any milk, but I was never able to adjust to the boxed milk on the ship with a shelf life of like 100 years! I am thankful for real milk, cheese, yogurt, and ice cream!

5.    Driving fast- I’ve missed driving fast. It’s not the speed limits are low in Africa… but there are too many potholes, goats, or small children running across most roads that by the time you reach any significant speed, you must slow down so you don’t hit anything.

6.    Changing seasons- Although I have been complaining about the cold; fall and winter are actually my favorite seasons.  Perpetual summer is HOT at times!

7.    Unlimited access to food- This is actually dangerous!

8.    Salad- But you already knew that

9.    Walking down the street unnoticed- Although, this is one of the things that makes me saddest about our country, our independence and disregard for others, I do enjoy walking down the street or being in the grocery store without having someone yell, “White woman… give me something… help me… take me to America… take me to your ship!” Yes, sometimes I like to live a typical “normal” life.

10. Home- I put this one in there for all of you that may feel offended or hurt that I haven’t mentioned missing my family or home… I love my parents, friends, church families, and adopted families across this world, you guys are amazing! You are the ones that have given me roots and wings. You have provided me with financial support so that I can go where God wants me. You are the ones who taught me the definition of “home.”  But I don’t miss home.

This is something I think I wrote a few months ago and maybe it will help you understand where I am coming from… I think it was an exercise that I had to write when I was at Gateway in January 2009. Something I would want said of me when the Lord takes me home… “A mother to the motherless, although Laura traveled frequently, ‘home’ is something she brought with her, simply by being who she was.”  I truly feel I am at home whenever I am with God’s people, wherever I am, home is something I carry with me in my heart.

I know many of you have been wondering what I have been up to lately. Well, I have been sleeping, resting, sleeping, visiting many of you, sleeping, and traveling to Washington, D.C., Pennsylvania,  New Hampshire, Vermont, and finally to Idaho where I am currently. I have been spending many hours stretched out on the couch and enjoying many of the things I told you I’ve sort of missed!

I see people...not numbers...

The official statistics have been gathered (if you are interested in that kind of thing...note they are the official statistics, but could still be slightly wrong)… I see people…not numbers… Each and every person we were privileged to work with is unique, special, and loved by God. Their tears, smiles, laughs, and hugs are forever etched on my heart! I pray that the impact Mercy Ships made in Benin will ring throughout eternity!

996 reconstructive and plastic surgeries, 185 cleft lip and palate repairs, 1161 general surgeries, 2 local surgeons trained, 3,521 cataracts removed, 570 other eye surgeries, 2 local eye surgeons trained, 33,851 eye evaluations and other treatments, 7,083 pairs of sunglasses distributed, 5,689 pairs of reading glasses distributed, 18 community eye field workers trained, 154 obstetric fistulas repaired, 4 local surgeons trained in fistula repair, 231 orthopedic operations, 10,175 dental patients seen, 794 dental hygiene patients, 13,174 oral health education, 25 oral health teachers trained, 2 dental assistants trained, 28 patients received palliative home care, 6 Burkitt's Lymphoma patients received palliative support, 19 families trained in wound care, 10 agricultural staff trained, 23 local agricultural students attended the first agricultural training term, 1 dorm constructed for the agricultural college, 19 mental health workers trained, 119 church & community leaders trained in mental health care, 50 prison officers and workers trained in mental health care, 2 church leader's conferences held and attended by 602 people, and most importantly... at least 12,000 people watched the Jesus Film and many made a commitment to Christ!

Jet-Lagged Missionary Doormat

I have been traveling for and least 27 hours now, I am totally exhausted and not home yet. I am entirely confused. I am not sure if I am coming or going. The weariness in my bones tells me I have been all over the place and the fact that there are different languages around prompts me to accept the fact that I am not in Africa anymore, but at the same time, I am not entirely sure. Cotonou, Paris, London, Chicago, Baltimore, I am almost to my final destination. Holy cow! Wow! All I can say is I have sure looked and smelled better in my life. Good thing I do not have a boyfriend waiting to greet me on the other end of my jet-lag, he would straight up disown me for my stench and my brain dead state of mind.

To my dismay, but as a convenient entertainment piece for others, a jet-lag haze hit me after merely completing the first 6 hours of my journey home to America. Apparently the flight from Benin to France took more out of me than I expected. I was slightly dazed and confused when we arrived in Paris, but I managed to find the correct gate for the next portion of my journey. I was tired and a little miffed when I walked down the jet-way toward the plane door, because I was certain, I could have had a more direct route home. Why did I have to go from Paris then to London to get to America? I think it had something to do with my ticket being for humanitarian aid workers… great… I was tired and just dreaming of being done with my anticipated 30 hours of travel when the Air France airline stewardess greeted me. She was really chipper and had a huge smile on her face as she welcomed me onto the plane. She put out her hand, greeted me, and I grabbed her hand to shake it- as per the African routine I have been following for the past 17 months. Everyone shakes hands in Africa and no business is conducted in Africa unless you great each other and shake hands first. Well, you can try to conduct business without greeting people first, but you don’t get very far and it isn’t suggested. -- But, back to the story at hand. I was sort of confused as to why the stewardess was shaking hands, but I just thought she was overly friendly and I would roll with it. As soon as my hand hit hers, there was an awkwardness, I thought maybe I didn’t grip her hand correctly, so I tried to shake it again, but that is when I realized she really didn’t want to shake my hand, she was putting her hand out to look at my ticket and direct me to my seat. Oops! I have been in Africa far too long, I felt like a small idiot, but when I finally got my act together and handed her my ticket so she could direct me to my seat, she had a huge smile on her face and all those around me had a good laugh.

I found my seat, threw my pillow on it, and headed to the bathroom before I settled in for the 9 hour flight from London to Chicago. The flight attendant had informed me that I had a window seat. I was pretty stoked about that. I love window seats because there I can sleep more comfortably, but I always feel awkward asking the isle person to move so I can go to the bathroom, so I decided to hit the bathroom before the flight took off. Upon returning from the bathroom, I was slightly irked to find a man had moved my pillow and he was sitting in my window seat! “What a punk,” I thought. I decided to be gracious or a “missionary doormat” and let the man sit in my seat, besides in my jet-lag state, I wasn’t actually sure I had read my ticket assignment correctly. I was getting ready for a snooze in my NON-window seat, when my “seat thief” decided to introduce himself. I really didn’t want to strike up a conversation with the man who nicked my seat, but then I paused for a minute… his accent sounded oddly familiar and comforting... It wasn’t a British accent, not French, not Australian… then it hit me. He had an IRISH accent! Oh, what comfort! For those of you who have forgotten, my dear friend, roommate, and best mate from the ship was Jane, an Irish girl! My travel seat companion was from Ireland. It was great to hear his accent. I feel as if God hand-picked my seat assignment and to help make my departure from the ship and best friend a little easier. I think it was God also smiling on the Irish man because had he been an American, I wouldn’t have tolerated his seat-thievery!

I made it safe and sound to Chicago. Praise God! I looked at my flight information on my ticket and my airplane to Baltimore was supposed to take off 50 minutes after I landed in Chicago. How in the world was I going to clear immigration, customs, gather my luggage, re-check my luggage, change terminals, go through security, and board my airplane in 50 minutes? I decided it was a good thing I had my running shoes on… by the way… I didn’t want to wear them, I hate shoes! I much prefer flip-flops, but my suitcases weighed too much, so I had to wear my heaviest shoes! So, once I left the airplane door. I started running.

