the out-pouring was more rapid than the filling

          The adrenaline rush that I experienced, in anticipation of the ship’s arrival that kept me up all hours of the night-the week prior to the ship’s arrival… ran out… The first few weeks the ship arrives in a new country are always hectic- as Mercy Ships hits operational mode- setting up the hospital, un-tethering all the equipment that had to be tied down for the ship’s sail,  training new nurses, training translators, and screening/selecting thousands of patients for surgery.  When the ship sailed in, I was hit with tangible excited, energy of the new crew and those who sailed into Guinea.  I was ecstatic to be reunited with my sailing home.  The summer had been intense; a character building time, a stretching, growing experience, on the front lines in Guinea and my fatigue was palpable. I mustered every ounce of God’s strength to perform my job, mirror the excitement of the crew, and find that “first day of school” excitement which has always been mine when arriving with the ship in a new country, but to no avail… Instead I felt as if I had a bad case of “senioritis.” I was exhausted and worse yet, I felt guilty for feeling this way, which made me feel worse.  My body & mind where in two different places, I was so confused- when I had left the ship in May for Guinea, the ship was in Togo, I had lived on land in Guinea for 3.5 months, but when the ship sailed in, I for some reason still expected to be in Togo. I was looking for my friends that had been a part of the Togo outreach, but were no longer aboard. I looked for the Togolese translators that I had worked with and come to love, but they had remained in Togo.  I mentally planned “trips to this or that place, only to remember those places weren’t in Guinea- they were in Togo….and we weren’t in Togo anymore…but, I knew that…I had been living in Guinea for 3.5 months…”  Mass confusion & exhaustion… The out-pouring was more rapid than the filling…
          I struggled to concentrate; I forgot passwords to my email accounts and phone numbers that I have known for years…I tried to form intellectual sentences and conversations, but my words came out in mixed sentences of English, French, and randomly Spanish.  I didn’t have the energy to teach new translators and I feared if I was squeezed or stretched in any small manner, personally or professionally, what came out may not be pretty…I feared I may burst into tears at any given moment or that I may verbally vomit, my fatigue on those around me who were energized and full of excitement for what God planned to do in Guinea. I did not want to quench the excitement of others on the ship and I definitely did not want this feeling to be communicated to my patients… so felt I had to shelter others from my fragility…I  ate chocolate like I hadn’t had it in 3.5 months (which was not far from the truth), I cried, I ate more chocolate,  I cried more, I hugged my friends that still remained on the ship every chance I got, I cried, ate more chocolate (yes, I know it is a bad idea to “eat your feelings”), cried more, and cried more. The out-pouring was more rapid than the filling…
          I honestly wanted to write and focus on the positive, of the surgeries that had started, the patients that were walking for the first time, the hope that was being restored….but could not… I tried to muster the strength, energy, and mental capacity to inform all of you of what God was teaching me and doing in Africa, but no words came....  I wanted to write… to be upbeat, make you laugh, touch your heart with stories of the incredible things God has done recently through very difficult situations, and captivate you with a great update & report of my life as a missionary nurse in Africa… but I couldn’t write… Mass confusion & exhaustion… The out-pouring was more rapid than the filling…
          I was granted a few days off and sought to travel somewhere- a Western country that would maybe feel like home- a place that I could afford to travel to where there wouldn’t be any jet-lag… God provided a haven for me in Switzerland where a few of my friends, former nurses from the ship were randomly (God ordained) going to be… it would be ideal to spend time with them…they understand the life of a missionary nurse, I wouldn’t have to explain myself to them if I randomly burst into tears in a supermarket, and I could find some fresh air, peace, and rest. 
          It was pure heaven to be in Switzerland…There were sun-flower fields that reminded me of my birth-place, Kansas. The fields of corn and farm land reminded me of South Dakota, where I spent many months as a child visiting my grandparents, uncle, aunt, and cousins.  The mountains reminded me of the Rocky Mountains that trail through Idaho & Canada, where I grew up & studied nursing.  The green foliage and quaint villages reminded me of New Hampshire & Vermont.  It was magical- I was in so many of my “homes” even though abroad.  I slept in, laughed, took walks in the shadows of the Alps, felt the cool, fresh, breeze upon my face, smiled, drank clean water from the tap, ran barefoot in the grass, not fearing transmission of tropical diseases or parasites, I had electricity, fresh produce, long hot showers, and I could walk down the street alone and without being asked to give more of myself.  “He made me lie down in green pastures & lead me beside quiet waters…” (Psalm 23:2).
          When I got off the plane from Switzerland and walked back into Africa- my eyes again filled with tears and I sobbed. He truly had “led me by quiet waters and let me lie down in green pastures…but my soul was not restored…” My 9 day vacation had not been long enough… I cried more…surrounded by amazing friends and co-workers I took a few more days to decompress…and cried more….I should have written-…but rationalized that it would not be good to needlessly worry you on my behalf…I didn’t want you to feel sorry for me…I wanted to protect you from feeling helpless- not being able to offer me any tangible help with my current situation… 
 

“All who sail the sea of faith
Find out before too long
How quickly blue skies can grow dark
And gentle winds grow strong
Suddenly fear is like white water
Pounding on the soul
Still we sail on knowing
That our Lord is in control

Sometimes He calms the storm
With a whispered, “peace be still”
He can settle any sea
But it doesn't mean He will
Sometimes He holds us close
And lets the wind and waves go wild
Sometimes He calms the storm
And other times He calms His child

He has a reason for each trial
That we pass through in life
And though we're shaken
We cannot be pulled apart from Christ
No matter how the driving rain beats down
On those who hold to faith
A heart of trust will always
Be a quiet peaceful place

Sometimes He calms the storm
With a whispered, “peace be still”
He can settle any sea
But it doesn't mean He will
Sometimes He holds us close
And lets the wind and waves go wild
Sometimes He calms the storm
And other times He calms His child”

Lyrics to the Song “Sometimes He Calms the Storm” by Scott Krippayne

          As the literal and figurative waves crashed against my ship/home in Africa & my life, I cried…I was exhausted, still loved my work, the people, the ship/my home abroad, but was exhausted…but  “because of God’s great love, I was not consumed, his compassions never fail. They are new every morning, great is His faithfulness. I said to myself, “The Lord is my portion; therefore, I wait for him” (Lamentations 3: 22-23). I waited on the Lord asking for more strength and a refreshing wind to fall on my spirit, but it wasn’t coming fast enough. The out-pouring was more rapid than the filling…
           No fear- …. although “hard pressed, crushed, perplexed, and struck down, I AM NOT DESTROYED” (2 Corinthians 4:8-9)! And although the out-pouring was more rapid than the filling…I am home now for a filling….My filling is for his Glory- & it is my honor to share all I have with you- Africa! I’ll see you in the New Year!

prayers were answered



The 15 hour day was worth it! I would do it all over again....for them!
Surgeries start Thursday!!!

 

pray for screening day

SCREENING DAY IS TOMORROW! PRAY! PRAY! PRAY!

