B Ward: Beyond This World & Never a Bore

 We have established D ward Roolz and Droolz, but let me tell you about B ward. It could stand for Be still my heart. Or if it could stand for Beautiful Babies. It’s probably most accurate to say it stands for both. B ward is the ward for pediatric surgical specialties. I never know exactly what I will see when I open the door to B ward, but it is always a Blessing. Over the past few weeks my smiles have been Bountiful every time I step into B ward. A few weeks ago, I was trying to sneak in just before my 7am shift started so as not to disturb those that may still be sleeping after recovering from surgery. Much to my surprise, I opened the door to beds full of Bright eyed little Beauties! I couldn’t contain myself, I saw two little doctors, wearing matching plastic blue glasses that looked like Where’s Waldo glasses. The pair sat on little metal stools next to their moms and hospital beds. They were wearing tiny hospital gowns and examining one another’s ears and applying plastic bandages from the ward’s dress up doctor’s kit. 

Another little kiddo who had already had surgery and was anticipating going home was wearing red pants that looked like Peter Pan dress up pants and a long sleeved button up black shirt with green, yellow, and red tropical flowers. He approached me with his plastic stethoscope that was green and yellow and coordinated perfectly with his tropical shirt. He ran up to me and motioned that he needed to listen to my heart and lungs. I leaned over for him to listen to my lungs. He listened to my heart, lungs, and belly about 5 times. I could not stop smiling. This place makes me come alive! He had no idea he was listening to what my heart beats for. 

We have been rotating pediatric surgical specialties in B Ward over the last few weeks as different surgeons come and go. We did a few weeks of pediatric eye surgeries a few weeks back. Those kids are no longer Blind!  Did you ever think that when God said, “the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have the gospel preached to them” (Matthew 11:5) that you could have a front row seat to witness this?  It’s not miracles of the past that just took place during Bible times, it’s happening here and now and I am so honored to be a part of it. It’s Breathtaking! Those children wore Bandages around their eyes that made them look like children Blindfolded playing pin the tail on the donkey. I took handover from the day shift nurse and she noted the patients in bed 3 and 4 were already Best friends. She said they were both in the Bathroom together and giggling nonstop. It would have been fun to be a Bug on the wall seeing what they were laughing about. I imagine it had something to do with the ship’s plumbing. I get scared and jump when the toilet flushes. It sounds like you will get sucked into it as it is a vacuum system. Imagine never having running water before, let alone a toilet to sit on, then being unable to see and hearing the sound similar to an airplane toilet flushing-a garbage disposal- and whirling wind all at the same time. It’s Boisterous! 

B-Ward has most recently been the home to pediatric general surgeries. Lipomas are soft “slow-growing, benign (non-cancerous) tumors made of fatty tissue that typically form just under the skin. These harmless lumps are often soft, rubbery, and movable, and are commonly found on the neck, shoulders, back, arms, and thighs. While lipomas are generally painless, they are sometimes removed if they are uncomfortable or bothersome” (Google definition). Imagine how you were made fun of for the smallest thing when you were younger. These kiddos are now free of the lumps and weird Bumps. 

We have also been doing hernia repairs. I had the sweetest little 7 year old girl as part of my patient assignment the other day. The OR team called and gave us the 30 minute call until start time. This was our signal to give her the ordered premedication to slightly sedate her so she would not be afraid. I started to scrub her umbilical hernia with chlorhexidine to prevent surgical site infection. The little root beer colored Beauty grimaced as I put the cleansing sponge to her umbilical hernia. I paused and asked the interpreter to help me talk with her. I told her I had the same surgery she was going to have many years ago. I lifted my scrub top and showed her my scar below my Belly Button. Her Big Brown eyes widened with disbelief. I repeated myself and said, “I was a Mercy Ship patient and she’s a Mercy Ship patient. In 2013, when I was living long term on the ship as a nurse I needed a repair where I herniated out of my previous appendectomy scar.  Now I am a Mercy Ship nurse and maybe one day you’ll be a Mercy Ship nurse.” She asked me if it hurt.  I told her it used to feel like it was a fire Burning in my belly before the surgery. I asked if her belly felt the same way. She nodded her head. I told her it would hurt some when she woke up, but each day she’d feel Better and stronger. The sedative medicine started to take effect and she started to fall asleep. I finished cleaning her belly area and her mom, seated at her bedside with her shayla, long, rectangular Islamic headscarf wrapped around her head and neck, smiled at me. 