My interactions in the Chicago airport were comical. It started with the immigration officer. He was staring at my passport photo trying to figure out if I was actually the person in the photo. For a passport photo, mine isn’t too bad, but the look on the immigration officer’s face spoke volumes. I just tried to smile to hurry the process. He just kept starring at me. I said, umm… and kept smiling. Maybe I shouldn’t have smiled… I probably had rancid breath. But, the officer kept staring. I said, “I know I look a little different right now.” That was an understatement. He said, “That’s okay, I am sort of old-fashioned, I think it is better when girls look natural, without all that make-up. That way when they get married and wake up next to their husband the next morning, he doesn’t say, ‘who the heck are you?’” Interesting…either way, I am glad the immigration officer approved of my “natural” wicked, tired look and stamped my passport so I could keep running to catch my airplane.

With haste, I gathered my luggage and headed toward customs with my custom’s form in hand. For those of you who haven’t traveled internationally, there is a custom’s form that everyone is required to fill out when traveling internationally. It has a bunch of questions about where you have been, if you are bringing weapons, money, or weird things into the United States. There is also a portion that asks if you were with animals, on a farm, or basically playing with creatures that might carry scary things like swine-flu or other diseases, while you were out of the country. I thought long and hard about this question, but considering almost every street in Benin had chickens and goats running around and I was certain I had stepped in their waste, not to mention the human waste all over the roads as well, I figured I better at least forewarn the custom’s officer. I could be carrying some interesting bacteria. I also spent some time volunteering and working on the farming project that Mercy Ships was developing in a village outside of Benin. I had no excuse, I couldn’t lie; my shoes and clothing had spent a large portion of time in goat and chicken land, and I most definitely rolled around in African dirt. I approached the custom’s officer and she looked at me and my form. She noted I had checked the section about being with animals and on farmland. She asked me where I had been. I told her, “Africa.” She said, “Explain.” I kindly told her, “Most of West Africa is a farm… with chickens and goats running all over the place.” She asked me a few more questions, I talked a little more about goats and chickens, she took my custom’s form, signed it, wrote “Goats,” in big letters on it, and waved me through. Good thing custom’s forms aren’t report cards because if they were, the only thing my report card for the past 9 months would say is… GOATS!

Immigration done, luggage gathered, customs cleared, luggage re-checked, terminals changed, crap… I had fifteen minutes until my airplane departed and I hadn’t gone through security yet. There were about 100 people in front of me in the security line. There was no way I would make my flight at that rate. I decided to get over my gracious “missionary-doormat” behavior and I politely, with the help of two security officers, moved my way to the front of the line. The last boarding call for my flight was being announced as I cleared security. I didn’t take time to put my sweatshirt back on, my shoes were untied, my belt was thrown over my shoulder, my pillow, with my computer tucked in it was under my arm, and my large backpack was hanging off my shoulder as I ran toward my departure gate. I wasn’t about to extend my travel time by missing my flight! Out of breathe, terribly sweaty, and looking like death, I made it onto the plane with NO minutes to spare.

I felt awkward walking down the plane isle with everyone staring at me. I was certain they were thinking…”stupid girl… holding the plane up… she should have managed her time better… I bet she is irresponsible… an un-fit mother…” okay, well they probably didn’t think that, but you get the idea. I felt bad for arriving late. Toward the rear of the plane, I found my seat. Well, another man had stolen my window seat again, but that was way beside the point. The stewardess stared at me, helped me find a place for my over-sized backpack, and told me to take my seat. I was still huffing and puffing from my marathon through the airport when I turned to get into my seat and dropped my passport and all my previous boarding passes all over the place. Oh, great. The stewardess kindly picked them up for me and then after looking at my boarding passes, exclaimed, “Wow, you have come a long way!” That was actually helpful, everyone around me heard her comment and I felt their stern faces, judging my capabilities in life, soften. I took a big deep breath and settled in for the flight.

At this point in time, all I really wanted to do was vomit, sleep, shower, sleep, shower, sleep, shower, sleep, and stop flying! I looked around at my seatmates and noted the man to my left was white and for that matter, most of the rest of the people on my flight were vanilla-skinned. But, the man to my right was black. For me that was a huge blessing! I love my chocolate skinned brothers and sisters in this world and I was already going through shock from being surrounded by a sea of white people. My seatmate was from Cameroon, we talked about Africa and I told him about my work with Mercy Ships all the way to BWI! He is a nurse too and expressed interest in volunteering with Mercy Ships in the future. Wow! God is awesome!

One of the Psalms in the Bible says the Lord watches over our coming and going both now and forevermore. How awesome! I have no doubt in my mind, God watched over every little detail of my time in Africa…and my return to the United States of America! Good is so good. After a final car ride from BWI to my brother’s apartment in Washington, D.C, I was reunited with my family. There was nothing more I wanted in that moment… well… except for a really long shower!

Angels Amongst the Sons of Men

The day the big White Whale landed on the black shores of Africa was a blessed day to the Sons of Men.

It came with angels to walk amongst the Sons of Men.

Why do I call them angels?

Let me tell you of my time with them.

I came on board the White Whale with rooms filled with the lame, the mame, the formed, the deformed, the wrong, and the rough.

And deep into the darkest part of the night, I saw men and brethren, maidens and ladies, though flesh as us yet, with hearts of angels.

Sleeplessly and tirelessly they toiled through the night.

Through the pains and aches of men, they with hands to heal and mend,

bringing from above, the Father's love to the Sons of Men.

Some they cut, some they tie, some they seal, and others they fix with tools untold.

Like messengers of the Most High they came not thinking of their own,

they risked their lives and sailed the sea,

to lands beyond the endless world, to shores of men afflicted and in pain.

Their hearts and lives they came to share as angels walk amongst the Sons of Men.

Some in this life are born to pass and some are born in life to live,

yet, these angels are born to preserve humanity.

Though some lives they see as waste yet, with speed they move to save.

With words of love and touch of peace,

they endlessly toil to make right the wrong.

You were born as men to your lands and yet as angels you served the earth.

Gold is dug from earth beneath.

Treasures are hunted on high seas but,

love so pure and true can only in hearts like yours, be found.

Your labor in the Lord shall not be in vain.

For every life you touch and every soul you save

For every bone you mend and every face you straight.

The Lord of Life and Light will light your path and guide your life.

For you are truly... Angels Amongst the Sons of Men.

