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!!!

hungry & falling on my knees

I cannot believe it has been almost 4 years since I stood in front of my home churches in Idaho & New Hampshire announcing that I would be serving as a volunteer, missionary nurse on a ship in Africa! I vaguely remember reading an excerpt from a “Welcome to Mercy Ships Letter” that I received out loud in church as part of my prayer requests as I was heading out into the land of the unknown (life on a ship in Africa). The excerpt I read said “the ship culture is one of constant change: change of location, change of personnel, and change of climate. Relationships, though intense, are often short lived, and this can be emotionally painful. Relationship conflicts are difficult to avoid and need to be worked out which can be a frightening experience for some people. For this reason it is important that crew members are emotionally robust with healthy coping mechanisms…”



I was also informed the “ship environment is hazardous and uncomfortable for various reasons. Decks may be slippery, there are lots of steep staircases, and there are many things to trip over or to hit your head on. The environment is often noisy, which can be mentally exhausting. There are occupational hazards associated especially with technical jobs. Heat can take its toll and dehydration is a risk. Sea travel can result in great discomfort from motion sickness. The ship air conditioning system recycles a high proportion of the air, resulting in frequent exposure to coughs and colds…”


Basically, I had signed up for the adventure of my life…and if I was going to survive life in the metal box, where I would eat, sleep, work, socialize, pray, and share every moment of life together with about 400 other people from 35 different countries; I better have an excellent prayer team... All the challenges the “Welcome to Mercy Ships Letter” explained didn’t even touch on the intensity of working with and among the poorest of the poor, experiencing patient deaths, crew illnesses, having to tell patient after patient that our surgery lists are full and that we have no space to help, having limited supplies, falling in love with chocolate children that the Lord calls home before we are ready to say good-bye, and seeing the intense pain and suffering of a multitude of people right out my window. Yikes!


I actually laughed when I read the letter I had received and knew I had nothing to fear because God would go with me everywhere and I would be able to accomplish whatever he called me too… I still believe and fully know without a doubt that it is God ALONE who enables me to get out of bed every day and it is God ALONE that allows me to perform the work he called me too, but…Yikes!


I have burst into tears 4 times in the last 40 minutes alone and I feel like all my emotional robust, health, vigor, heartiness, strength, toughness, stoutness, spirit, beef, sturdiness, muscle, resilience, and durability have gone out the window! Tomorrow is our last day of surgery for the Sierra Leone 2011 outreach. The hospital officially closes November 25th and we still have many surgical patients desperately in need of miracles so that their wounds heal before the ship sails away in December. Many of my treasured friends are leaving within the next few days and I don’t know if I will ever see them again on this earth. My roommate and current best friend is leaving tomorrow and I will have a new bunkmate within 24 hours time. I also have two huge term papers/reports to write within the next few weeks describing the entire plastic and orthopedic surgery experiences aboard the ship this year and I feel like I have a bad case of senioritis!


To be “emotionally robust” is an understatement for my need at this time. I am hungry…and falling on my knees...as tears roll down my cheeks, I ask you to sing/pray with me & for me, the lyrics to the song I am now listening to…

Hungry (Falling on my Knees) by Kathryn Scott…

Hungry I come to You

For I know You satisfy

I am empty, but I know

Your love does not run dry

So I wait for You

So I wait for You

I’m falling on my knees

Offering all of me

Jesus You’re all

This heart is living for

Broken I run to You

For Your arms are open wide

I am weary, but I know Your touch

Restores my life

So I wait for You

So I wait for You

So I wait for You

So I wait for You

Jesus, I am so blessed to be stressed here in Africa, serving in your precious name. I am blessed that I have friends and family, worlds apart from me, who care enough about me to read this, that support me to be here, and pray for me. Thanks!

My Krio Vocabulary

It seems like just yesterday I got off the airplane and stepped into hot & humid Sierra Leone. How can it be that I have already been here over eight months and in just a short time, my floating home will pull up anchor and sail away? All the Krio I have been learning will need to be put aside and I will have to give French my best shot again as the ship is heading to Togo!



Nonetheless- for the remainder of my time in Sierra Leone I will continue to work on my Krio. Below are a few of the words & phrases I have added to my Krio vocabulary over the past few months. The words and letters are all pronounced just as they sound and look. Try the phrases out for yourself or imagine me running around the ward and the streets of Freetown repeating the phrases.


Mohnin-o- Morning!