The day after her surgery, I arrived on the ward and she lit up when I came onto the ward. She lifted her gown and said “monkey” she had a monkey drawn on her white bandage. This place is too much fun! Today another little girl, a 3 year old that looks just like Moana, came back from the OR with a giant detailed drawing of Barbie on her umbilical hernia bandage. It was an incredible work of art. The recovery nurse explained the OR team was to receive all the credit. One of the nurses asked what she wanted on her bandage when she woke up and she chose Barbie. Apparently, others had a zebu with a soccer ball and another little girl had Princess Lily on her bandage. These are some seriously Bodacious Bandages! 

We have a few little ones needing help with Bowels. We often take our plumbing for granted. We are working with some tiny tots and helping them to be able to actually use their Bums for passing stool after having colostomies (surgical procedures that creates an opening (stoma) in the abdomen to divert stool from the colon (large intestine) to an external bag). Some of these little ones are suffering from conditions called anorectal malformations, big words for a Blocked or missing rectum, preventing the normal passage of stool.  Or they have had holes between their private parts and rectum. One of these little peanuts cried and cried after her procedure under sedation to stretch the anal space to allow her to poop properly in the future. She didn’t want anyone touching her and I don’t blame her. But after a cup of yogurt, she was Bouncing down the halls and trying to ride a wooden dog. She thought it would work and I didn’t want to discourage her, so I tied a piece of coban/elastic around the dog’s tail and pulled her up and down the hall for over 30 mins. She was Beaming with happiness and forgot about her bum pain. 

Little boys going for hernia surgery get the surgical Bundle option if their parents desire. Circumcision practices vary throughout the world, but apparently it is a big thing in Madagascar. Mercy Ships is happy to perform these surgeries for these families when their children are already receiving anesthesia for another surgery. The poor little Boys sure don’t know what’s happened to them when they wake up and have to pee the first time. They start to Bawl and cry, poor little guys. The parents aren’t fond of putting diapers on the little ones after surgery as they don’t want to cause more pain at the surgical site and I sure look like a Bully of a nurse when I ensure the kiddos are diapered. I learned my lesson last week after a little boy was happily playing with toys and trucks on the floor and the next thing I knew, he was screaming and there was a puddle of piddle on the floor for me to clean up. It happened a few minutes later to another little fellow and we had to have a bed change. So diapers it is now. 

A few weeks ago, I was confused when I looked at my assignment sheet and thought the patient in bed B 12 was a little boy and I saw an adorable child in an adorable knee length dress with tropical fish on it sitting in the bed of B 12. The dress was flannel and had a little white colored collar that resembled a pilgrim’s collar. My interpreter went on to explain it was in fact a little boy and he had on a circumcision dress. The parents bring a dress for the children to wear after surgery that shows the world their little one had a circumcision. The dress is far more comfortable and Breezy than wearing pants post-op. They go home and have a big party if they can afford it. I have enjoyed seeing the varying colors and styles of these unique circumcision dresses. I also learned that if the families do not have the surgeries performed on the ship, it is tradition for an older man, uncle, dad, or grandfather to use a Blade at home, without numbing medicine, and they perform the procedures themselves. They also informed me of what one may call a Bizarre tradition in which the honored man in the family then eats the foreskin after removing it. They sometimes fry it. I heard this from two different interpreters in the community. That may take me some time to wrap my brain around. I have had 25 years to comprehend the practice of eating placentas or turning them into vitamins post birth, since nursing school in Canada when I first learned of this cultural practice, but this is Brain Blowing.  I love the uniqueness in the world and learning about different cultures. After that shift, I asked Dustin if he had a circumcision dress when he was little. He looked at me like I was Blasphemous.  I Belted out a laugh and shared with him the unique practice in this culture. I then went on to share my other cultural lesson for the day. I didn’t get five thoughts from Dustin for that day, rather, 4 emotions: Bewildered, Bemused, Baffled, and Befuddled.  D ward Droolz and Roolz, but B ward is Beyond this world and never a Bore! 