By: One of our beloved patients... Prince Eddie Daniels... 2009

Cooking like a Chicken on a Rotisserie

The sun was high in the sky and there was not a bit of shade in sight. I sat on the hot cement bleachers fearing I was going to end up with a third degree burn on my backside. The bleachers were on fire. I pulled an extra bandana out of my bag and sat it on my section of the bleacher in hopes that it would take the sting out of the heat that was cooking my rear end; it didn’t. I wondered how long it would take for the cement to cool down. I looked at the stadium clock to determine how long we had to wait for the action to start; two hours until kickoff. It seemed like I had been sitting in the sun for an eternity when I checked the time again. I was confused; the clock read the same time that it had when I last looked. That’s when I realized the stadium clock was broken, go figure. I looked around the stadium and noted the place was filling up, but there were still thousands of seats available. Benin versus Ghana, it promised to be a sell out game. We were told to arrive hours before the game started to make sure we got seats and my friends and I hoped that our early arrival would help us avoid long lines and possible violent outbreaks that often accompany soccer games in foreign countries. We also figured it was the smartest thing to do since we are advised to avoid large crowds and attending a soccer match sort of went against that advice. There were thousands of people outside the arena when we arrived, but there were plenty of seats to choose from when we finally made it inside the stadium. We could sit anywhere we wanted in the general admission section. The “top seating- box office” was off limits, but we couldn’t get into that section anyway because it was separated from the rest of the cement bleachers by a high chain linked fence with that curly, barbed wire on top that shreds your skin if you touch it. Living on missionary budgets, my friends and I bought $4 dollar tickets instead of the expensive $10 tickets, but as my backside was burning, those elite, comfy, plastic lawn chairs in the “box office seating” sure looked appealing. Maybe I should have splurged the extra $6. At first, my friends selected seats close to the exit with the rationale that if things went crazy, we could make a quick getaway and sneak out before too much violence erupted. I thought that was a horrible idea. I convinced them we should sit as far away from the exit as possible because if things went crazy, everyone would want out and we would get trampled in the process. With persuasion, my friends relocated with me to the top area of the stadium. They decided it would really stink to die at a soccer match. So, there we sat with boiling bums in the sun. I drank almost all my water before the soccer teams even arrived and I feared dehydration would set in before the game even started. My mind momentarily drifted from the heat to the past and I pictured the days when I attended ball games at Tiger Stadium with nice seats, shade over my head, concession stands around the corner, and mobile salesmen packing treats connected to their shoulders while yelling “peanuts, popcorn, ice-cold beer…peanuts, popcorn, ice-cold beer… peanuts, popcorn…” I don’t drink beer, but I sure thought something ice-cold would be great! Although I was cooking like a chicken on a rotisserie, I was having fun and it was entertaining watching all the people around the stadium. I was surveying the action around me when I noticed a number of African women moving around the stadium with baskets on their heads and buckets in their hands. This is not an uncommon site in Africa, so I didn’t think much of their presence, I thought they were spectators too, but then I realized they were my daydream come true! They were selling food and drinks. They sold cashews, plantain chips, soda, and one of my favorite local ice cream treats called Fan Milk! Awesome! While enjoying my Fan Milk, I observed some action on the track around the field. It was a bunch of military personnel taking post. They were fully armed and through the zoom setting on my friend’s camera, we determined some of their guns were loaded with tear gas. In case the sea of chocolate people surrounding me wasn’t enough of a hint to tell me I wasn’t in Kansas anymore, those military men sure did the trick. I figured the game was about to begin. The crowd went wild as the soccer players took their place on the field. It was a great game. The score was tied at zero-zero at halftime. Both teams were giving it their best. The score was still nil-nil with 30 seconds left on the clock. We thought it was going to be a draw. My friends and I were okay with that. We figured no one would go crazy if the match ended in a stalemate and we would live. We were planning our departure, but still watching the game when out of nowhere, Benin scored a goal! The stadium went crazy! It was awesome. Benin had scored with only 5 seconds left in the game. Benin was the game champion and qualifier for the African cup! Way to go Benin! All the Africans around us were ecstatic. My friends and I jumped up and down with excitement too, but we were more excited because we knew we would live, we weren’t quite sure what would have happened if Benin lost. Way to go Benin!

For the Love of Lettuce

The countdown is on. Mercy Ships’ field service in Benin will soon come to a close. In a very short time, I will be back on US soil for a much needed break! Last year I had planned my re-entry actions for months. I wanted to take a bath and man; I had a list of food I wanted to eat! I dreamed of drinking a creamy, chocolate, milk shake and having a huge, crispy chicken salad with fresh, lush, green, lettuce. Did I ever think lettuce would be my first re-entry meal request? Not in a million years! But, absence makes the heart grow fonder. Astonishingly, my love for vegetables increased when they were not readily available. In Liberia, we had cucumbers and tomatoes available at every meal, but unfortunately, I was never hungry enough to try them. What I missed was lettuce. Oh, what I would have given for a salad. I believe I saw lettuce at total of seven times in the entire eight months I was on the ship in Liberia. The availability of fresh vegetables was very limited. Also, the labor required to wash, bleach, and rinse enough lettuce for 400 crew members to have a salad, was not really worth the effort. The few times I had lettuce on the ship; my taste buds recall that is was terribly bitter and not entirely tasty. Therefore, when anticipating my re-entry back to the States, among seeing friends and family, I really just wanted to eat a salad. These past few weeks have been intense for me and I cannot even describe how burned out I have been feeling. I never wanted to come to a point in life where I live for the future and miss out on the present…where life happens… but this past week, I have really been dreaming of some comforts from home and I have sort of been wishing my time away. Although I hate to admit it, the following are a list of phrases that came out my mouth this past week. “I am exhausted. I want to go home! I am burned out. I have nothing more to give. I’m done! I don’t know if I can make it much longer. I am shutting down! I need a break!” After working a few 12 hour shifts in a row this past week, I really thought I was not going to be able to hold up much longer if something didn’t change. I have been crying out to God for strength for each task, for grace to flow in my conversations, and for restful sleep. I wanted to know He was hearing my cry and listening to me! One evening this past week, I staggered into the dining hall for dinner. I was anticipating another grilled cheese sandwich because I heard the dinner menu was fish and you know how I don’t get along with fish. But, much to my surprise! There in front of my eyes, on the buffet line, were the most beautiful little pieces of crispy chicken. Oh, my goodness! My eyes scanned down the rest of the buffet line and I saw cheese, lettuce, and… I held my breath… did the most recent container bring more dressing? I looked over to the condiment counter and almost screamed out of excitement. There was salad dressing! I had all the components that I needed to make a crispy chicken salad! For the love of lettuce! I almost started to cry. I gathered my salad items together and joined some of my friends at a table to eat. We paused before we ate and I thanked God for loving me, for His incredible grace, and for my crispy chicken salad! Does God hear us when we pray? Does he care for our every need? I have to admit, sometimes life's circumstances make me wonder, but deep down inside… I know God cares for us…He has even numbered the hair on our head (which isn’t a huge task for some of us). But when it comes down to it, God cares about our every need. He hears us when we call. He knows exactly what we need and I feel so blessed that he cares enough about me to give me something simple like a crispy chicken salad! My only struggle now is I have nothing to look forward to when I come home!... Kidding! I am still looking forward to having a chocolate milkshake…Oh, and saying hello to all of you!

Stronger than I can ever hope to be...