Tomorrow will be a long day- but many have waited far longer for the hope & healing that may finally be theirs with Mercy Ships presence in Guinea.  We are expecting thousands of people/patients to show up tomorrow- to our main screening day & pray for safety, no rain, and God’s blessings to be with Mercy Ships’ crew as we aim to be the face of love in action, to all those we will meet tomorrow. Pray for those who have lived in fear and have been afraid to show their faces to society. Pray….Pray…Pray….

more excitement than on christmas eve

     100’s of meetings have taken place over the past few months. A registration process for Mercy Ships’ dentists, nurses, and doctors has been agreed upon. Legal surgical consent age has been discovered. An oxygen supplier has been located incase of failure with the ships’ supply of oxygen to the wards. Pharmacy import licenses have been obtained and Mercy Ships “should” now have no trouble with customs to import the drugs needed for Mercy Ships’ patients. A local pharmacy that appears to be reliable has been found and agreed to sell Mercy Ships medicines if something goes wrong with our import of pharmaceuticals. The pharmacy appears to have a constant supply of Levothyroxine (Thyroid medication) required after removal of goiters, so thyroid surgeries can be performed on the ship this year. Local Tuberculosis and HIV clinics have been located if patients come to Mercy Ships needing treatment (considering we are a surgical ship, not a clinic providing primary health care services, but we are happy to refer patients to available resources in their own neighborhood that they may not be aware of). Local surgeons and doctors have been met with; Mercy Ships has taken their partnership requests and is seeing where we can learn from each other. Ways for collaboration with local hospitals and medical staff have been sought. Surgeon training and anesthetist training experiences are being organized. Permission to use the ship’s incinerator to burn Mercy Ships’ medical waste has been granted.
     We have a place to “park” our ship for 10 months. The ship should be supplied with water on a regular basis. We have contracted with a security team to keep us safe in the port. Over 24 Mercy Ships’ land-rovers should be registered in Guinea so we can freely drive around the city. Customs procedures “should” be ironed out so that our frozen containers of food from Holland and medical supply containers from the USA should be given to us without delay when they arrive. Over 200 local day volunteers have been interviewed for translation skills, tested for TB, and given initial training for volunteering/working alongside Mercy Ships crew over the next 10 months and assigned to various departments on the ship.
     A site off- ship has been located for Mercy Ships’ Dental Clinic. Half of the building that was not in use because of its condition was renovated with the promise that it will be borrowed and returned to the clinic after Mercy Ships’ departure from Guinea. The site now has working electricity and water. Denture makers have been found so that Mercy Ships dental team can contract for making about 500 prosthetic teeth, implants, dentures for some of the patients Mercy Ships will treat needing tooth extractions. Emergency medical evacuation procedures have been discovered in case Mercy Ships’ crew members needs those services. A few sites around the city have been identified and the site directors have agreed to let Mercy Ships’ Eye Team hold mini- selection days throughout their stay in country in their buildings free of charge. Security reports about the sites have been written and turned into Mercy Ships’ Security Team for approval because at times over 1,000 people have shown up to Mercy Ships’ eye screenings, looking for help, so security is paramount. Prosthetic eye makers and glasses grinders have been found. A ward in a local hospital, not far from the port, has been renovated and loaned to Mercy Ships so that they can provide off-ship housing for 40 patients from the interior that come to Conakry seeking treatment from Mercy Ships. Since many of these patients will travel days to reach the ship, the commute isn’t realistic for them when they need to come back and forth from the ship for weekly post-operative checks, so they now have a place to stay, a “Bed & Breakfast” of sorts. After the ship departs, the hospital gets their newly improved medical wing back! Prosthetistis and Orthotists have attempted to be located so that Mercy Ships’ orthopedic patients can obtain braces, splints, and such after club foot surgeries and correction of certain bone deformities.
     VVF surgeries have been discussed with Engender Health and USAID (NGO’s that provide funding for helping women with fistulas). A list of over 113 women currently living with fistulas too difficult for local Guinean surgeons to treat has been presented to Mercy Ships and Mercy Ships is seeking ways to assess as many of these women as possible to operate on them. The concept of Palliative care has been presented to multiple doctors and NGO’s with little response or knowledge of “hospice” or “home-healthcare” being found; identifying a knowledge gap and teaching opportunities for Mercy Ships’ Palliative Care Team. A morgue has been identified and “rough” price estimates have almost been obtained if the unfortunate situation arises in which Mercy Ships needs local morgue services.
     The 1,200 volunteer crew members, from over 36 different countries around the world, who make their way to Guinea in the 10 months the Africa Mercy is parked here, have been granted free visas and “should” be able to enter the country with their luggage and without being hassled for bribes at the airport. The local police “should” be starting to understand that those driving Mercy Ships’ land rovers around town do not pay bribes, will not put up with corruption, and stand for integrity, if they are guilty of a real traffic violation they pay, but if they are being hassled and detained for money, they will not pay (multiple personal experiences have lent to achieving this goal). Government officials, customs officers, and port workers “should” be starting to understand that Mercy Ships does business differently, striving to be people of integrity, no matter what, no matter how many times, they have to visit the same office, or put in the same request for an item, they will not pay into the cycle of corruption that brings one to the front of the line.
     A farm has been identified where Mercy Ships’ “Food for Life” project can work; a project aimed at increasing food security for Guinea and teaches local farmers organic agriculture skills in nutrition and crop production. Missionaries living in the interior have been met, what Mercy Ships can and cannot do has been explained so that hopefully Mercy Ships will be connected with patients they can help and others know who to refer to Mercy Ships. Peace Corp volunteers have been briefed about Mercy Ships and emails from them are flying in with potential patient information. Orphanages, prisons, schools, and NGOs have been found to see if Mercy Ships crew can volunteer their time with them and help in any manner while the ship is in town for 10 months. Press releases have been written, and a huge convention center has been granted to Mercy Ships to use for free for their main screening day that is just around the corner! Much more has been done, but at this point it is minor because the culmination of the last 3.5 months of work will come together tomorrow as the Africa Mercy sails into Conakry, Guinea! The excitement in my heart is more than that on Christmas Eve! The past 3.5 months have not been easy, challenges have been faced, tears have been shed, I have learned much about my character and undergone some “character formation school” (something prone to happen when living with such a multi-cultural team full of “leader” personalities in such a small space), and I have made it to this point…
     Father God, it was in your strength alone that what has been done has been done! As my ship, my home, sails in, may there be a tangible sense falling on this country, that something great is about to happen and may your kingdom and grace pour down on Guinea as hope and healing are unleashed!

it is raining goats & chickens

     In America when it is raining very hard, we sometimes say, “it is raining cats & dogs.” But what does one say when they live in Africa and it has been raining for almost 2.5 months straight??? “It is raining goats & chickens”??? Oh, who really cares anyway…but now that we are on the topic of rain…It has been raining here in Guinea almost every day for the past 2.5 months! It has been a new adventure experiencing rainy season this way…normally I am on the ship…floating in the water…and the rain doesn’t really influence my commute to work…or my life….but oh, the adventures rain can bring…
*****Laundry is almost impossible to get dry. My team and I hang our clothing outside at any glimmer of blue sky. Almost as soon as the laundry is hung, torrential rains coming pouring down. We rush to move our laundry in-doors and drape it over every stool, chair, and raised surface in the house; we have even resorted to laying it on the cool tile floor. We point the few fans we have at the clothing and hope for the best. Then the power goes out, forget the fan idea, we are left with wet clothing hanging in the humid air. As the day goes on, the less than sweet aroma of “wet dog” begins to fill the air! Oh- bless! My once excited feeling over freshly washed clothing has disappeared. I sniff each article of clothing before I put it on and decided if perfume will cover-up the smell or not…what fun! It is all about perspective….Once upon a time, a shirt was deemed only fit for the laundry pile if it smelt of body odor or was visibly soiled, not any more… Now that same BO engulfed shirt smells like heaven compared to the lingering smell of “wet dog!” The only question that remains is to wash the clothing or not was the clothing…lately I have been going with the latter.
*****With rain being our constant companion, my team and I have come to only one conclusion…no point complaining about it….play in it! I mostly definitely was caught the other night outside my house here around 10:00pm dressed in swimming shorts, an old t-shirt, and rain boots, jumping in the puddles in the street while getting a refreshing shower from the heavens. My buddy and I stood waiting by the biggest puddles in the street waiting for cars to come by and splash the daylights out of us! We were sorely disappointed that only one car took us up on the offer to splash us! We were hoping people wouldn’t see us near the puddles and would keep driving at full speed and spray us with a wall of water, but we figured out we don’t blend in to the dark very well considering “we glow in the dark” as one of my African friends told me, when talking about my flaxen skin tone. We did get drenched & had a wild good time in the process! Maybe not the brightest idea in the book…but too late now…Dear Jesus, please forgive my moment lapse of judgment as I was just looking for some clean good fun…and I forgot the puddles I was jumping and splashing around in might have been sewage laden…
*****A day at the swimming pool is always fun! And why should one avoid the pool if it is raining, you get wet in the pool anyway, so what’s a little more water? If there isn’t lightening, why not have a really good, wet time? The other day we put that exact philosophy to practice. I took the role of camera woman as my two of my team members jumped into the pool in the pouring rain, in their swim suits, and rain boots just to for a fashion statement. Rain boots are supposed to get wet…so why not jump in a swimming pool with them? We laughed and laughed as they attempted to do handstands in the pool with boots on their feet, as soon as they got their feet up in the air, water would coming pouring out of the boot and knock them over.
*****And finally, back to those puddles again…some of the puddles in the street have been knee deep. The local cars and taxis struggle to traverse around the city when the rain persists. I on the other hand….am blessed to drive a brand-new land-rover that was donated to Mercy Ships and shipped here for my team’s use. I had some fun driving like wild through some awesome, deep puddles in town the other day. One of the puddles was so fantastic; my friend got out, sacrificed herself to the rains, and took photos of me driving through the muddy ocean…
*****Oh-what fun and adventures rainy season in Africa can bring... “I bless the rains down in Africa…I bless the rains down in Africa…Africa, “it’s gonna take a lot to drag me away from you…there’s nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do…I bless the rains down in Africa… I bless the rains down in Africa…”