God's Math and Kings & Queens

Praise God I am healing on many levels. I would love prayer for my persistent headache to release and for my eye strain and sensitivity to light to resolve, it’s been ongoing for 5-6 days. It is far easier to write and document all the stories in my head that I would like to share without these symptoms. Thus, I am limiting “screen time” as our culture has come to call it. I am pulling out some video files from the vault again. I am so blessed to have come across these precious memories, from my archaic phone all the way from the year 2009. I keep thinking, I will just post the video, then at least people know I am alive and I don’t have to stress to write, but then there is SO much to say about the videos. Pictures are worth 1,000 words, so videos must be worth 2,000, but you cannot hear, see, and smell the entire experience without written word. So,  join me on a trip down memory lane, not to be confused with the street I lived on in Wichita, Kansas, after I was born, called Memory Lane, across from the church called Memory Lane Baptist Church, where my dad was a pastor. 

Although Mercy Ships is a hospital, we are not an ER and we do not always have surgeons and doctors for every need and situation. In 2009, my friend who was from Benin and worked in housekeeping with us became very ill. I will call her E. We learned E had a serious and life threatening ectopic pregnancy. Ectopic pregnancies are when a baby starts to grow outside of the uterus. A fertilized egg implants in the fallopian tube wall. It causes severe pain and if not treated, the fallopian tube will rupture, causing internal bleeding, and often death of the mother.  E was in this situation. There was a hospital in Cotonou, Benin that could help E, but there was no way she could afford the surgery. We could not just stand by and it broke our hearts that E may die without care. I remember arriving at the local hospital after we learned of E’s need.  No surgery or treatment had commenced as the family had no money. E lay on an unfurnished mattress, in a room without any supplies, in agony.  A few of us from the ship pooled resources and agreed to pay for the procedure. 

We prayed and prayed for all to go well. I remember sitting on a wooden hospital bench in the hot African blazing sun, with palm trees nearby, with Liz and E’s family members. About 15-30 minutes after E went to the OR, the OR staff came over to where we were waiting. I was fearful we were too late and they were coming to tell us she was gone. Instead, they handed us a scrap of paper that looked like a receipt. The receipt listed a few supplies with prices. At first I had no idea what was going on. I did not know why we were getting a receipt. I came to understand the surgery would not proceed until the family went into town and bought the supplies. There was no central hospital supply room stocked full with supplies. We gave E’s family money and they ran into town to get things to start and IV, IV fluid, gauze, and tape. They came back and handed the supplies over to the OR team. Not long after, the OR staff came out again with a scraggly paper requesting the next supplies. A syringe was needed, an antibiotic, and saline to mix the antibiotic. From our nursing experience, we knew the preoperative antibiotic was now being given. This happened a few more times and each time we gave the family member money to buy the supplies the OR team needed to continue providing care for E. Surgery would not proceed without the finances or someone finding the supplies. Finally, there was a request for gauze and tape. We knew the surgery was coming to an end and a dressing was being applied to the abdomen. Praise God, E came out of the procedure! She was settled back into the room without any supplies and the simple mattress. E’s family brought her food to eat, dishes from home, and covered her with brightly colored African fabrics for blankets. A pain medicine was ordered and we again gave E’s family money to go buy the medicine in town and the hospital staff administered it to her after the family bought it. E was hospitalized for a few days, but thankfully, she made a full recovery.    

In many cultures, it is a faux pas and downright rude to refuse food in someone’s house if you are invited there. I am glad to say I had prayed my way through making a dreaded cultural food faux pas for the last year or so I had been living in Africa. (See my post from Thursday, August 7, in Liberia 2008 titled Return to Tenegar).  But that day, I was headed to a village in Benin with my friend and roommate, Liz and her mom, a crew member as well.   We were invited to be the guests of honor at E’s  house to thank us for helping her. We bumped along unpaved dirt roads with the dust flying after the Mercy Ships Land Rover. Beautiful children waved at us from behind huts, palm trees, and the green lush grass on the road. We passed women carrying baskets on their heads and babies tied to their backs. Finally, we made it to our destination. 