I sat on a tattered plastic chair in a small circle with three African ladies. My translator sat to my right. To my left was a second translator and across from me was a timid patient. I looked directly at my patient hoping somehow she would feel or sense how much I cared about her and the struggles that had brought her to me. I told her my name and that I was a nurse from the ship. I explained that I had plenty of questions to ask, but that she should feel free to tell me the truth because that is how I could best determine if we could help her. I wanted to stress that my patient’s painful story was safe with me and that my patient didn’t have to feel pressured to answer my questions a certain way. I wanted to help and my help wasn’t dependent on the “right” answers from our talk. I could almost ask all the questions I had without looking at the questionnaire because I had already conducted at least 14 of the same conversations in the two days prior to this conversation. I resisted the urge to hurry through the questions. The time I would spend with each patient was more important than getting my three page health history form filled out. As I listened to each women tell me her story with tears running down her face, I tried to push away the knowledge that ran around in the back of my head; we only had space for 20 VVF patients in the next surgical block. The reality of the situation weighed heavily on my heart. I would talk to and befriend more women than we could surgically treat. I prayed that my heart would seep compassion. I knew my time and listening ear was one of the greatest gifts I could offer many of the women before me, so I took care to stay attentive to each woman and the details she told me. None of the women I spoke to had to share their stories with me. I was a privileged guest to the information they were sharing. I couldn’t comprehend the pain and horror many of these women had experienced. Labor lasting 8 days, no medical help in delivering their children, no money or hospital to drive to. If money was available to get to a hospital and if a c-section was performed, their child had often already died in the obstructive labor process. Then these women would have constant leaking of urine because of the internal tissue death that occurred while the baby was stuck inside their womb. And as if the pain of losing a child, their bladder function, and self-esteem, wasn’t enough, many of the women had also been abandoned by their husbands. I looked at the young woman across from me; she couldn’t have been more than 20. Although it sounded dumb and insignificant, I told my patient I was so sorry for the pain she had gone through. I looked directly at my patient and put my hand gently on her leg. I listened as my translator spoke a combination of Yoruba and French to the translator to my left, then that translator spoke Biri to my patient. The message reached my patient and with a solemn face she gently bowed her head in my direction, acknowledging my comment. I smiled and squeezed her hand. Our conversation went on for about an hour. I asked question after question of my patient. Our friendship building as I acknowledged each of her responses and showed I truly cared about her struggles. I finished the conversation the same way I had finished all the previous conversations. I thanked my patient for her time and told her, I could not promise her a surgery, but that the doctor would see her. I tried to gently explain that the doctor would only be on the ship for 2 weeks, so surgical space was limited. I don’t know if the young girl across from me even comprehended what I said. She just smiled at me. In that moment, I asked if it would be okay if I prayed. She readily agreed. I then wrapped my pale white hand around the dark skinned hand in front of me. We closed our eyes and asked God to let his will prevail in this situation. As I sit here on my bed, I can picture all of the women I have talked with this past week. Their stories are etched on my heart. In my memory, I can see their worn hands and tear streaked faces. I am honored to know them. I have been blessed to spend time with them. They are stronger than I can ever hope to be. I pray that somehow I will have some of their strength tomorrow as the day promises to be intense. Tomorrow the doctor will select his surgical candidates. Twenty of my new friends will rejoice tomorrow, many more will grieve. I am going to bed now trusting God to give me the strength I will need to rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those who mourn.

Togo Road-Trip Part 5

For those of you bored by the medical field or my constant ramble about health care, for your sake, I will take a detour in this story. I will tell you about some of the other exciting things I have been interacting with on this adventure. Well, the list is huge and I am not sure you will appreciate or even understand the significance of most of it, but I will try to explain. I have been staying in a guest house. It has three bedrooms, a kitchen, a dining room, living room, walk in pantry, and a bathroom. I feel like I am in a mansion! The house design is simple and basic, but I am in heaven! I have SPACE! It’s amazing. I wake up to the sound of chirping birds, rustling trees, and a gentle breeze coming through my bedroom windows, instead of an alarm from the engine room, thunking my knee on the wall of my bunk when I roll over, or the sound of our suction-vacuum toilet flushing. The bathroom in this guest house is bigger than my entire cabin that sleeps four and I have a “luxury cabin” on the ship. I have selfishly taken more than a two minute shower each day and even though it is hot here, I am seriously considering having a long bubble bath before I leave! There is a bath tub here! Glory! Glory! And it is purely exciting to be able to turn around in the shower or reach for my shampoo without having the shower curtain stick to me! Awesome! Goodness, the blessings surrounding me are incredible. The hospital compound has grass, flowers, and trees everywhere! The hospital is situated between some lush, green, mountains, and I feel like I am in paradise. I didn’t realize how much I took nature and dirt for granted until I moved onto a large metal box that floats in the ocean. (It may sound like I am complaining and that I am not thankful for what I have on the ship, don’t get me wrong, I am, but I am just expressing how thankful I am for other things too). One thing I haven’t missed about dirt is the little crawly creatures that often live in dirt. I have seen some beautiful butterflies and some not so beautiful creatures, too. A few spiders tried to sleep with me, but I “disinvited” them before they crawled into my sweet, double bed! I know I am cruel, but I didn’t want to share my bed! I also met the biggest bug I have ever seen in my life. Thankfully, I met him when he was dead. After dinner one night some of the missionaries said they had something to show me. I was confused when they went to the freezer and pulled out two cups taped together. They then proceeded to open the cup and pull out a huge rhinoceros beetle. I thank God I didn’t meet that bug when he was alive. I am glad he climbed on their screen door and not mine! Holy cow! I took a picture with the bug, for your enjoyment, but I wouldn’t even touch the bug myself. I wouldn’t even hold the bug on a napkin, I put it on a napkin, on top of a weaved pot-holder, and then held the edges of the pot-holder with my finger tips. Yuck! Everyone laughed and we put the bug back into its resting place in the cups, in the freezer. One thing I have learned from being here is you better be careful before you open a freezer around this place! I met a few more exciting creatures while roaming the hospital campus. Missionaries are known for having interesting pets and Doctor Russ’s family is doing well to keep up with that stereotype. I met their 2 living snakes, new baby squirrels, monkey named Alf, and their pet civet. I’ve never heard of a civet before, let alone met one. A civet resembles a cat, has a leopard like tail, but apparently is a member of the mongoose or weasel family. I said hi to the little guy, but didn’t attempt to pet it. I get squeamish when it comes to petting hairy things. Many of the other creepy bugs in Togo apparently heard I was visiting and they decided to say hello to me as well. I appreciate their gesture but, I have decided I will be okay if I don’t have to hang out with millipedes or praying mantis in the future. I feel sorry for the last bug that tried to greet me; my patience had run out for meeting new friends…He is pictured to the right with my shoe. Oh, bless that little guy…More to come in this story…but not for the bug that got too close to my shoe!

