Starfish, the Twilight Zone, and Home

August 30, 2025

We were finally on our 5th flight and the final leg of our epic travels to Toamasina, Madagascar, the Malagasy name, for the chief seaport of the country. The city is also known as Tamatave, the French name. Around 9pm, we boarded a small turboprop plane to our final destination. The flight was less than an hour and Dustin did not have any Pepsi sightings on this flight, but not a worry, neither of us were really awake for this final flight. We landed and were told not to move as we landed to not tip the airplane. We collected our luggage and were only missing one bag. It appeared no one had helped themselves to any of our material possessions inside the luggage as the zip ties I had placed on the bags days before remained intact. From past experience, I learned securing my luggage was required. I saw the familiar white Mercy Ships Land Rovers that were picking us up from the airport. We safely made the 20 minute drive to the ship. 

 It had been 12 years since I walked down the gangway from the Africa Mercy in Brazzaville, Republic of the Congo. It was surreal to be once again walking up the gangway, greeted by the Nepalese Gurkhas, the ship’s security guards. According to Google, “Gurkhas are special due to a combination of factors: their legendary bravery and loyalty, a grueling recruitment process that selects only the fittest, their exceptional physical fitness and endurance developed from their mountainous upbringing, and the distinct cultural value placed on honor and duty.” I didn’t recognize any of the Gurkhas on duty, but was pleased to learn two of the incredible men that stood watch by our ship daily when I was aboard 12 years ago are still onboard! 

The gangway to the ship lands you on Deck 5. The reception area remains identical to what I remembered. I didn’t get the opportunity to take my epic, jet lagged, bedraggled, exhausted rat looking, badge photo when I came onboard as they had  my awkward photo from 15 years ago already printed on a badge for me this time.  The hospitality team greeted us and ushered us into the dining hall for basic orientation mandated by maritime regulations.  I remember many a meal and the laughter shared with friends in this location. I remembered late night talks with my friends. Discussions on life, love, and loss, three questions my friends and I used to ask one another at meal times. We had to say one sentence with each of those words. Many days it was,” life is great.” There were times that life was “hard”. I recollect that I often said, “Love is real, alive, complicated, or distant.” Loss was “imminent” or “raw and fresh” with friends leaving daily and the reality of the colossal need of those around us. Some even would say futile. 

The “Starfish Story,” a portion of a literary work by Loren Eiseley, was often quoted by Dr. Gary Parker, a world renowned maxilla-facial surgeon, my friend, who volunteered as a surgeon with Mercy Ships nearly 40 years, https://www.mercyships.org/dr-gary-parker-honored-2025/. The “Starfish Story” remains a powerful force in my life. At times it has energized my life’s work in face of all the pain and suffering observed in war torn Liberia and Sierra Leone and in the face of horrific poverty in the African nations I volunteered in and the brokenness of people worldwide. The “Starfish Story” is moving, but let there be no mistake, I am not moved by a story alone, and it’s not the fuel for my perspective on life, love, and dealing with loss. A moving “story alone” would never be enough for me to reason with all there is in this thing called life, love, and loss in the world. I am compelled and following the 2000 year old motto of Jesus, bringing hope and healing to the world’s forgotten poor (Mercy Ships’ Motto) and Jesus was more than a story.  

One adaptation of the “Starfish Story” reads: 

One day an old man was walking along the beach in the early morning and noticed the tide had washed thousands of starfish up onto the shore. Ahead, he spotted a girl gathering up the starfish, then one by one tossing them back into the ocean. He approached the girl and asked why she spent so much energy doing what seemed to be a waste of time. The girl replied, “The starfish cannot live if they are left out in the sun.”

Then the old man gazed out as far as he could see and responded, “But there must be thousands of miles of beaches and countless starfish. You can’t possibly rescue all of them. What difference is throwing back a few going to make anyway?” The girl bent down picked up yet another starfish and threw it as far as she could into the ocean. Then she turned, smiled, and said, “It made a difference to that one!

I reflected on conversations with folks back home over the last few months as we told them of our anticipated volunteer work in Africa with Mercy Ships. Some applauded the sacrifice and guts to take on an adventure of this sort. Some expressed sadness, fear, or anxiety with the distance, unknown lands, and status of the world. Others shared the sentiment of the old man in the “Starfish Story” and noted the absurd waste of time, money, energy, and futility in an undertaking of this sort. 

More memories flooded in. I reminisced about the line dancing classes I once taught on my evenings off. Memories that have replayed in my mind on a regular basis over the last 12 years continued to enliven, growing stronger and stronger.

The basic layout of the dining hall had remained the same, but there was the addition of booths, sound barriers, new paint, more partitions, new tables, and a few other structural changes. Bread is now available 24/7 next to the famous “cheese toasty maker” also known as a “grilled cheese sandwich maker” for Americans that revolutionized dining experiences in 2009. It became the backup meal for anyone not pleased with the main course that was offered. The “cheese toasty” line used to be a hurried gathering point as around 600-650 crew eat three meals a day on the ship. I remembered the creativity my friends and I had in inventing the “apple slammer” as we called it. This was our attempt for the taste of a homemade apple pie with sliced apples, cinnamon, and sugar squished between two pieces of bread, and topped with some caramel sauce highjacked from the Starbucks Café on the ship.   

Covid had brought in hand sanitizer bottles to every table, plexiglass dividers on the new booths, the implementation of mandatory washing and disinfecting at the dining tables after you were finished eating. Those practices remain. 

The hospitality team ushered us to our cabin on deck 4. The cabin looked exactly how I remembered when I had visited other couples on the ship during “open house-cabin” events we used to have. I remembered my weary state of arriving to Monrovia, Liberia in 2008 for the first time. I was sick to my stomach for most of my flights. I arrived into my 6 berth-person cabin on deck 3,  was sick in the toilet, couldn’t figure out how to flush the toilet, thought my new cabin mates would hate me for what I left in the toilet, as no one was there to welcome me, or teach me how to use the toilet. I recall tripping up the steep stairs on my way back to the dining hall to get water, and then returning to my cabin and bursting into tears wondering what the heck I had done with moving to Africa for 8 months. Oh, the fond memories. 

I fully anticipated crashing in bed immediately, but was hit with a second wind as a mental cyclone of memories rushed through my mind. I asked Dustin if he was up for a tour of the ship. I showed Dustin the five cabins I had lived in during my years aboard. I showed Dustin where to get water, the ship shop, the laundry room, the library, the bank, the post office, and the gym. I was pleasantly surprised to see the gym had doubled in size and was no longer a small sweaty closet. I took Dustin up to the outer decks on the ship, deck 7, and deck 8. I was pleased to see permanent hammocks on deck 7 and the addition of a porch swing. I frequently checked in with Dustin to assess if he was in sensory overload, or if he could handle more of the tour and my memories. 

We made our way back to the cabin and settled in for bed.  I felt like I was in a “twilight zone” but “home” and ready to “throw starfish back in the ocean.”