Upon arrival at E's house, the 3 of us, Liz, her mom, and I were seated at the table together inside E’s meager home. There were only 3 chairs in the house around a humble table. We were the guests of honor, thus we got the chairs. E was dressed in her vibrant colorful fabric and proudly brought in a pot of rice, with cooked potato leaves, and fish. Meat is very expensive and to be offered meat is a huge deal. I ate fish when I was little, loved tuna fish sandwiches, fish sticks, if that counts as fish, and apparently loved eating rainbow trout that I would catch with my family when we went fishing with friends named Mamie and Roy in Kansas. That was all before we moved to Idaho when I was in 2nd grade. I do not recall eating fish after that. I do not know what made me stop eating it, but I cannot stand the smell or look to this day. Some have theorized that I do not care for it related to living in landlocked locations, but let me tell you, after living over 5 years on ocean front property, mind you, in a huge ship, called Mercy Ships, I was still not a fan. The last thing I wanted to do was offend the people I came to serve and bless, so to be offered fish was something I had prayed I could avoid at all costs. Yet, here in front of me, was the most gentle, kind woman, giving what little she had to bless my friends and me, with fish. I was handed a generous portion of cooked fish, potato leaves, and rice that was portioned out for me and as I looked down at my plate, I saw a fish head with its eyes still intact, staring up at me. As that fish stared at me. I thought to myself, “Oh, my goodness, there is no way I am going to get out of this one” and I prayed to myself, “Lord help me not to offend E, but I sure don’t want to eat this fish.” 

I am pleased to say 17 years later, I am far more adventurous with food than I was in my mid 20’s and days in Africa. Yet, there are still some foods I would really rather not try nor stress the guardian angels of my gut in tasting. I used to be very picky, even with vegetables, but man, I will take on any vegetable these days, over mystery meat. Speaking of delicate stomachs and bugs, I have been trying to describe to my sweet husband infection transmission and sickness. I sure hope he’s catching on. At home, he loves to eat a sandwich at lunch and use the pant leg of his jeans as a plate. I have assured him many times I am more than happy to wash a plate if he would not eat off of dirty pants! He will take a bite of his sandwich, put it down on his pant leg, eat more, put it down, and repeat. He assures me the pants are clean. I go on to note, he sat in the dirty truck, and he crawled in the dirt, dust, and possible rodent feces in an attic and a crawl space on his electrical house call. Thus, the pants are dirty. He assures me they are clean. Oye. I have asked him not to eat off his pants, especially in Africa. Thankfully, he has not, but he still gives me a confused look and I tell him there are invisible germs/bugs/parasites and it’s not good to eat POO!  Then I have to go on to explain very few people purposefully eat poop, but if someone prepares a meal for you and they have gone to the toilet, but have not washed their hands after, there’s a possible transmission method. Or, bless Dustin; he has not had a sense of smell since he was little, which he has been thankful for recently that he cannot smell the urine and feces smell that is often present in town. Thankfully, there are not nearly as many encounters with sewage in town here as in some of the other West African countries I visited. He doesn’t account for sewage transmission on our shoes.