"it's me...it's me...it's me...oh, Lord- standing in the need of prayer"

     I approached the secured compound surrounded by huge concrete walls lined with razor wire. After passing security checks I was allowed to drive into the compound. I got out of my car and prayed for safety as I approached the second check-point leading into the entrance of the prison. It was there that I was met by a lawyer, whose number had been given to me by the German Ambassador’s wife, this lawyer had been volunteering in the prison for over 15 years, and he had agreed to introduce me to the prison captain, take me on a tour of the prison, and help me suggest to the prison that a hospital ship is coming to town and the volunteers on that ship are interested in visiting the prisoners.
     After brief introductions to the prison guards and captain, I followed the lawyer to where he and local Catholic priests hold weekly mass for some of the men in prison. I was ushered into a structure in the center of the prison where multiple benches, filled with men, were sitting under a metal roof, canopy of sorts. There had to be at least 120 men seated for the service. I was led to the front of the room and given a real wooden chair to sit in, “a chair of honor” as is very common in Africa whenever a foreigner or white person attends a service or meeting. Everyone else in the room had benches to sit on; my colleague and I were the only ones with a “real” chair. I sat down and tried not to be a distraction because the service had already started, but it was almost impossible not to be a distraction when I was one of the only females in the room and my skin is so white it can blind someone.
     I sat and quietly listened to echoes of deep baritone voices singing beautiful worship songs in tribal languages. After the signing finished, scriptures were read and the priest preached a sermon on Moses and the slavery and captivity of the Israelites. The prisoners listened attentively and there was a divine sense of peacefulness under that metal structure. I was impressed with the advancement of my French language skills as I could basically tell what was being said without translation. The priest talked for awhile and my mind drifted in and out of the room something I find still happens easily when I don’t actively and intently try to focus on the French being spoken.
     I looked around the room and wondered what had brought the men to the prison, what they were feeling, what they were thinking, how long had they been there, if they had been to court, and what they were serving sentences for. I felt no fear, I only felt for them. Some of the men had probably committed heinous crimes… My heart, mind, and feelings were divided as I felt some of the men probably deserved to “rot” in prison because justice and I are close friends….but there is grace and I am in need of it no less than others… but at the same time my God is just too and stands for justice… But, I couldn’t help but hurt for the prisoners. 1200 men, women, and minors, living in a space built for 400 and the reality in Africa and not Africa alone is many people are often imprisoned and they have committed not offense nor been given the chance to defend themselves or have legal representation to plead their case. They are jailed and forgotten.
     The next portion of the service included communion and more singing. I stood with the incarcerated and prayed for justice…for peace…and for God to make sense of all I was seeing and experiencing. I was pulled out of my prayers and ushered back into reality when I recognized some familiar words being sung….at first I thought the words were being sung in French and I was just understanding every word that was being said, but no, the prisoners were actually singing in English. I heard the group united in chorus singing, “It’s me… it’s me…it’s me…oh, Lord…standing in the need of prayer…it’s me… it’s me…it’s me… oh, Lord, standing in the need of prayer…”I sang my heart out with the prisoners.
     The closing statements of the service were being said and I was asked if I wanted to address the prisoners. With a frightened look on my face, I told my translator, “no, no way,” I didn’t want to speak…What could I possibly say to so many who lived in cramped quarters, who only receive one small portion of cooked rice and a tiny breakfast, which is a recent improvement, the small bit of rice used to be the only meal? What could I say to those who were of the 144 minors living in a room maybe 25 meters x 25 meters sharing maybe 15 beds and two toilets? My heart was heavy, what could I say? I decided in that moment my presence would have to speak for me…my mere human words could not be formed into anything that would have mattered at that moment. I felt ashamed that I had nothing to say…but I couldn’t change that, I was speechless…
     After the service, my translator was approached by a few people; they reached for his hand, longing for interaction with someone “from the outside.” He couldn’t believe it when he turned in response to tap after tap on his shoulders and was greeted by at least 5 people he knew, but hadn’t seen for a long time. He hadn’t known they were in prison. My translator scribbled down phone numbers that they gave him and I believe he was taking pleas to not be forgotten and to greet family members. I looked all those in the eyes that approached my translator and I shook hands with them saying in my poor French accent, “courage, courage…” What can one say???
     I toured cramped room after cramped room, only the minors and the women in the prison shared beds, the rest of the approximated 900 imprisoned men slept on the floor; some on thin mattresses, some only on sheets, living with maybe 75 people crammed in a 10 meter x 15 meter sized room. Some of the doors were locked on such cells and I saw only hands reaching out the bars that were at the very top of the door, reaching for something, grasping for anything….hope deterred…
     The guards in the different wings of the ward all stared at me. I greeted them and smiled… They just stared…The lawyer I was with introduced me to a few detainees and I could tell he was discussing legal matters with them and updating them briefly on the status of their situation. I shook hands with a gentleman, a prisoner, dressed in a leisure suit.
     After we left his presence and moved to a different part of the prison, my translator looked at me with the look of a “deer caught in headlights” and said, “that man… the one you just shook hands with…I recognize him from the news… he led the attempted assassination on our president not long ago…”
    When I reached yet another part of the prison compound I saw another white women chatting with a detainee. A badge on her shirt read “Geneva Convention.” The Geneva Convention and its articles is the cornerstone of international humanitarian law, protecting those in war zones or caught in the nature of war even if it has not officially been declared. Ensuring…

“Persons taking no active part in hostilities, including military persons who have ceased to be active as a result of sickness, injury, or detention, should be treated humanely and that the following acts are prohibited:
* violence to life and person, in particular murder of all kinds, mutilation, cruel treatment and torture;
* taking of hostages;
* outrages upon personal dignity, in particular humiliating and degrading treatment; and
* the passing of sentences and the carrying out of executions without previous judgment pronounced by a regularly constituted court, affording all the judicial guarantees which are recognized as indispensable by civilized peoples.”

Although Guinea has never declared official war, this country has been laden with military coups after coups, rebellion, unrest, and is also a home to many refugees from its neighboring countries of Sierra Leone and Liberia. I recognized Liberian English and Krio, the languages of Liberia and Sierra Leone being spoken amongst some of the prisoners. No doubt they felt in limbo being imprisoned a country that is not their own. I prayed…for what exactly….I don’t even know…but I prayed…
     I finished the tour of the entire prison. I thanked the prison captain for letting me visit and told him Mercy Ships would be in contact with him after showing him pictures of what Mercy Ships does, he pleaded with me that the prisoners not be forgotten by the Ship. I received an open invitation for Mercy Ships to hold any program they desired for the prisoners.  I walked past the first guards I had meet and stepped back into the “free” world. I looked behind me to ensure my translator had come with me and noticed he continued to have the look of a “deer caught in headlights look.” He only said, “It is a different world in there.”
     As we drove out of the prison, my translator said nothing more, but I am almost positive I saw tears coming down his face. I don’t know what he was thinking or experiencing…it is very likely many of those he had encountered that he knew had committed no offense…We neared the house I am living in and I asked him if he was okay…he just asked me not to say anything and said he was very sorry, but couldn’t work anymore for the day…I assured him our work was done for the day and that he could tell me anything he wanted to or didn’t have to saying anything at all…he quietly left with the “deer in headlights look” still plastered on his face.
     Once back inside my current home, I pulled aside my good friend and teammate and we took time to pray…we sat in silence before God for awhile…we prayed for my translator…. I cried… and we prayed for all the prisoners…we prayed for justice in the world…I cried…and we prayed that if the day ever comes when we are jailed or face the threat of jail versus denying faith that we will have the strength to stand…I cried…and we prayed…I cried….and we prayed…and the echoes of the prisoners song rang through my head…. “It’s me…it’s me… it’s me…oh, Lord….standing in the need of prayer….it’s me…it’s me… it’s me…oh, Lord….standing in the need of prayer…”