Aw di bodi? How are you? Literally how is the body


Di bodi fine, how usef? Not bad, and you?


Ah tel God tehnki- I cannot complain- I tell God thank-you


Di bodi de na klos- Fine- the body is in the clothes


We yu nem- What’s your name?


Ah nem- My name...


Ah gladi foh mit yu- It’s nice to meet you


We go si bak- See you later


Tenki ya- Thank- you


Ah tell yu bohku bohku tenki- I thank you very much


Ah taya- I’m tired


Ah noh get natin- I don’t have anything


Ohmohs ah foh pe? How much do I need to pay?


Aw mus for dis tin ya?- How much does this item cost?


Ah go want mehk yu bi mi gal friend- Will you be my girlfriend?


Nar dis merecine ah for take?- It this the medicine I should take?


Ah get pain na me an, bak, bele, ed, nek, trot- I have been in my hand, back, stomach, head, neck, and throat.


Udat- Who is?


Os- House


Paddy- Friend


Pikin- Children


Yestade- Yesterday


Tide-today


Tumara- tomorrow


Nehxt tumara- Day after tomorrow


How yu slip? How did you sleep?


Mishef, ah noh lek pehpeh plehnti- I don’t like hot pepper too much


Aw di chop? How’s the food.


Ee Gud- It’s good


Yu lehk go wet? Do you need to urinate?


Well, that’s it for now. We go si bak!

hot-pink, ruby-red, cast shoes

I remember seeing him those first few days after his surgery sitting on a small chair with his two little legs and bandaged feet tucked up on the corner of the chair. In reality, I don’t know if he actually understood that he wasn’t allowed to walk or if the pain in his toes and feet kept him from attempting to walk, but there he sat.


Both of his feet had been burned when he was small. One moment he was playing, the next moment his precious chocolate colored skin connected with a boiling liquid and all the skin on his toes burned. He didn’t have the luxury of medical care and over time his burned skin contracted. His toes fused together then folded completely down and under.


The time came for him to start walking, but it was difficult. He attempted to waddle around and eventually learned to mobilize by walking on the sides of his feet. Shoes wouldn’t fit correctly and he didn’t even have individual toes to mangle into a flip-flop so at least the sides of his feet could be protected from constant contact with the hard African soil.


The tiny skin grafts we put between his toes started to heal and the doctor said he could start to walk. My little patient with bandaged toes and feet timidly clung to the wall contemplating if he actually wanted to walk or not. The physical therapist and I encouraged him saying, “Walka- Walka, you can do it, Walka- Walka” which is the Krio way of saying “Walk.” He glanced over his shoulder looking for approval and confidence from his mama. His tall, beautiful, African mother lovingly nodded her head, persuading her son to take his first steps on his new feet and toes. He stumbled, but we encouraged him to keep walking. We held both his hands in ours and encouraged him to walk. The bandages on his feet made him easily loose traction and he sometimes slipped around like he was on and ice-skating rink. I couldn’t help but laugh as he slipped around on the floor in his little hospital gown and bandaged feet. But, each time he fell down we picked him up and encouraged him to keep walking.


Weeks and multiple bandage changes later, one of my co-workers questioned if it was time for our little patient to try wearing a pair of shoes. I called the PT/OT team and told them about our idea. I got sidetracked and involved in other patient care and missed the PT/OT visit, but all I know is one minute my little patient was stumbling around the ward with his little bandaged feet and then almost instantaneously he was running down the hall-way and in and out of the ship stairwells. I could barely keep up with him. My patient had received a brand new pair of tiny, hot-pink, cast shoes- that look like a snazzy pair of orthotic Velcro high-tops. And it was seriously like magic, as soon as he put on the hot-pink shoes, he was in another world, he was free! He ran, jumped, skipped, and rarely slipped. It was like he had found his own pair of Dorothy’s ruby red slippers, clicked his heels together, and was whisked off to another land.


The little cast shoes he put on were not magical, nor ruby-red. On the contrary they were hot-pink, but it was awesome to witness my little patient getting whisked off to another land. Not a magical land called Oz, but the land of healing…and I am so honored that I can witness this healing every day in the place I call my home…there’s no place like home…there’s no place like home….there’s no place like home…

Thanks father in heaven, that because you live in my heart, I can make a home wherever I am. Thanks for my little patient in his hot-pink, ruby- red, cast shoes and that he found healing in my home/your home here on the Mercy Ship.