I specifically remember my trip to Popo Beach in New Kru Town, a suburb of Monrovia, Liberia. I went there when invited by a local Liberian man/friend that worked on the ship in 2008. It was a fantastic day. My friends and I got to play with a LOT of children as they followed us around the village and played with us in the sand on the beach. We took tons of pictures and the kids were astonished to see a picture of them. A very rare thing back in 2008.  But, I will never forget walking on a portion of the beautiful beach that had a bit of rocks here and there, and a few shade trees. Our local friend said to be careful where we stepped as this was the beach people liked to take their bowel movements on. No joke. Anyway, I have gone on to explain to Dustin that although he cannot smell it, we were most definitely walking in sewage in the market, the puddles were not rain puddles. Then he walks into our ship cabin, leaves his shoes on, drops a cashew on the floor where he just walked, and wants to pick it up and eat it! Oye! He could be eating poop! There is NO five second rule in Africa. The rule is cook it, boil it, peel it, or LEAVE it. If the food wasn’t cooked properly, don’t eat it, if it wasn’t boiled, and even sometimes, if it was, don’t chance it, and if you cannot peel off the skin of it, leave it alone.  For example apples, if they are not specially cleaned with bleach or another solution to kill parasites and eggs and if the country fertilizes with night soil (which is human feces) the cycle of certain types of worms continues, then leave that food alone! Or you may bring more souvenirs home with you than bargained for. Or don’t eat food that touched the floor after you just walked through sewage! All that to say, fish is one food I’d just rather not eat, I felt it was safe, it wouldn’t be a test for the guardian angels of my gut, but I just did not want to eat it. 

There were only 3 chairs at the table in the lowly house we were invited into so the family was not joining us. I thought E would leave the room and then I could sneak my fish onto either Liz’s plate, or her mom’s, but our host stood proudly at the table watching us. She wanted to see our enjoyment as she served us a feast. We were royalty at her table.  I took bites of the rice first. It was “safe.” Cooked potato leaves were never on my wish list for dinner, but I took a bite or two of them as they were far less daunting than the fish looking at me. I was hoping our generous host would not notice I had not touched the fish. I heard scurrying from the front door of the hut and saw a group of little chocolate colored children, some of which had to be the neighboring children, peeking around the door post to stare at the odd sight of white people, something few had seen. E shooed the children away to keep them from bothering us. I waved as they scampered away. After a few minutes they were back. “Little hands, shoe-less feet, their lonely eyes looking back at me” (Audio Adrenaline, 2013).  It’s not every day 3 white women come to your village. The children snuck up toward the porch of the house and peeked around the doorframe again. Their eyes were wide with excitement just watching us. I waved again and they giggled. I motioned for the children to come into the table by us and E appeared to understand the children were not a nuisance to us. A handful of children hurried toward us at the table. I scooted my chair back and plopped two children on my lap. They were very well mannered and did not reach for my food, but I offered them some. They were ecstatic.  They were far hungrier than I was and I was honored to share with them. E smiled as all three of us welcomed the children around us and shared our food with them. I gave the children my fish and their tiny hands and hungry bellies nibbled it up with haste and joy. God had heard my prayer! The children happily ate my fish and I didn’t have to. 

As I write this now, I am reminded of the words to another one of my favorite songs, it was not even published until 2013 and this village adventure happened in 2008, but I think the words are most appropriate… The” boys had become kings, and the girls had become queens… wrapped in His majesty…” (Audio Adrenaline, 2013) seated at a table they had not previously been given a seat at… when the doors of our hearts and the home opened… In the Bible, Jesus turned 5 barley loaves and 2 fish into a feast for many (John 6:1-14). God had done the same with our meals, what was served to us as a meal for 3 white women, fed many children in the village that day. As we were preparing to leave the village and head back to the ship, E’s little girl wanted to show us what she was learning. She didn’t have paper, pens, pencils, or math books. She did have a board, chalk, and a stick and she sure was passionate about practicing her times tables in French. Enjoy the videos posted November 5, 2025. May the memories from that time and math lessons remind me and may I never forget, God’s math is different than ours. He can multiply our strength, resources, influence, weakness, food, and all, when we let him. 

God's Math: Videos from the Vault Benin 2009- Story to Come

 

Laura's Driving Memories from Benin 2009- Playing Frogger in Africa Videos

 