blessings in "crappy" situations

     An article on mayoclinic.com/health/cholera suggests the last major outbreak of cholera in the United States occurred in 1911… Cholera, a bacterial disease usually spread by contaminated water often leads to severe, rapid, dehydration related to diarrhea that can cause one to toilet up to (as much as a quart or .95 liters and hour). In my tropical disease course in London, I learned that NO ONE EVER needs to die from cholera, even in the most remote areas of the world, if those who have the disease are given enough fluids and a simple, easy to make rehydration solution; NO ONE EVER needs to die from cholera.
      My instructor talked about a cholera camp she worked at in Ethiopia a few years back. There were thousands of people infected with the bacteria, her team dug a pit for the waste a fair distance from the camp, and worked non-stop to keep the spread of infection down. Just when the staff thought they were getting on top of the outbreak, the heavens unleashed gallons of rain and the sewage pit that had been dug, flooded the camp. The patients were literally lying in crap and the nurses were wading through it to treat the patients, but because the medical team ensured clean water and simple rehydration salts were given to all the patients, no one, no matter how young, old, or mal-nourished, died…NO ONE EVER needs to die from cholera…
     A disease that was last in outbreak stage more than 100 years ago in the USA has been raging through Guinea and since February of this year, 1463 cases of cholera and 50 deaths were reported in the area surrounding Conakry, Guinea! With rainy season and the almost non-existent sewage system here (observed once again today by one of my co-workers when she happened to be at one of the hospitals in town where Mercy Ships is doing some renovations. She observed a few “plumbers” taking care of the sewage at the hospital, by pulling bucket after bucket of human waste, out of the ground, in buckets, like one would use to get water out of a well. The waste was then poured into another bucket, and carried by another man to a truck. None of the workers had gloves on or any protective clothing, or masks) the waterborne disease is on the rise.
     Doctors without Borders or Médecins sans Frontières (MSF) has a white, emergency treatment, outbreak, tent set up at the local hospital that is just down the road from where I am living. I have only ever seen those types of tents in news reports on refugee situations around the world, or in movies, not in my own backyard. And even though I saw it with my own eyes, it is hard for me to comprehend, that people in this city around me are currently dying from this disease that is SO preventable and SO treatable and this is the situation in the capital city where there is “access” to at least some sort of healthcare…the situation in the interior is much worse…it is too much…
     Last week when I was curled up in a ball on my mattress on the floor between every time I was running to the bathroom myself, I cried related to the pain and nausea I was experiencing and for those around me who are needlessly dying…Since I have recovered and am feeling much better…I cried again...But this time I cried because I am so blessed…not blessed because I had diarrhea….that is never a blessing…but blessed to have shelter even though it is in a 3 bed-room house with 11 other people…blessed to have a mattress even though it isn’t very comfortable and it is on the floor… blessed that I have a toilet in my house that flushes (most the time)… blessed that I have water to wash my hands with… blessed that I have soap to use with the water…blessed that I have toilet paper… blessed that I have nausea medicine…I cried because God is so good and I am so blessed…
     As the cholera outbreak continues to claim lives of those around me, my prayer is that those who are currently fighting cholera will be strengthened and recover…that those who have lost loved ones related to cholera will be comforted… my prayer is that I never forget that I am blessed…that I will have the chance to bless others…and that those around the world currently in “crappy” situations will KNOW God’s blessings in a new way and feel his hand of blessing upon them in this very moment… Be blessed…

clashing worldviews & the beauty of grace

     As my airplane made its decent out of the clouds, I could see the landscape below speckled with large and small structures alike, many with 2 spires pointing heavenward. As my airplane neared touch-down I scanned the horizon of my new home for the next year and from the airplane windows alone, I counted more than seven of the structures with minarets. As my airplane taxied toward the airport, mosque after mosque came into full view.
     After being picked up by my fellow Advance Team members, we loaded our borrowed sport utility vehicle and slowly made our way through the crazy traffic in town, toward the apartment we were renting. I took in all the sites around me. The streets were lined with liter, motorcycles, market stands, mosques, taxis, goats, wheelbarrows with items for sale, and men in loose, dress like shirts with pants underneath, all topped off with kippah or taqiyah caps; male prayer caps. Scattered amongst the men where women veiled with hijab, or head coverings that coordinated with their brightly colored African fabric dresses. In the crowd, I also picked out a few women shroud in black burqas and a few others with only their dark, forlorn eyes showing through their niqab or face veils. I had arrived in Conakry, Guinea, where the population is roughly 85% Muslim and the remaining 15% a syncretism of Catholic, Christian faith, Traditional African Religion, Fatalism, or Animism.
     Everyday I hear the call to prayer and see a host of people in tiny mosques around the city, on the side of the street, or in offices ceremoniously washing their hands, forearms, head, and feet with water in preparation for their 5 times a day prayer rituals. In some areas of the city, around the time of prayer, all activities cease and traffic comes to a standstill as many people prostrate themselves before their god. In a city where there majority of people have no running water in their homes and the water they do have access to is contaminated with bacteria and parasites, I am left with a feeling of confused-frustration as I see people spending the little money they have on bottled or bagged water or their energy on carting bucket after bucket of water from a well to use for a ceremony mandated by their religion.
     Over the past few months it has been interesting to enter meetings where those we are meeting with eagerly greet my male colleagues, but when it comes to me, at times I am not given a handshake and my presence isn’t even acknowledged even though I may be leading the meeting. I thrive on the challenge of learning about new cultures and I am embracing the diversity of my new home, but praying for God to make sense of all I am encountering in my life where one of my constant companions remains the consistency of changing geographical locations and encountering clashing worldviews.
     As I pass the women enveloped from head to toe, I cannot help but wonder how “she” feels behind the black veil that is heavy upon her and has to be uncomfortably sweltering in the hot African sun. I don’t know why, but I make a point of it to say “Bonjour” to every woman hidden behind the veil of her culture and religion. I never hear “her” answer back, but I persist in my little practice, maybe one born out of my own egocentric opinion that feels “she” has to be angry, alone, or crying out to be acknowledged, but I think it is more than that….
     The 9th month of the Islamic Calendar began just a few weeks ago, ushering in Ramadan; a month of fasting from dawn to sunset for many around me. There is a tangible difference in the Conakry air since Ramadan began. The compulsory fasting (even from water) has left many of those I interact with on a daily basis fatigued, irritable, distracted, and challenging to work with. In the middle of important conversations with governmental officials, about immigration, clearing Mercy Ships shipping containers of medical supplies or medications through customs, training of potential surgeons, locating patients desperately needing help, getting visas for the 1,200 Mercy Ships’ crew members that will pass through Guinea in the 10 months the ship is stationed here, those we are conversing will all of a sudden leave our meetings to wash and pray, they fall asleep, or remain so distracted that we end up repeating ourselves multiple times just to get simple points across.
     The ship arrives in less than three weeks and it has been interesting to try and coordinate many tasks with touchy, lethargic, and unfocused government officials. Much is to be done and the time frame is critically short. I want to get the million things crossed of my “to-do-list” that remain… but more than that… I want people to know freedom from mandated rituals, spells, charms, and legalistic actions...I want people to know the beauty of grace...and the God who loves the oppressed… lonely… forgotten…and hurt, as well as the proud… popular… famous… and strong…the God who loves all equally, whether rich or poor… healthy or sick… black or white…male or female…

