It was Thanksgiving Day in America and a day like any other day in Madagascar. My friend and I took a Land Rover into town to pick up a few things from the grocery store. We saw the same group of people that we routinely see outside the store selling fresh fruit just hoping to make a sale from the “wealthier people” that shop in the actual grocery store, versus street stalls and vendors. It is heartbreaking as a number of children and adults with some health concerns beg at the grocery store as well. They rub their bellies with their hands and mime an eating motion and say “chop chop” and put their hand out hoping for a handout. A few of those begging have some serious medical conditions and my friend and I are working on making sure they have been given a chance to have surgery on the ship. Even though the ship has been present in town for months and last year, not everyone knows what Mercy Ships does and that we could help them. There is also the potential that we cannot help them. The need is always greater than the resources, but we do what we can.
Years ago, I was on the team in charge of all the patients Mercy Ships accepted and declined. During that time, we had a drop box at reception where any crew member could drop information they received on patients in need. People are so desperate in the countries we serve, that it was standard for Mercy Ship’s crew to be approached in town by those in need. We encouraged all the crew to collect any of the details they could on the potential patients, phone numbers if they had one, or where they were located when they saw them so we knew how to find them later if we thought we could help them. I remember being handed pictures of those in need anytime I went off the ship in Liberia and Sierra Leone. There was always a crowd waiting outside the port gate in Liberia desperate for help. I was handed pictures of those with mangled limbs, faces, and bodies. Some of the pictures were quite graphic, but when you are struggling so intensely, you’ll do anything for help. People were hoping and praying to get their needs, or those of a family member seen so they could get help. I cannot help but smile as I just recalled the time I got a 2 page, neatly printed paper with pictures of men with hernias of all sizes. A gem of a Swiss nurse had apparently been approached in town and people started dropping their drawers, desperate for help. There were hernias the size of melons and down to the knees on people. He organized all the pictures on a file with contact information and gave it to me. It was an honor for our team to reach out to help those patients.
Enough of my rambling. There is a little boy with mangled legs that is very small in stature that begs outside of the grocery store. He would be much taller if one of his shin bones wasn’t distorted and folded almost like an accordion. I have seen him a number of times and one of the local interpreters has been reaching out to him and the others as well. Through her, we learned his name is S. He reminded me of two kiddos I had not thought of for a LONG time. Sahr in Sierra Leone 2011, and Yaya in Guinea 2013! Their stories of healing were incredible (See photos below). I cannot believe how much he resembles them. I am not a doctor, so cannot diagnose, but it sure looks like a type of surgery we are capable of doing on the ship.
I wish I could scoop up all the people in need and take care of their worries, hunger, fears, and health concerns. I wish I could have had them all over for a meal. But since that is not possible, my friend and I decided to have a spontaneous “picnic” on the grass outside the supermarket with them. We purchased 20 little bags of yogurt in the store and decided to share with those that joined us on the grass. Yogurt here comes in a bag that one can tear the corner off of and eat directly out of the bag. It sort of resembles a Go-Gurt from the USA. We knew if we stood up passing out food we would be swarmed and overwhelmed. We approached a group of mamas and babies and my friend recognized S.’s mom. We sat down next to them nonchalantly. In my French, I asked where S was. He was on a blanket out of our sight napping. We slowly opened our grocery sack and showed one person the bag of yogurt and said “cado” which means gift, in French. Then little hands came out of everywhere wanting yogurt. We quickly ran out and counted how many people remained in need. There were at least 10 wanting food. My friend decided to go back to the store and purchase more. I sat on the lawn with my spontaneous picnic crew. My friend came back with 15 more bags of yogurt. Again, hands came out of everywhere reaching for the food. I was having a hard time remembering who I had given some to and who I hadn’t. I realized an older man took 2 and was back for a 3rd yogurt. I got upset at first, but then realized he was sharing with others down the road and it is not my job to judge. He was hungry and if this was all the food I may have access to for days, I would be desperate and do the same. A little boy with a grin that melted me was sitting next to me. He reached out his hand for a yogurt bag. Silly little guy. I saw his unopened yogurt bag behind his back. Ha-ha. I gave yogurt to a lady with a baby. She had some type of mass growing below her lip and under her skin. It looks like the size of a large grape at this time, but we don’t want it to get bigger. Our local interpreter friend has a heart like Jesus and has learned where this group of homeless people sleeps. She will help us get her name to see if Mercy Ships can help with surgery next year. I had one yogurt left and many hands reaching for it. My friend and I prayed with our eyes open and out loud and asked God to help us give the yogurt to just the right person. I surveyed the crowd. I could not recall who was hiding a second yogurt behind their back and who was in need. I handed it to a woman with a little baby. We waved goodbye to our picnic crew and we walked back to our Land Rover and headed to the local craft market and bazaar called Bazary Be or Bazar Be depending on Malagasy spelling or French spelling.