Togo Road- Trip Part 4

People are always coming and going at Hôpital Baptiste Biblique. There are a number of long term missionaries and also short term missionaries that work with Association of Baptists for World Evangelism (ABWE) the governing mission body connected with Hôpital Baptiste Biblique. We have all gathered over meals and it has been incredible to hear the stories of the people here. The ABWE has other missionaries working throughout Togo with projects such as church planting and building another hospital in Northern Togo. I met some incredible people and I believe it was no coincidence that I was able to connect with a missionary couple from Mango, Togo, a town about 9 hours north, but only 250 miles away from Kpalime. The couple was leaving the morning after we arrived, but I was able to have a brief conversation with them about searching for VVF patients. I told them it wouldn’t be easy, but I believe there are women in their community suffering alone. This assessment was more accurate that I thought because I later found out that Hôpital Baptiste Biblique is the closest hospital to their location in Togo and it is 250 miles away. The majority of patients with VVF have no access to health care and if the closest hospital to the Mango villagers is 250 miles away, I can guarantee there are potential surgical candidates in that community. The majority of people living in Mango are Muslims. The missionaries working there are eager and willing to help Mercy Ships locate VVF patients. It will also be very beneficial for this missionary couple to have conversation starters with the people in their community and the VVF patients will greatly benefit from having friends in their community that can help them with their reintegration to society. The missionary’s wife is also pregnant and expecting a baby! I believe this is no small coincidence either. It will be natural for her to talk about birthing and through that she can discuss VVF and hopefully locate those in her community that need help! Awesome! The second night we were in Togo another missionary couple stopped by coincidently (I do not believe in coincidences) they were in need of medical care themselves and they just happened to be at the hospital the same time we were. This missionary couple is from another remote village in Togo by the name of Kara, located about six hours northeast from Kpalime and they have agreed to help locate VVF ladies as well. This is so encouraging. Having contacts up country will ensure follow-up for our VVF patients which is a luxury we don’t often have. It will also be great to have people to encourage and spiritually care for the women after our anchor is pulled up and we sail away. The wife in this missionary couple is a nurse and she also happens to be pregnant… not a mistake… some people call these instances “coincidences”… I call them “God-incidences”. Doctor Russ also introduced me to a local nurse midwife and another midwife working with the government. I am so encouraged that there are trained midwifes in the area of Kpalime and Tsiko. This gives me hope that we won’t find too many VVF patients in that area. If women have received proper care when they are laboring, obstetric VVF are 100% preventable. But, even if a midwife is present at the birth, complications can still arise, and if an emergency c-section is not available, a VVF will most likely occur along with the death of the baby. The midwifes I met will help spread the word about the free VVF surgeries Mercy Ships offers. One of the midwifes already told me about a surgical candidate she knows. I have also been working on developing creative ways to advertise the free surgeries available for these VVF women. It isn’t hard to advertise for the other surgeries Mercy Ships offers on the ship because we can take pictures of cleft lips, facial tumors, distorted limbs, cataracts, and the like, but because of the private nature of VVF surgeries, creativity is required to get the word out. Also many of the people we are here to help cannot read, so it isn’t like I can just design a poster for them to read. Often many of us from western cultures come up with a slogan or phrase that we think is perfect, but it may be culturally inappropriate and we may ruin any chance of making a difference because we offend the people we came to serve. With this knowledge in the back of my mind, I decided to ask the nurses at Hôpital Baptiste Biblique how I should best get the word out about Mercy Ships’ VVF Program. The conversation was hilarious at times, but after about one and a half hours we came up with a 2 lined slogan for my posters. We also translated the phrase into a few of the local Togolese languages. I guess the words on the poster will be hand written because I am certain my computer has never attempted to type any of the letters/figures I have on my notepad! I will be the first to admit I seriously lack graphic arts and computer design capabilities, but I feel confident that they idea and slogan my new African friends and I came up with will help locate some women suffering alone and that’s what counts! Yup…you guessed it… more to come!!!

Baby Therapy

What do you do when you are stressed? Do you scream at your friends or family? (That isn't advised). Do you exercise? Count to ten? Pray? Do you throw things? (Another bad idea). Or do you inhale large, I mean, LARGE amounts of chocolate? (Yummy)! When I experience stress, the first thing I want to do is eat 5 million chocolate bars. But, I have recently decided that inhaling large amounts of chocolate may not be a healthy stress relieving activity. It has taken me a long time to come to this conclusion, but I have decided I should take it easy on the chocolate consumption. So, what do I do to relieve my stress now? Of course, I pray, and try to think rationally about the situation causing my stress, but that doesn't always work. Sometimes I need a tangible stress relieving activity. What to do? What to do? I am slightly limited with stress relieving options here on the ship. It isn't like I can hop in my car and drive down the freeway at high speeds with the music blaring. I cannot go for a peaceful walk in the woods. I cannot have some alone time...lying on my bed quietly, (I have 3 roommates, they are great, but...).... What to do? What to do? A number of us on the ship have been working on this issue and we have come up with a new therapy technique.... It is called Baby Therapy. You may wonder what Baby Therapy involves... Well, it involves going to the ward, finding the cutest baby possible, picking them up, and smothering them with kisses and more kisses! The therapy session is stress free because when I am done with the therapy session or if the baby interrupts the session with crying; I just return the baby to their mama and the session is over. The baby's mom takes care of all dirty diapers, crying, spitting, and all that jazz. I get to cuddle a cute baby without any added stress! The little angel pictured with me was my most recent Baby Therapy Friend. Now, don't go thinking I am mean and using the babies... Just check out her face... she loved hanging out with me too! So, why am I stressed? Well... beyond normal daily stress... I was looking forward to a small vacation within the next few days. But, there has been a huge delay in acquiring my travel visa from the local embassy. My visa may not be available until 10 hours AFTER I was scheduled to depart! Nuts! I am praying for this trip to work... Last year when I was scheduled for a break, I got kidney stones and never got to use a $130 USD visa I had already purchased! This year I am ready and so eager for a break.... but visa trouble... I believe my God is big. He can part the Red Sea, He can mend a broken heart, He can restore life to dry bones, He can make good from bad; He can certainly get me a visa if it is His will... Would you join me in praying for God's will to be done in this situation. Also pray for all those babies enrolled in the Baby Therapy program on the ship. I fear they may get smothered by me within the next few hours! Thanks! I love all of you!

Togo Road- Trip Part 3

The next day, after an early breakfast, Olivia and I joined the doctors and nurses from Hôpital Baptiste Biblique for their morning rounds. We went around to each patient’s bed where the doctors reviewed the current medical status of each patient and discussed what the next plan of care for each patient would be. We entered a ward with inflatable zoo animals hanging from the ceiling, the pediatric ward. The six to seven bed ward was full of ill, cherished, little brown sugar babies and children, laying in metal cribs-beds, many of them suffering from malaria. There little bodies just cannot take it when they get so sick. Many of the little kids barely opened their eyes, even though they were awake, as the doctors listened to their heart sounds and breathing. Poor little ones… We continued to move from patient to patient and every so often one of the current patient’s conditions would remind the doctors of old patient stories. It was amazing to hear the doctors speak… they said, “Remember when all those patients had Typhoid Fever…” something we almost never see in the western world. Or, “do you recall the lady with Tetanus a few weeks back?...” Incredible stories, but so sad because Malaria, Typhoid Fever, and Tetanus are all diseases preventable with immunizations, but people in Africa just don’t have access to primary care the way we do at home. One of the next patient’s we saw was a mother and her day old baby. The little baby appeared well and strong, until we looked closely at his feet. He was born with club feet. The doctors discussed what would be best for the little baby. It was cool that Olivia was there because she was able to give some suggestions and teaching to the doctors regarding some of the treatment techniques for club feet that she has learned from her time working in Orthopedics on the ship. It isn’t that the doctors didn’t know what to do, but none of them are orthopedic doctors or surgeons, so they didn’t know the most recent practice related to newborns with club feet. After we finished rounds, the doctors went on to tell us about some of the other medical conditions they have to treated at their remote African hospital. A common issue…Snake bites… Doctor Russ explained their pharmacy only has a few anti-venoms available and they don’t work for every type of snake bite. If the anti-venom won’t work for the patient and their particular snake bite, the doctors would rather save the anti-venoms for when they will actually make a difference. The patients are not always able to describe which snake bite them, so the doctors at Hôpital Baptiste Biblique have come up with a creative way to determine what snake attacked each patient. One of Doctor Russ’s sons, a true missionary kid, has become extremely skilled in helping snakes meet their maker, skinning them, and then freezing them. He is 19 years old, but has been interested in snakes and he has been studying them for years, convenient because his back yard is a snake’s paradise. Doctor Russ’s son has become so proficient in snakeology (I made up that term, but you get the idea) that if a patient comes to the hospital with a bite, Doctor Russ’s son, is one of the first people the hospital staff call to come identify and determine what snake was involved in the attack. Doctor Russ’s son pulls out his pile of snake skins and frozen snake bodies and there you have it! I’d say that was a python… NASTY!!! People from the village now voluntarily bring snakes to the hospital for the frozen snake collection. I thought this was really resourceful and creative practices of medicine in a remote setting at its finest until I learned the snakes are in the freezer in the guest house I was staying in! Sick! After hearing tons of amazing and impressive medical stories and how God has provided in every situation, even without all the luxuries of modern technology available; Olivia and I moved over to the hospital clinic, the location of the orthopedic pre-screening. Doctor Russ had seen over 100 patients with orthopedic concerns come to his clinic, but their problems were too extensive to treat at his hospital without an orthopedic surgeon available. So our purpose… Olivia’s purpose was to determine if the patient’s could be helped on the ship. It would be a shame to break families financially by having them travel all the way to Lomé next year, if we can’t address their medical conditions on the ship anyway, so we made the trip ourselves. About 100 potential surgical candidates were to come to Hôpital Baptiste Biblique to be assessed. About 20 came, that’s the way it works in Africa! But Olivia did see some people that we can definitely help. A small boy with 6 fingers on each hand, a precious little boy that walks on his tiptoes because his Achilles tendons are too tight, he has never ever been able to put his feel flat, and some others that will have changed lives because of the surgeries available on the ship! But… as always, there were a number of people we cannot help. Pray for them… Keep in mind a little baby girl I saw that has some serious medical concerns, including having her kneecaps on the back side of her legs. I don’t know if she will ever be able to walk and her family and she have a difficult road ahead of them… See you soon…there is more to this Togo adventure story….