pray that his story is not yet finished

     His condition left him alone, isolated, in pain, and suffering. He reached out for help, but none was found. He attempted to get help from all the clinics and hospitals in his village, but even their best medical professionals could not even begin to treat his medical ailment. He put an appeal in with the United States Embassy in Conakry, Guinea to get medical emancipation to the USA, but his request was denied. The Embassy staff have reported they get flooded with requests like his and they cannot help everyone. His medical information was handed back over to the Guinea Minister of Health and set aside in a pile with other files like his. He was another statistic, another “one” they could not help, “one” they would try to find help for, and “one” they would see if an NGO could help.
     It is uncertain how long his file sat on the Minister of Health’s desk, but at this point, that is not important. One day, some of Mercy Ships’ Advance Team members were sitting in that office and saw the file. The file was passed to them and they assured the Minister of Health that they would pass the information on to Mercy Ships’ Advance Hospital Liaison and see what could be done… His file is in my hands…
     I had him on my list of people to contact, but had to prioritize my mountain of work, so was waiting to contact him until closer to the ship’s August arrival. I wanted to connect with him as soon as I heard about his need, but was forced to deal with the reality that I am just one lone nurse here in Guinea, without the ship, I can not really help him, so I put my personal feelings aside and set his file aside as well.
     A few weeks later, we were stuck in traffic, which had become a norm, when I heard someone knocking on our, Mercy Ships’ land-rover, window. Assuming the knock came from just another street vendor trying to sell me Kleenex, a belt, or sun glasses, I didn’t pay much attention to the disturbance. The knocking persisted and being all too familiar with the aggressiveness of street salesmen in Africa, I wasn’t bothered to look up. When the knocking failed to cease, I finally looked up. When I looked up, I saw a timid young man, with a soft-ball sized mass protruding off the side of his face. I felt ashamed for ignoring his knocking and immediately switched into nurse mode asking my translator to help me talk to him. I wanted to know every detail about this young man to see if Mercy Ships could help him. I was so excited to have a potential patient in front of me, that I missed hearing my co-workers say, “This is the “one”...we gave you his file…” Slowly, the pieces started coming together in my mind. This was the patient, waiting to hear from me, the patient holding out hope in Mercy Ships, the “one” denied medical emancipation, the “one…”
     Anything but a statistic…a fragile, man, not too many years my junior, one desperate for help, stood in front of me. The thought still rushed through my mind, “the ship isn’t here, he needs a CT Scan and an OPG to determine the severity of his tumor, what can I offer him???” I silenced the thoughts in my head and remembered that I could offer him my listening ear, my time, and hopefully, that would mean something.
     He got in our land-rover and we headed to a sandwich place for lunch. When we walked into the restaurant, I saw the way others looked at him and I saw the way he tried to shrink and disappear from the room, to not be subject once again to judgmental eyes and critique. I knew it had to be hard for him, but determined to treat him as I saw him, a valuable person, made in the image of God, not a tumor. I wanted him to feel “normal…” whatever that is...
     We ordered sandwiches, sodas, and tried to find something on the menu that my potential patient could eat because his tumor had started to take over his ability to eat. He sat quietly at the table, face down, with his ball cap pulled down over his eyes. My co-workers and I chatted about the day ahead and the remaining meetings we had. My potential patient sat starring at this plate, in silence. The situation was less than comfortable, I wanted to ask him a million questions since the moment I met him, but I didn’t want him to feel as if his tumor defined him, but at the same time, I didn’t want him to feel as if I didn’t notice it or didn’t care. I prayed for wisdom to know what to say and when to say it.
     After a few moments, he looked up at me and said, “Don’t you want to ask me questions about my face?” That was my cue… I asked him if it would be okay if I asked him some questions about his situation, in the restaurant while we ate, or if he preferred we talk privately in the land-rover… He opened up and told me his story…his life had been one ridden with hurt, hopelessness, crushed dreams, loneliness, sleepless nights, and rejection. I saw tears roll down his cheek as he spoke. He told me he was constantly in pain, that he used to attend school, but his physical and emotional pain had become so great, that he withdrew. He didn’t have enough money for pain medicine, didn’t know what medicine to buy, and he was all alone.
     I ached for him…I hurt for him…I wished I could have wrapped him in my arms and made his entire situation go away…but, I couldn’t even promise him it would all be okay when the ship arrived...I told him I wanted to see him as soon as the ship arrived, that we would order a CT Scan and other medical tests, but that I could not promise him a surgery…How does one encourage, but not provide false hope??? Either way, he clung to the promise that Mercy Ships would see him in August and he thanked me.
     This situation did not sit well with me. I couldn’t leave him the way he was… he had a large, painful tumor on his face…he could actually be called heavenward before the ship arrives…and all I could tell him was… “I’ll see you in a few months.” But, what could I do??? Then I remembered the local pharmacist I had met just a few weeks before who agreed to supply the ship with medicines should they run out. With my potential patient’s approval, we drove to the pharmacy. When we walked in the pharmacy, again he was met with nothing but stares. I had him sit on a little bench while I spoke with the pharmacist.
     I bought Ibuprofen and also managed to get my potential patient a strong analgesic that normally requires a prescription in this country. The pharmacist trusted who I was, who I worked with, and since evidence of my patient was starring him in the face, and he graciously gave us the medicine. I carefully instructed the young man how to take the medicine and gave him his first dose with water from a sachet that I purchased out of a basket a lovely African woman was carrying on her head. I prayed the medicine would somehow relieve the burden upon this “one” who was only a few years my junior.
      I still had many errands to complete for they day, but wasn’t bothered if this fellow wanted to ride around with me in the land-rover. I told him I would drop him off close to his home, which was near ours, when we finished our tasks for the day. He was thankful for the offer to save his precious coins and one less time he had to take public transport.
     Traffic can take anywhere between 40 mins-3 hours to get from downtown Conakry, to our apartment so after I finished my errands, I started to head home. I was thankful, traffic wasn’t too bad. After a few minutes of driving, I looked over my shoulder and saw him sleeping, peacefully.
     We neared our apartment and I didn’t want to wake him, he looked so weary, but I had to. He showed us where we could drop him off. We prayed with him before he left us, we made sure he understood how to take his pain medicine, and sent him on his way. As he got out of the car, with shoulders slumped, I prayed that God’s angels would surround this “one”…”one” that was anything but a statistic….”one” that is precious in his site… and I prayed that if the ship can help him that it will come to pass….
     Before I went to bed, I reviewed the whirlwind day I had experienced. I prayed for my potential patient…I prayed he would feel a touch from above and that God would do a mighty thing in his life….And I feel asleep…
     The next day, when my co-worker returned from work, he had a huge grin on his face and told me he had seen my potential patient downtown. The young man was so excited he had driven his bicycle all the way downtown in hopes of finding us in the Mercy Ships’ land-rover. He wanted us to know he slept the entire night for the first time in months, he had no pain, and he had more energy than he knew what to do with! His tumor remained, but he had slept and was without pain!
     I thank God for the young man with the facial tumor and I ask you to pray with me that his story is not yet finished…Pray that maybe he can find hope and healing through the big white ship that is sailing his way!

...laura & her scarves...

One of my new little friends in Guinea

I am so known for wearing scarfs that for my 30th Birthday
my friends on the ship had a "dress like Laura Z" themed party! Miriam
one of my buddies, looked freakishly like me!

As one of the Nurse Clinical Educators aboard the ship we had an IV start
class for the nurses that didn't know how to start IVs. I had to learn before
the class myself, and my amazing friend donated his veins
to my learning- Over a number of days this guy let me place 14 IVs in him!

Some of my little friends in Sierra Leone

One of my little friends in Togo

This little Guinean girl was brave...most the little kids here run away
from white skin, not this little girl, she marched up to me, pointed
at my camera, then she crouched down next to me, for a photo, we took one,
I showed it to her, she smiled, and walked away...just like that!