I had wanted pictures in this market for a long time. Our local friend forgot to ask to take pictures the other day on her routine shopping trip, so my friend and I decided we could repeat my “photo” shopping trip from a few weeks ago in this market. I wanted to capture the beauty of the market’s colors, shapes, textures, and all, to remember it. I could do without a number of the smells for sure, but that’s half the experience. We started with the butcher in the market. I approached him and asked if we could buy a picture. He agreed. He got into our request and started sharpening his knives for us, thus the video. I handed him the equivalent of a few cents and he was ecstatic. There were very tiny chickens with barely any meat with their feet still attached being sold, along with a pile of flies swarming around. There were some types of hoofs on display for sale as well, but I didn’t want to pay every butcher for a picture.
Next we moved onto grains. I love the colorful arrangement of the grains on display. We approached the store owner and asked if I could buy a photo. He said no money was needed and let us take photos. We were thanking the store owner when I saw a frail looking petite woman out of the corner of my eye. I feel my thigh was bigger than her entire waste. She looked weary, defeated, worn out, and like she’d had a hard life. I didn’t have to imagine her life was hard. Life is hard for most here, by our standards. She made the motion that I am getting very familiar with. She rubbed her belly with her hands and mimed an eating motion and mouthed “chop chop.” She did not approach us; she just stood at a distance. My friend and I looked at one another and approached the woman. Somehow I am the interpreter when we are in town. My French is mediocre at best, but it’s better than nothing. I asked if the woman was hungry and I knew the word for rice, so I asked if she wanted some rice and told her we would buy it. She looked shocked, or maybe my French was so bad, she had no idea what we were saying. My friend jumped in and pointed to lentils and beans with the vendor where we had just taken pictures. We told the store owner we wanted .5 kilo (1.1 pounds) of each of those along with the kilo (2.2 pounds) of rice. I know the word for eggs in French, so asked the lady if she’d like some eggs. She nodded her head. I had just seen the prices for eggs when our new butcher friend was showing off his skills. I asked the shop owner how much eggs cost, to see if it was a good price, or if I needed to walk back across the market for the .13 cent or .16 cent eggs. My friend and I remembered salt and oil would be good to get for the woman as well. It wouldn’t do any good to give her the rice if she couldn’t cook it. The woman stared at us, without words as we paid for the items and handed them to her. She folded her hands in a praying motion, brought them to her lips and head, and gave a little bow, as if expressing deep thanks. My friend and I thought fruit would be lovely for her along with her grains. I asked her if she wanted fruit. My French vocabulary expands a bit more when it comes to fruit vocabulary and we were able to purchase her some bananas. She declined the pineapple, or looked at us with disbelief, that we would actually buy her pineapple. We paid about .66 cents for an entire bunch of fresh bananas. I do not even barter for costs on these items, they are ridiculously cheap by our standards and what good is it for me to bless the hungry woman and deny those selling it their full requested price to provide for their own needs. While we were waiting for our change from the banana vendor, a lady selling lychee offered us a taste. My friend loves lychees so gladly accepted. I am extra cautious to not overwork the guardian angels of my intestines, so I was going to decline. But, I saw how the fruit was peeled, so thought I would be safe to try it. A lychee is red on the outside and white on the inside. For some reason, I feel it has the texture of an eyeball. No, I don’t in fact know the real texture of an eyeball, but that is beside the point. I tasted it and noticed I don’t care for them anymore than I did when I tried my first one on a street in London in 2010. The store owner did not offer the frail woman with us any lychee, so I pointed to our friend. It made my heart happy that the vendor offered our friend 3 lychees where we were each only given 1. The woman thanked the store vendor.