Togo Road- Trip Part 2

Upon arriving at the Hôpital Baptiste Biblique we made contact with Doctor Russ Ebersole and before a bathroom break we joined him on a tour of his hospital. I liked the place the moment I saw it! I was encouraged to see what the faith of other believers has accomplished and the work for Christ that is being done in this remote part of Togo. I have been to a few Liberian and Beninese hospitals, but none of them compared to the hospital I was now visiting. I was energized as I toured the hospital and Doctor Russ introduced me to the team serving and working with him. The hospital has some wonderful pieces of modern medical equipment that we don’t even have on the ship, but it is still an African mission hospital for sure. I saw the IV fluid storage space on a shelf in the corner. Doctor Russ explained that all their IV fluid is made and mixed by hospital staff. Bottles are sterilized and re-used; “it’s cheaper that way.” We saw a medical supply room where there are tons of supplies and a number of random items that had been donated, such as pieces of surgical kits for cardiac surgeries. A lot of good those do in Africa… Doctor Russ said he calls that stuff “Junk for Jesus…” Harsh, maybe, but in reality, not really; myself included, why do we so often leave only our leftovers for God?...

We marched past a room with a lovely curtain with two hospital beds inside. “That’s the maternity ward,” Doctor Russ said. We rounded another corner and I saw a portable X-Ray machine. “Wow,” I said, “You have a portable X-Ray machine, amazing!” Doctor Russ said it is even more amazing when it works! The Hôpital Baptiste Biblique is the second largest hospital in Togo. The first being a government hospital in Lomé with a couple hundred beds and the Hôpital Baptiste Biblique follows behind with 28 beds…. What a sobering fact.

The hospital has a pharmacy that is amazingly well stocked. You would think all hospitals have pharmacies, but that isn’t the case. In many hospitals here, doctors order meds and the nurses are supposed to administer them, but patient’s family members first have to go into town, find the meds, if they can, buy them, and then return with the meds in order for them to be administered. At the local hospital in Benin, surgery doesn’t even take place without interruptions. If IV fluid is needed in the middle of the case, someone from the OR steps out of the OR theater and hands a sheet of paper to the family requesting which meds and IV fluids are needed at that point in the operation. If no one is there to buy them, no work will be done.

We continued touring the hospital and saw the lab. Doctor Russ explained their lab doesn’t have the ability to do bacteriology, but they get by. “Treat the patient with your best guess drug. If it doesn’t work, try another.” I almost choked when Doctor Russ explained the back room in the lab was where their blood bank was located. I couldn’t believe a remote mission hospital would have the proper equipment for storing and banking blood. In shock, I said, “You have the proper devices for thermoregulation and storage of blood?” Doctor Russ said, “Well we have a refrigerator…” we all laughed… (For those of you who don’t know, proper blood banks use far more expensive and extensive equipment to store blood properly… but this is Africa after all, you have to get creative).

Mid-way through the hospital tour, I decided the hospital I was touring was absolutely amazing. My time at the hospital has stirred my heart more and more for medical missions. The hospital was started about 25 years ago and some of the very men, who helped with the mason work, are now trained nurses and physician assistants running parts of the hospital. Incredible; and so important because the true job of a field missionary is to work oneself out of a job. Hôpital Baptiste Biblique has a three-year training program and now almost all of the hospital workers are Togolese Africans.

The next part of the hospital we saw was the medical library. As I scanned the shelves of nursing and medical textbooks from the 1980’s and 1990’s I thought, “How sad that they don’t have current-modern texts.” Apparently our doctor friend read my mind, because he said, “ Our medical textbooks are old, but we have realized that doesn’t matter because the equipment we are donated and the way we practice medicine in Africa is about 20 years old and behind most modern practice anyway.” Oh, so true.

Hôpital Baptiste Biblique does not provide free medical care. Medical care is expensive and from experience, the hospital found out if they don’t charge something people think something is wrong with the hospital. The local people realize the simple truth that things that are worthwhile cost something. The hospital has a men’s ward women’s ward, maternity unit (the two beds behind the nice curtain), pediatric unit, ICU, operating theaters, infectious ward (with mattresses lying on the floor) and an isolation room (where Doctor Russ jokingly said, “Yup we have the negative pressure, reverse airflow, and everything… like at home… see, we shut the doors…” Every other ward space was wide open, only the maternity ward had curtains… so it was a step up to have a door on the isolation room.

The hospital also has a neonatal intensive care unit (NICU). Doctor Russ, being a pediatrician, saved showing us the NICU, his pride and joy, for last. We followed him to the nurse’s station and stood there for a while waiting for him to take us to the NICU. Confused, we looked at him and he said, “This is the NICU.” Yup, we had just waltzed right through the NICU. The NICU at Hôpital Baptiste Biblique is five incubators lined up in front of the nursing station! The NICU is where critically ill, tiny babies are cared for. At home even after thoroughly washing your hands, gowning, and donning gloves, your chances are still very limited for actually being able to enter the NICU. But, in Africa, where supplies are limited and staff patient ratios can be extremely high, the best place to keep your critically ill patients is where the most eyes will be watching, no better place than right in front of the nurse’s station! Unbelievable!