One of my little patients in Sierra Leone

a little piece of Idaho & the African market

It was another sunny day in Africa and I was enjoying a walk through the market. The streets were crowded and strewn with rubbish of every shape and form imaginable. I skirted between trucks stacked a few stories high with old plastic bottles, taxis stuffed to overflowing with passengers, mammas carrying babies on their backs and entire vegetable markets on their heads, and around rotting sewage in the streets. I smiled as I past little ones playing in the dirt with marbles. Around the corner I spotted a few kids chasing slightly flattened bike tires down the street with sticks to propel the tires along. I travelled along farther in town and saw a chubby little chocolate baby being placed ever so gently by his older siblings into an empty 24 pack of Coke, cardboard box with the plastic still attached around the bottom. His brothers had carefully tied a string to the little box and they were having a riot dragging their sibling around in the little box like it was a sled on snow. The little one giggled as his little sled slide across the dirt.

I continued on my way, wandering down street after street looking at all the colorful fabrics and listening to the cacophony of the buzzing activity around me. Many a street vendor tried to lure me into buying their merchandise, but nothing was grabbing my eye, besides, I didn’t really need anything, so I found it hard to justify any purchases. After a few hours of wandering around, my friend and I were headed back to the ship when I grabbed her arm and yelled, “Stop!” My friend spun around quickly wondering what in the world was wrong with me. Nothing was wrong, but I had just stumbled on the biggest pile of scarves I’d ever seen in my life! Literally, stumbled over the pile, I tripped on it in the street as I was trying to avoid getting run over by a huge truck driving down the road.

I wasn’t interested in much else that the market had to offer except the occasional baby I could hold in my arms for a quick cuddle, but head scarves, those I could get into! I couldn’t believe it, there were scarves of every color of the rainbow in a pile that came up to my waist. The designs were so beautiful and colorful. The scarf vender handed me scarf after scarf to see if he could persuade me to purchase more. As I was on my hands and knees on a busy street in Africa, digging through the scarf pile, the word “Sun Valley” caught my eye. I thought I had imagined it, but that would be a weird thing to just randomly imagine on the side of the road in Africa. So, I flipped through the scarf pile again and low and behold, I saw the word Sun Valley printed on the edge of a scarf. I pulled the rest of the scarf out of the pile and couldn’t believe my eyes. In front of me was a lovely-ugly green and orange shaded, colored scarf, with a full map of Idaho on it! I looked closer at the map and beyond all believe, Rupert was listed on the map! My little home-town of Rupert, which is rarely listed on USA maps, made it on the Idaho-African Market scarf! I laughed so hard and decided I had to have the Idaho scarf and a few other scarves! Budget or no budget, I purchased 19 scarves from the little scarf man for a total of about $5 USD and one even still had the original tag on it from Wal-mart.

The Lord knows there are those random ocassions when I miss crazy. little Rupert, the Rupert square, Doc's pizza, Idaho potatoes, and fresh corn on the cob, and since Idaho is there....and I am here...God brought a little piece of Idaho my way in a crazy, ugly-green- orange shaded scarf! Thanks God for making my day!  

the neurosurgeon & one single light bulb

The 9 month old little girl who had travelled all the way from the Gambia to Guinea lay on the worn mattress upon the operating table in the rudimentary operating theater. Although there was paint chipping off the walls, the OR theater appeared clean, sort of. Today the electricity was working and I prayed it would work for the duration of the little one’s operation. The OR lights were broken. I was told they hadn’t worked in years, so the surgeon worked diligently by the light from one single light bulb connected to an extension cord that was carefully strung across the ceiling above the patient. There was no vital sign equipment available to monitor the baby’s oxygen saturation, blood pressure, pulse, or temperature during the operation. The room was hot, sweat dripped down my forehead. The surgeon worked diligently to place the shunt from the baby’s head to her peritoneal area, to drain off the excess fluid that was surrounding her brain. I prayed for safety for the baby as the emergency drug cabinet in the room was sparsely stocked, the suction set was broken, the oxygen was in a huge cylinder with questionable administration sets, and the surgeon had just leaned over to tell me another supply he would like is working coagulation-cauterization equipment, the equipment needed in case a patient starts to bleed.



I selfishly hovered beneath the tiny air-condition in the room trying to cool myself and comprehend that I was in an operating room, in one of the National Hospitals of Guinea, with a neurosurgeon, watching a brain surgery, and all the surgeon had to guide his hands was one small little light bulb. All the supplies he needed for the surgery were donated in a little bag, the surgeon got no more and no less than the quantity in the donated bag. If he had needed one extra piece of gauze, it would not have been available.


For some reason, as I stood in the operating room watching the surgeon’s technique, my mind drifted back to another surgery, in another operating room, that took place the same week, five years ago. The patient that lay on that operating table was scared to death, but was being operated on in one of the finest hospitals in her country, with access to any and every type of equipment the surgeons or nurses would have needed. When she was told she had a brain tumor, she wondered if all her hopes and dreams were vanishing and never going to become reality. She cried for days and days, leading up to the operation, she ate every kind of chocolate in site “eating her feelings,” and hoping to wake up from the bad dream, then she cried some more. Thankfully, without any complications, her highly skilled neurosurgeons, successfully removed her brain tumor. And almost five years later, to the day, that same girl stood in an African operating room… hovering under a tiny air conditioner… praying over the little one on the table, undergoing brain surgery, hoping the baby and others like her would be able to grow up and live their dreams…Thanks to God, I am living my dreams…volunteering as a nurse in Africa with Mercy Ships… and I pray God gives Mercy Ships wisdom to see how they can partner with and help the little children in Guinea needing brain surgeries… by helping the neurosurgeon who operated by one single light bulb.

...so that Guinea will know God has not forgotten them...

I have temporarily traded in my scrubs, stethoscope, and precious patients for dress pants/skirts, collared shirts, dress shoes, a laptop computer and bag, 2 cell phones (and I’ve never even owned one), business cards with my name on them, and daily appointments with business professionals. I am out of my comfort zone in so many ways! Just a few weeks ago I said good-bye to my floating home in Lomé, Togo and travelled to Conakry, Guinea, my new home and the anticipated location of my floating home, the Africa Mercy, mid-August 2012-June 2013.

I have been busy since I hit the ground. My weeks and days are filled with meeting government officials, medical directors, Engender Health workers, doctors, surgeons, NGO mangers, the first lady, ministry of health representatives, the Peace Corps volunteers, religious leaders, USAID workers, ambassadors, US Embassy staff, Sisters from Mother Teresa’s home & hospital here, hospital owners…you name it. I sit in small and big conference rooms and in big and small offices. Sometimes there is air-conditioning, most the time there isn’t, or the power goes off and on frequently throughout the meetings. As sweat runs down my back and perspiration trails make streaks down my face, I practice my posture and try to keep smiling.

I am in Conakry, Guinea trying to demonstrate to people here that Jesus hasn’t forgotten them- he is sending a ship their way that will offer free surgeries and demonstrate evidence of God’s love and healing! I am one of four crew members living on land in Guinea- May- September preparing for the ship’s arrival. Right now in the port, there is a berth space reserved for the Africa Mercy, but there is much to be done before that ocean parking space can be taken with by the Africa Mercy. Mercy Ships has a presidential invite to Guinea, but there are many hoops that need to be jumped through to still get the ship and her crew here.

I am the Ship’s Nurse- Medical/Hospital Liaison on land, in charge of setting up everything related to the hospital and the work Mercy Ships plans to do in Guinea September 2012-June 2013. Yikes! I am working closely with the minster of health, setting up screening sites, writing protocols, meeting new people, looking for and helping hire 200+ day volunteers (making sure they are TB free & that they speak English, a law required by the United Nations on our ship & an essential need in the translation process), working with local government and mission hospitals to find patients, meeting new people, coordinating local licensure for all of Mercy Ships’ medical crew, meeting new people, looking for opportunities for capacity building and training of local surgeons, working with the port authority & immigration to make sure we can import the medicines & supplies we need for surgeries, meeting new people, locating a local morgue to work with use if needed, meeting lots of people with fancy titles, making sure emergency medical evacuation services are available for our crew if needed, finding quality labs, pharmacies, and oxygen suppliers to use in country if our supplies or equipment fail us aboard, finding churches that will let us use their space for eye screening, and in case I failed to mention it, I am also meeting new people, among a million other tasks.