I continued my role as a second-rate interpreter and my friend kept supplying the cash. I was afraid to tell my friend that I was pretty sure our friend in need wanted a new shirt as well as the food we were purchasing for her. My friend looked at me as if asking, "What next?" I confessed to my friend that I felt our new friend wanted a new shirt. She said, “why not?” We went back to the vendor who sold us the grains and I asked him where we could buy a shirt like the woman was wearing. He pointed me in the right direction. When we arrived at the vendor’s booth, I greeted the vendor and told her we desired to purchase a shirt. The vendor started showing us shirt options. She pulled a pink colored shirt down from the display and handed it to the woman. The shirt was HUGE compared to her, but I imagine most clothing is too big for her. I am pretty good at saying colors in French, so asked the lady what color of shirt she wanted. I wanted to make sure she got a shirt SHE wanted, not just one that she thought we wanted her to have. She settled on a lovely mauve-pink colored shirt. She tried it on and she left it over her other shirt and smiled ear to ear. She again folded her hands in a praying motion, brought her lips to her head, and gave a thank you bow to us. She smiled and smiled and hugged me. I thought it was odd that she hugged me, when it was my friend that kept handing the money to buy the items, even though we agreed to split the cost. Maybe she hugged me because I was the one who had been talking to her. In a combination of French and English, I told her God loved her, she was seen, and not forgotten. Then my friend and I walked out of the market and back to the Mercy Ship Land Rover. We were getting ready to drive away and she came running after us. I got out of the car and she motioned that she wanted a piece of paper. She wanted us to write our names down for her. I wrote God loves you and signed it with our names. She smiled and waved us off. I think our shopping spree totaled around $12 USD. With tears in my eyes, I told my friend there was no other way I would have wanted to spend my Thanksgiving.
Back on the ship, I met up with Dustin after he got off work. We made our way to the dining hall and were very blessed that the dining hall served American Thanksgiving food for the menu. Our menu included homemade rolls, sweet potatoes, stuffing, green beans with almonds, turkey, and gravy. Dustin and I are not “hardcore” Americans apparently, as we passed on the sweet potatoes and stuffing, but it was awesome to have it available. We had saved some mashed potatoes from a previous meal, so we were happy to have that with our Thanksgiving meal.
As Dustin and I were getting ready to enjoy our meal in our cabin, we had a knock on the door. Dustin received a special delivery from America. He was extra thankful for a Pepsi from America! I found the list of crew traveling to Madagascar from America and wrote a gal weeks ago asking if she would help transport a Pepsi to bless my husband. She agreed! She also brought some Reese’s Peanut Butter cups and homemade beef jerky from my dearest friends in Vermont, who are an incredible blessing in our lives. I met them when I lived in New Hampshire and we became fast friends. They welcomed me into their hearts and home and I couldn’t be more thankful. We have remained friends to this day and I call them my “adopted parents” Mom K and Scout Master Kent. What an extra special treat for Dustin to have on Thanksgiving. We took a photo together on our couch with our fall decorations and by our front door when I was on my way to night shift.
Dustin rallied his extrovert energy and joined the group of Americans on board celebrating Thanksgiving. I believe there are 119 Americans on board out of 350 plus crew. Some of the long-term crew had planned ahead and brought supplies with them to make pumpkin pie, pecan pie, or other traditional Thanksgiving treats. Some ingredients are available at local grocery stores, but not all. Dustin came home with some awesome homemade macaroni and cheese and rolls that he saved for a later meal. I was thankful enough to have the memory of my “virtual pumpkin pie,” my spontaneous picnic, and to be working the night shift. I can’t think of a better way to spend Thanksgiving.
*Note some of these pictures were from 2012 before updated patient photo guidelines were set in place. Also the way the photo collage design formatted, some of the photo credit is missing in the pictures. All credits to the photographers.