I spent a fare bit of time in the NICU while I visited Hôpital Baptiste Biblique and that is where I met precious Baby Grace and her mom Jacqueline. Grace is the smallest baby I have ever seen. She was born at 28 weeks, seven months gestation, instead of nine months. Grace is a miracle! Her head was about the size of my two fists put together, but still she had perfectly formed toes, eyes, fingers, a mouth, and a nose. She was so tiny! There is no way Grace would have survived without God’s help and medical care. In the time Grace’s mom has been staying at Hôpital Baptiste Biblique learning how to care for tiny Grace; she has met Jesus and will now have a home with him in eternity some day! That night I went to bed praying that someday Baby Grace will also come to know the miracle of her birth and God’s unique, amazing grace poured out for her on a cross many years ago. This story isn’t over…More to come…

Togo Road Trip

We loaded the land rover with medical supplies and provisions for five days away from the ship. We also threw in the items necessary to survive in the hot sun, or the African Bush, should our land rover breakdown somewhere on our projected seven to eight hour journey from Cotonou, Benin to the small village of Tsiko, located in the lower-mid-western part of Togo. With passport in hand, I eagerly anticipated the adventure ahead. We were headed to Hopital Baptiste Biblique, a mission hospital, for the purpose of pre-screening orthopedic patients and establishing contacts and “scouts” to help locate VVF surgical candidates for the Mercy Ships 2010 field service which will be in Lome, Togo. The participants on the journey: Olivia, a Physician’s Assistant and the current Mercy Ship Orthopedic Program Care Coordinator. Karl, Health Care Development Construction Project Manager, an excellent Aussie friend of mine, an all around trouble shooter (sometimes trouble maker), our driver, mechanic, and “manly” presence on the trip considering white women shouldn’t “road-trip” it alone in Africa. The last adventurous spirit on the trip, me! The seven hour journey went surprisingly fast and without too much excitement. But, mid-way through the journey, I woke from a small snooze to the sound of my Aussie friend, Karl’s accent and him mumbling something about “it isn’t good to drive long on a flat front tire.” I couldn’t really make out what he said over the loud clunk, plunk, clunk, thunk sound of a flat tire, a sound I am only familiar with because of the movies. Karl slowed the land rover down and pulled toward the side of the extremely narrow, one and a half lane road, lined with eight to nine foot high grass. Karl and Olivia jumped out of the car to assess the situation. I stayed in the car and started praying. I prayed that no cars would fly around the curve in the road lined with tall grass and hit us. I also prayed that the problem would soon be sorted. The diagnosis came in: the tire was flat, oh dear! Karl didn’t skip a beat. He calmly looked through the land rover for the tools to change the tire, like he had almost planned to change a flat tire at least once on the journey. I decided I should help in some manner, so I pulled out my camera to document the event for the record books. I know; I am a lot of help. Well, by getting out of the car, I also lessened the weight in the land rover a fare bit, so Karl didn’t have to work so hard to jack it up. Entirely without my help, Karl successfully changed the tire and we were back on the road. I made another huge contribution to the whole tire changing experience by trying to get the “warning triangle” that we had set up on the road when we were pulled over, back into its box. It took me forever, but I finally got it back in the box, and the entire process helped pass the travel time. After about seven hours of travel, driving through one impressive thunderstorm, and a few flooded sections of road, we pulled into the entrance of the Hopital Baptiste Biblique. Destination reached…Stay tuned for Part 2 of My Togo Adventure Story!

YIKES!

I had been doing my best to avoid the respiratory bug and stomach bug that has been circling inside the ship, but alas, I have been caught. I am down for the count. No stomach bug at this time, just a cold, aches, sore throat, and cough. I praise God I have medicine to take to ease my discomfort. I am also thankful that I have a comfortable bed to rest and sleep in. I am not so sure my roommate appreciates how much I have been sleeping because apparently, I have been doing some impressive snoring related to my respiratory illness and I coughed for almost an hour straight last night, from 4:00am- 5:00am. Yikes! Please pray for the rest of the crew as these bugs take their toll on us. Many of the hospital staff are feeling frustrated because a few weeks ago we didn't have enough surgeons on the ship to perform operations, so the nurses were getting extra shifts off, now we have so many ill nurses we are actually having to cancel surgeries because there are not enough healthy nurses to care for all our patients. Please support us in prayer.

A Trip To The Gas Station

Most individuals would not consider a trip to the gas station exciting. In reality, normally, it isn’t that exciting. You drive up to the pump, get out of your car, pump the gas for a few minutes, pay the attendant at the counter, and drive away with a full tank of gas. That is the extent of it; nothing highly entertaining or really exciting about the process. In some states, you aren’t even privileged with the excitement of pumping your own gas; you just sit in your car during the procedure. Sometimes there is a little excitement when you forget to put the cap back on the gas tank and some kind individual jumps up and down waving at you like a freak, trying to get your attention to remind you that you forgot your gas cap. Or, the random time you are on a family trip and in a state where they pump gas for you but your dad doesn’t realize that and you end up watching your dad argue with the attendant that he is fully capable of pumping his own gas and the situation gets awkward so your family ends up leaving without any gas at all. That is entertaining, but not totally exciting. On the contrary, in Africa, everything is an adventure and exciting, even a trip to the gas station!

The Africa Mercy needed to get gas the other day. We filled up three months ago, but it was time to get gas again. So, how to you put gas in a ship that is the length of a football field? Last year in Liberia, a fuel tanker would dock next to us and we would load fuel for a number of hours. This year, we have to travel to the gas station. That means we set sail! Ahoy, mate! My first sail with the Africa Mercy! You are all aware of my fear of water and that I get seasick in hammocks, so how did I handle my first sail? I am proud to announce that I survived it and it went extremely well, partially because the gas station is within view of where we are currently docked and the sail to the gas station only took ten minutes. Our deck and engine room crew prepare for hours before we sail. It is sort of a pity because they have to do the same amount of preparatory work for a ten minute sail as they have to for our ten day sails. We pull up the gangway and no one is allowed to leave or board the ship for the duration of the fueling time. Having to move the ship to fuel also means we have to get creative with admitting and discharging of patients from the hospital. We do not want to lose any surgical time so sometimes we have to admit patients early because we may not be back to dock by the time they are supposed to be admitted. We do not operate when we are sailing, but the moment our fuel tank is full, we sail, and operations start as soon as we are “parked” at our normal dock. If you are a nurse in a hospital, imagine having the following conversation with one of your patients… “Umm, Mr. Smith, can you come to the hospital a day or two before your surgery because the hospital has to get gas. Or Miss White, you cannot go home right now because while you were sleeping the hospital moved and you aren’t allowed out the front door.” Oh, I love the uniqueness of working on a hospital ship.

Any guesses on how big the Africa Mercy gas tank is? I will help you out. We load about 700 tons of fuel when we visit the gas station. At the current cost of fuel that means we spend about $500,000 USD to fill our gas tank! You thought your gas bill was expensive. Anyone want to guess how long it takes to load 700 tons of fuel? Well, for those of you who struggle with patience while waiting for your 12 gallon gas tank to fill, don’t come here, it takes us about 12 hours to fill our gas tanks! Actually, it isn’t too bad because we only have to fill up every 3 months! Our trip to the gas station was successful, our fuel tank is full again and life goes on aboard the ship. If you are finding your daily routine boring and you are ready for a challenge and a change, come to Africa where even a trip to the gas station is an adventure!