In each of my meetings as I prepare to meet “important people” scenes from the Princess Diaries movie flash through my mind and I try to coach myself, “don’t do this, don’t do that, cross your ankles, sit up straight, take small bites.” I think to myself, how in the heck did I end up here? I miss my patients like crazy. I miss the multi-cultural, ever changing, crammed, community living, of the ship. My heart is in an odd state of turmoil, homesick for my bedside nursing and patients, but yet incredibly full of thankfulness at the same time; knowing God is faithful and I am where He wants me for this season.

Although, I feel I was falling in love with the country of Togo, its people, the landscape, the language (Ewe & French), that I am some sort of a failure for leaving before the Togo 2012 outreach concluded, (like I didn’t finish what I started, that I was “missing graduation” because I have finished every other outreach in all the countries I have visited with the ship over the past four years), and it was seriously hard to leave my friends behind especially since I hadn’t seen some of them in four years as they just returned to volunteer at the same time I was scheduled to leave and fly to Guinea, and some of my best friends on the ship that have been there with me since 2008, will not be there when I connect with the ship again; I know I am in the right place and God is confirming that in my heart daily.

I contemplated volunteering at a land-based mission hospital in Togo (same hospital referred to in my Togo trip blogs from 2009) that I am very fond of while the ship is in ship yard, or I dreamed of a “break in the USA”, or time in a snow-bank somewhere to cool off, but I asked God for direction for my plans while the ship is in ship-yard and he directed me here, to Conakry, Guinea, West Africa. My heart has ached and the tears have fallen, but I am okay because I am in God’s hands.

I am an Ambassador for Mercy Ships, playing an important part in the ministry, just a very different role than I am used to. Each day when I put a skirt or collared shirt on that makes me feel claustrophobic and I wish I was putting on scrubs; God is reminding me my job isn’t merely temporal, but eternal. I am not only representing the interests of Mercy Ships and the hospital’s needs, but I have a greater job here in Guinea. I am in a foreign land, literally, and spiritually. As I meet with official ambassadors and listen to information on the work they are doing in Guinea, I work to translate my King’s message so that all will hopefully start to see that I am from the kingdom of God, and his policy is grace, exactly what Mercy Ships tries to show (concepts learned through Rick Warren’s book Better Together).

I am honored that my experience with the ship got me appointed to the position I am now in. My prayer is that I will be worthy of the calling God has placed upon me for the next few months. May I not be purely focused on my future patients, that I am starting to hear about and see around the community, those with obvious needs, (3-5 pound tumors hanging off their faces, crooked legs, or infection eating their faces), that I miss the people I meet daily, with more silent hurts and concerns. God use me to influence every person, no matter what their title, or political status. Help me not to become so busy or frustrated by the learning curve that I find myself in that I ignore the people currently in my path. Jesus I want to be your representative, when I am tired and missing the ship, when I am irritated by “office camping” (waiting outside of offices for hours, waiting to be seen), when I cannot handle closed- toed, dress shoes, politics, or when it takes me five minutes to send a simple text message. Help me to play my part in getting the ship in that reserved berth space in the port of Conakry, Guinea, so that Guinea knows YOU have not forgotten them!

...part II of the black, rubbish-trash bag adventure...

The next morning I awoke to the banging rhythm of African drums & the sound of chanting echoing from surrounding villages. My rest had been sweet & amazingly I had actually felt cool once in the night! A rare occasion in Africa! The cool feeling didn’t last long. As soon as I went outside our bungalow the hot African sun beat down on my skin & sweat started to pour off my brow. My three friends and I rendezvoused with a local fisherman who had agreed to ferry us across the lake to a tiny village on Lac Togo’s northern shore, in a wooden canoe/fishing boat.

Our canoe captain ferried us across the lake by standing in the back of the canoe while propelling us with one large stick-ore that he shoved off the shallow, lake bottom, in a perfect rhythmic fashion. Our captain’s muscles were huge, as would be expected from making multiple such trips in his lifetime. From across the lake, sticking out among the lush green vegetation, I could see a huge cross on what appeared to be an old historical church; I wondered if that was where we were headed. When we were in the middle of the lake, 30 minutes out from shore, but still far away from the other side of the lake, I determined the projected “30 minute” boat ride was going to be more like an hour & 30 minutes, but I didn’t mind. We didn’t have anywhere to go, except back to the ship and at that point in time, I wasn’t interested in getting on a hard bike seat again anytime soon.

Eventually, the canoe captain rowed our boat into the reeves and weeds on the shore of what we guessed to be our destination. I was excited for our next adventure. We walked across a rickety jetty and were greeted by locals hoping to get the job of being our tour guide. We had indeed reached our destination. The city was built up on a hill & we started to climb an old set of stairs that reminded me of ancient staircases from movies, like those that lead to the top of an Aztec Temple or something. At the top of the stairway/road there was a huge beautiful, ancient, German-built cathedral with a gigantic cross, the building I had seen from the middle of the lake. I hoped we would get the chance to see inside the cathedral.

After bartering for a fair price, we agreed to a tour. We also requested a shortened tour as our time was limited. Our English speaking guide weaved us through red-dirt colored, mud huts, through tiny alleys, around more mud huts, stopping us at town square of sorts. He reported that was where voodoo dances took place. He explained to us that the villagers would approach the voodoo idol (which looked like a large tree stump with mud on it, with seashells for eyes) and offer sacrifices of food, money, or items, to it wishing for protection, healing, safety on a journey, children, or the like.

We continued to walk through the village and our guide kept pointing out voodoo images. I hoped to learn about village life, the children, healthcare, or the village economics, but almost every other sentence out of our guide’s mouth referred to voodoo. As we traversed the city, I decided that I was on a “prayer walk” not a tour. I prayed for the people in that village & that they wouldn’t have to live lives of fear. We passed another huge voodoo idol. This one too looked like a large tree stump that had had its top rounded off to look like a blob or head with slumping shoulders. This idol had red stains dripping down it and a handful of obviously used knives sitting near it. Our guide explained that people could come and pray to the idol if someone was bothering them, they could stab the spirit in the idol to get rid of the person bothering them, or something like that. I didn’t really understand what he was saying; I just prayed that those knives would never physically be stabbed into someone. He also mentioned people were never to walk behind the idol because something bad would happen. I shut out what he was saying, but ached in my heart for those who live in such spiritual captivity. I wanted to walk right behind the idol just to show the idol held no power over me, but I determined it was better to just keep following the tour guide.

Next, we came to two majestic trees. Their roots were huge and stood out of the ground. The trees had to be hundreds of years old. Their roots were so big; I would have had to climb up and over them to get near the actual tree trunk. We were informed that the trees had spirits and were living gods as well. One could offer prayers and sacrifices to them too. Every part of the village that we walked through had some sort of voodoo or animistic theme. When we were on the way out of the labyrinth of mud huts, we passed a mud-shack that had screaming coming out of it. It was explained to us that we were outside of the voodoo convent and someone had just entered into it to appease the spirits. We were rounding the corner and almost near the cathedral when a man wearing just a sheet-skirt, walked out of the convent and in front of us. He was carrying a dead chicken. I saw blood coming from the chicken’s neck. In a ceremonial fashion, the man, possibly a voodoo priest, took the blood and smeared it on a stump then on two sides of a door, and then he went back into the convent. What I had just seen played out before my eyes reminded me of the Old Testament and Passover. I had no fear inside of me; instead the following phrase came rushing to my mind...a phrase I hadn’t thought about for a long time….a coincidence….I don’t think so….this is what came to my mind…Satan’s greatest issue is that he didn’t get to be God. He wanted more than anything to make himself like the Most High, he couldn’t be God, so he set out to counterfeit the actions of God. Therefore, anything God does, Satan tries to counterfeit. Something to ponder….

I was happy when we reached the main street of the village and when its gigantic cross was once again within my view. Our tour guide never once spoke about the cathedral in their town. It was huge, beautiful, majestic, but he never mentioned it. It makes me feel as if I imagined it, but I know it was there. We headed back toward the jetty, thanking our guide for the tour. We boarded our wooden fishing boat again and headed back to the other side of the lake. I looked over my shoulder one last time at the village, the only thing I could see was the old cross, on the historic cathedral, towering over the village…

As I peddled my last mile back toward Lomé, in the hot afternoon sun, I reflected on where I had just been. I realized that I had travelled way farther than 60 miles on a bike in a black-rubbish bag that weekend. I had travelled to the heart of the matter…to the central issue in life…Sobering…in our own lives & villages, if the truth of the cross is towering over us, we need to be careful not be blind or immune to it…

...part I of the black, rubbish-trash bag adventure...