A MISSIONARY KODAK MOMENT

Our land rover weaved its way through the city dogging motorcycles, wheelbarrows, push carts, and African mothers carrying an array of items on their heads and small children tied to their backs. We travelled through the busy city of Cotonou and after about 40 minutes of stop and go traffic, we left Cotonou city limits. We took a turn onto a dirt road and started driving out into the countryside/ bush. Buildings got farther apart, less modern, and more rustic. Goats roamed the streets and I saw potbelly pigs digging around in garbage piles on the side of the road. My body thrust back and forth and side to side as we bumped along the crater filled dirt road. My driver and friend from Guinea, laughed and turned toward me and said, “Welcome to the Massage Road!” I let out little squeals when we hit exceptionally big bumps and I caught air, leaving my seat for a number of seconds and then slamming back onto the seat to do it all over again in a matter of seconds. After 20 minutes more of travel and talking our way through the African toll road blockades (men in need of money who randomly pick a day and location to hold a rope across the road and make people pay to pass) we made it to the village of Hevie. Hevie is the location of Mercy Ships “food for life agricultural project” and construction site for this outreach. I had a day off from the ward and decided to use it volunteering at the construction site. My mission for the day: get off the ship, into the countryside with the local people, sweat, and get dirty! At the construction site I met the man who would tell me what projects to work on. He spoke some English but mostly he was great at charades so I could understand what I was really supposed to be doing. I was assigned the job of sanding the cement walls, sweeping them, and then starting the whitewashing process. I thoroughly enjoyed the idea of doing some manual labor. I jumped right into my work standing on the scaffolding to reach the high points of the building and sitting right in the dirt and cement dust to sand and paint the bottom edge of the building. I was minding my own business, smiling, and enjoying the entire experience when I looked up and noted almost all the men from the construction site where staring at me. They quickly looked away and acted as if they were working. Throughout the day all the men came around to where I was working, they would say, “good work” in French and smile at me. They were very friendly, but I am afraid they may have gotten more work done if I wasn’t there. At one point in the day, some of the men came over to me and pointed at all the dirt on my pants. In my French I told them, “it’s okay, no problem!” They didn’t seem to agree; they were so confused why I was okay with getting dirty. So, to stress the point, I put down my putty knife and moved from sitting in the dirt to lying in the dirt. Then I repeated, “it’s okay, no problem.” All of them just smiled, laughed, and walked away. I don’t know if my action was culturally appropriate, but my knees where covered, which is a big deal, while I did it, so as far as I know, I committed no offense.

Lunch time came and we all gathered under a tree and were served and African meal. I wasn't exactly sure how I was going to avoid eating the meal. It isn’t kind to refuse a meal when it is offered, but my stomach really struggles with fish and the amount of peppers in the food here is enough to chemically burn my taste buds off. All I wanted was to eat my peanut butter sandwich and drink a gallon of water, but at that moment I realized my friend the driver/my translator and foreman on the site had gone into town for supplies and took my food and water with him! Shoot, I didn’t even have the excuse that I brought my own food. The dreaded moment came… I was offered a plate of food….. I prayed, “Dear Lord, I don’t want to offend these people, but I cannot eat it…” I smiled and said my friend’s name over and over and performed a mime explaining that all the other workers should eat first and I could wait because I had food with my friend. I guess my one act play was enough for them to decide I didn’t want the food because the woman serving food handed my plate to someone else. Relief swept over my body, but I was still parched. I needed water, but felt slightly awkward asking for water especially since I had just refused food. I had learned the word for water, so I said it over and over, while repeating my friend’s name with it. I didn’t want just any water; I wanted my friend’s water, water from the ship, not local water that had a high chance of making me sick. Spoiled white girls are so picky! Again, with my incredible acting skills, I was able to get a jug of water. I sat in the corner under the tree drinking the water like a camel in a desert. Everyone continued to

stare at me, but I just smiled and kept drinking. My friend finally returned with my water and sandwich. It tasted amazing. I also had him explain to the cook that I was grateful for her hospitality, but if I ate the food my mouth would be on fire and I would cry. She laughed and smiled at me… Praise God, a friendship remained!

We went back to work. The layers of dirt continued to pile on my skin and I took pure enjoyment in my dirtiness, loving being with the local people and helping them with their construction project. From the top of the scaffolding I noted a number of beautiful women, carrying water on their heads, emerging from behind the corn fields and lush vegetation. I thought the women were bringing water for the men to wash their hands with and drink. I thought nothing of their action and went back to my painting, but about 20 minutes later I saw the women again and again 20 minutes later. I then realized that the women were carrying the water that we were using to mix our cement. Incredible!

It was time to finish for the day and my friend convinced me to stop working. He said we would head back to the ship after he quickly met with some of the workers. I asked him if it would be okay if I went to look for where the women were getting their water from while he had his meeting. With permission, I wandered down a little path that weaved between corn stalks and thick, green foliage. The trail twisted and turned and split off into a number of directions toward little huts with thatched roofs. I wasn’t entirely sure where I was going, but I knew it couldn’t be far. The corn stalks that I was weaving my way through were taller than my head and the plant life growing over the path was scratching my legs. Finally, I saw the corner of a brightly colored dress and with it the women I was in search of drawing water from a well. I approached the women cautiously and smiled saying, “Bonjour,” with a terrible French accent. I stood by quietly watching them draw water out of the 40 foot deep well. These women were incredibly strong; I had no doubt why they were so fit. I motioned to them my desire to help. They let me take my turn pulling the rope and water satchel up. I lugged container after container of water out of the well. The women tried to take the rope from me, but I refused. My hands stung and burned, I was sweating, but still attempting to smile. One of the women pointed to my hands and I believe she was asking if they felt bad. I acted as if I wasn’t bothered at all by the painful process. I just kept thinking I could never be as amazing and strong as an African woman. I would die of thirst after one day out in the bush. I have so much respect for the African women! When my hands felt like they were on fire, I stepped back from the well and left the job to my new friends.

I was still standing at the well when I heard singing in the distance. I looked down the path and saw a troop of four African women marching along amidst the green undergrowth. It was a missionary Kodak moment. Four beautiful women walking, singing, swinging machetes, two with beautiful children tied to their backs, the rest carrying plastic bags. The women stopped when they saw me and I greeted them. I immediately fell in love with their babies and contemplated how I could develop a fast friendship without being able to communicate. I really wanted to hold one of the babies. I went to one of the little babies and covered his cheeks with kisses and he giggled. The women were obviously on a mission, so they went about their business, but I followed them. I racked my brain for all my French vocabulary and I figured out the women were in search of plants for medicine. In the next few minutes we became friends and I got to hold a brown sugar baby. He is seriously one of the cutest I have met during my time in Africa. I have photos to prove it. I had already contemplated returning to the construction site on my next day off, but in that moment I decided I would definitely return and I would deliver copies of photos to my new friends. In French, we determined we would meet in two days at 4:00pm by the well. I smothered my baby friend with kisses, said good-bye, and wandered back through the bush to the well.

I thought I could lug up a few more loads of water to help my “well friends,” but I was wrong. I was half-way through pulling another load up when the skin on my fingers ripped off. It stung and burned; yikes! My new friends saw my pain and wanted to ease it, so they pushed on the open skin and squeezed it. Oh, my goodness; that did not help! I just stepped to the side and nursed my finger while attempting not to act like a sissy! I realized I had been gone for quite some time and that the ladies were getting ready to take their last loads of water back to the construction site, so I followed them. But I got a brilliant idea. I would walk with the ladies, but with an empty bucket on my head. There was no chance I could physically carry a full bucket. I could barely lift a full bucket off the ground, let alone carry it on my head. I put an empty bucket on my head and started to walk carefully and cautiously as if I had a full bucket on my head. I made my way back through the corn field and toward the construction site. A few of the construction men spotted me; they all grinned with huge smiles, obviously pleased with my attempt to carry water on my head. When I got closer and had a full audience, I carefully leaned over and took the bucket off my head and then showed them all that it was empty. Laughter erupted throughout the construction site. When the laughter died down, my friend told me it was time to go. I waved good-bye to all my new pals, climbed into the Mercy Ships land rover and smiled as my body thrust back and forth and side to side as we bumped along the crater filled dirt road. What a great day!