The bright African sun that had been blazing down on the dock just moments before was rapidly being replaced by a dark cloud cover. The gentle breeze coming off the ocean started to pick up and with it came more grey-black clouds. The ominous appearance of the clouds suggested sheets of water would soon be dropping from the sky. There was a refreshing, tangible temperature drop in the air. I looked at the menacing sky wondering if my friends and I would have to cancel the adventure we had planned for the weekend. The four of us stood by our bicycles on the dock as a torrential rain burst forth from the heavens. We ran for cover under the dockside tents that double as a patient waiting area. We contemplated our next plan of action. We took a vote & determined that a little African rain storm would not spoil our planned adventure. One of my friends ran back inside the ship & returned with a handful of large, black, rubbish-trash bags for each of us. I quickly donned one and secured one over-around my back-pack. Other crew members stood on the gangway, laughing at us, reporting we were crazy, but wishing us well. We peddled out the port gate and my friend questioned if we were abusing God’s grace. I turned that question into a prayer & said, “God please give us your grace if we are being stupid.”



We peddled along people-packed dirt roads, through the market, through puddles, and out of Lomé toward Lac Togo (Lake Togo), our weekend destination, a mere 27 kilometers away. We splashed along through puddle after puddle, mud sloshing up all over our legs & bodies. I continued to cycle along, taking in all the sights & sounds around me. I took a deep breath & smiled, I was home again, in Africa!


We rode kilometer after kilometer, sometimes side-by-side, sometimes single file. We thanked God for the rainfall and cooler air that made the ride pleasantly easier than we had anticipated. We passed little stores, grass-mud huts, hotels, wood-working stands, restaurants, goats running through the streets, naked children bathing, women & children working in fields, the beach, women washing clothing in mud puddles; we passed the beauty of God’s creation.


As I peddled along I had the chance to practice a few of my French phrases as it is customary & entirely rude if one does not greet those they pass on the street. Kilometer after kilometer I said, “Bonjour (good-morning), Bonjour, Comment çe va (how are you)? Bonjour Madame…Bonjour Monsieur… Bonjour…Comment çe va?...” I just kept smiling, peddling, and greeting all those we passed. I laughed as some little; toothless, old men on the side of the road clapped & cheered my friends and me on. I prayed for those going really fast on motorcycles who were so intrigued with four white people riding bikes in the bush that they forgot to watch the road, and instead would stare backward at us until we were out of sight, a dangerous activity with cars coming toward them from the other direction!


I did my best to wave at all the little dark skinned, kids on the side of the road as they jumped up and down singing what we have come to call the “Yovo song”…A little chant that echoes throughout the streets of Togo anywhere a white person is seen. I was amazed at the fact that just when I thought no one was around, out of a field or abandoned looking house-shack-hut, I would hear “Yovo, Yovo, bonsoir, çe va? çe va bien merci! Yovo, Yovo, bonsoir, çe va? çe va bien merci! (White person, white person, afternoon! How are you? I’m fine, thank-you!) Many times I couldn’t even see the little singer, but could only hear the precious, endearing, song!


Early afternoon- we finally reached our destination; Lac Togo & some little bungalows we had hoped to stay at over night. We dropped our back-packs off in our rooms, checked out the lake (contemplating jumping in, but not certain of its “hidden treasures” possible parasites that unleash havoc on one’s body after they secretly burrow in your skin), ate the sandwiches we had packed for lunch, and then chatted about our plan for the rest of the day. It was decided that we hadn’t had enough bike riding for the day, so we headed out on the road again. We decided we would see where we ended up. One destination could have been the Benin border, but we determined we would listen to our muscles and then go from there.


Out on the road again, we passed the little town of Agbodrafo and some other towns with names I could never pronounce & that don’t show up on any maps. It was getting late in the afternoon & we concluded we should find somewhere to get a coke & turn back. We didn’t want to be out on the road in the dark, even though my African friends joke with me, saying, “you glow in the dark” because of my skin color. I didn’t trust my skin color to be my safety reflectors.


We stopped in Aného, the old 19th century, colonial capital of Togo. This city was once a Portuguese slave-trade port. All that remains of its grand history are crumbling buildings that barely show how incredible the city once was. We found a hotel on the beach & enjoyed a coke with the sound of waves crashing against the shore in the background. After our brief break, we mounted our bikes once again to return to Lac Togo. We enjoyed a lovely super back at our beach bungalow, drenched ourselves in mosquito spray, & crashed in bed after making sure our room was cockroach free.

Stay tuned for Part II of this adventure!

The little girl in the yellow dress...

Pray for the little girl in the yellow dress.  She needs an orthopedic surgery.  We won't be
doing any ortho this outreach because we are only in Togo for a few months &
bone surgeries take too long to heal. 
We had to tell this precious little girl's mother & many others that we couldn't help them...
...Heart- breaking...

bed...now

I'm alive...tired....left ship at 0400hrs returned dirty, stinky, sweaty, & sun-kissed at 1830 hrs.....the only way to describe the day...amazing & incredible...there was a sense of heavenly peace surrounding the entire stadium/screening process...no trouble...estimations are that over 3500 patients flowed through our screening lines...scheduled as many as possible... pray for all those we were unable to help (there are always more "no" patients than "yes" patients)...bed...now...

it's time to pray for screening day!

Tomorrow is the big day...SCREENING DAY...The day when we expect to see around 3000-5000 patients from all over Togo, Ghana, and possibly Benin...The patients come from near and far hoping that we will be able to help them....From the group of patients we see and screen tomorrow, we plan our surgery schedule for our entire stay in Togo. Almost the entire crew from the ship will be on site at a local stadium here in Lomé, Togo, tomorrow, February 1st, to ensure the screening day process is a success! We are running around like crazy getting together all the final details for the big day tomorrow...I just returned from the stadium a few hours ago after an afternoon of setting up things for the big day.



Our security team is already at the stadium and will be all night along with two nurses who are helping assess patients that are already starting to line up (more than 12 hours before the actual triage/screening begins). We have just made over 1000 peanut butter & jelly sandwiches for lunches tomorrow. We are grabbing our water bottles, sunscreen, scrubs, pens, pencils, & hoping to soon hit the hay. The big day starts at 0330 tomorrow morning. It's time to pray for screening day! The need in front of us is always greater than the help we can offer & this year I am in charge of the team that tells patients "yes" or "no." No small task... It's time to pray for screening day!


*Pray for God to receive ALL THE GLORY...It's time to pray for screening day!


*Pray for the right patients to come to us- pray that those we cannot help stay away & that those who have divine appointments with Mercy Ships show up...It's time to pray for screening day!

*Pray against fear- Pray that the patients that have had to hide in the shadows all their life because of fear or rejection & ridicule related to their medical problems...come to us. Pray that the patients in their villages that may be afraid to come because of curses or lies that witchdoctors have told them about us or "white people" will have the courage to come...Pray for those of us who were at screening last year in Sierra Leone, where a riot broke out, will not fear the events of tomorrow...Our history in Togo has shown us that there tends to be a more aggressive spirit in many people we come across in Togo than in other countries...It's time to pray for screening day!


*Pray for health-There has been a recent spread of the stomach flu & bellies that go "fast-fast" (African term for diarrhea) here. The screening team is dropping like flies & we need all hands available to help with (screening, security, food, registration, history taking, vitals, the pharmacy, data entry, lab, x-ray, cleaning crew, children's ministry, translation, prayer team, water team, emergency medical team, communications/photos, drivers, and much more tomorrow)...We are a body....all part of the team...& we need all our team members...It's time to pray for screening day!


*Pray for Brussels...there is some sort of strike situation going on there that is influencing the arrivals & departures of our crew. Some of our crew members that we are eagerly waiting for have been delayed because their flights were through Brussels...we need our team! It's time to pray for screening day!


*Pray that I can go to sleep now & trust God with our screening day!!!