Memories playing Frogger in Africa and a Reason for this Season

Many of you are old enough to remember the 1980's classic arcade game, Frogger. That is what driving in Africa often feels like. I was privileged to be a Mercy Ship's driver in Liberia 2008, Benin 2009, Sierra Leone 2011, Togo 2012, Guinea 2012, and Congo Brazzaville in 2013. I am approved to take my driving test here any day when I feel well enough. Prayers would be greatly appreciated as I have basically been down for the count for the last 8-10 days. I have wanted to write, but just not had the energy, or mental stamina. I am praying I am turning a corner. There have been many tears from my bed lately and I am doing my best to thank God every time I start complaining and whining. I start with being thankful that despite extreme fatigue and brain fog, I have a bed to lie in. I am thankful I know what it feels like to have full energy and no brain fog. I am thankful that although my stomach has hurt every time I eat for 7 days, I have access to food. I am thankful I have heartburn medicine. I am thankful when the nausea passes. I am thankful for ginger ale for my upset stomach. I have air-conditioning. I am thankful I did not get the full experience of the gastric intestinal bug that has been running rampant through the ship. We had so many crew ill we ran out of isolation cabins, had to move nurses to 12 hour shifts to cover the ward needs, the dining hall started serving food, we weren’t allowed to touch the serving utensils, and visits to the ward, Hope center, and a number of other events were cancelled. Never in any of my previous 5 years aboard did we have a bug spread like that. I am thankful I did not run off the ward like my dear friend and vomit in the hall. I am thankful for Dustin and his servant's heart. He has been providing room service for our friends. He took meal orders for two of my friends who were very ill as well and would deliver ramen noodles, diluted juice, ginger ale, you name it. He provides great room service. I am even thankful for parasite medicine, which I took a dose of and am praying it helps. I am thankful for internet connections to have some people at home praying for me. 

I am thankful we currently have water to flush a toilet, hot water to wash my hands, and laundry machines to wash soiled linen. I say, currently have water, as we are now on water restrictions. The Farafaty Dam, the main source of water in Toamasina, my town, collapsed on Thursday. The breakage caused the complete drainage of the sewage connecting the dam to the pumping station, causing widespread water outages in town. Our ship has 600 tons of water aboard, but we use around 50 tons per day when we are running surgeries. You can do the math; we will need a supply of water soon. We are looking for different sources to supply us with water at this time. I am thankful this water situation hit now instead of last week when even more crew were very unwell. Anyway, if my writing flow is off, please know I am trying. In between tears, I am trying. 

I recently came across 9 sub-par videos that my dear friend Jane from Northern Ireland and Nina from Norway, video recorded of our adventures driving around town in Cotonou, Benin 2009. See the post above for these videos. If you listen closely in the videos, you can hear Jane’s lovely Irish accent amidst my American yammering. I definitely felt like the little frog in Frogger trying to make it across the road alive in a number of those countries. I thought it was a thrill. Please note these videos were from an old school camera. My time on the ship years ago was in the “olden days” before everyone had a cell phone with a built in camera and video recorder. I am not an “influencer” and did not do 9 takes of the video to make it perfect for society to watch. We did not have the luxury (or dare I say it, burden) of internet access everywhere. We never knew entirely where we would end up. We didn’t have a GPS or Google Maps to reference. We made mental landmarks around town and the rest was an adventure. These videos sure bring up good memories of our adventures in Benin. The motorcycles in Benin were called zémidjans (pronounced Zimmie Johns, not to be confused with Jimmie Johns). I actually had no idea how to spell that word until looking it up today to write this blog. Zémidjan means “get me there fast” in Fon, one of Benin’s 55-68 languages (different sources report different numbers). Mercy Ships crew were actually discouraged from riding the zémidjans for safety, but some still did anyway. They could not hide that they had been riding as many often came back to the ship with a burn mark on their inner calves from the exhaust pipe on the zémidjan. I never rode one because I was a ship driver. The videos were to help me capture memories of what life was like in the streets. I never wanted to be seen as a tourist and wanted to respect the cultural view many held in West Africa, that if we took their picture, we took part of their soul. Therefore these videos were not shot with our camera hanging out of the Land Rover to get a better view. We also dropped the camera suddenly when the “mobile market,” people selling in the streets, came to the car window. 

The Lord’s guiding hand protected me in all my driving adventures. There were a number of moments I was sure sweating in the driver’s seat but thankfully, safe. I recall driving up the steepest hill in Liberia on our way to the Sisters of Charity Orphanage where we went to love and play with some of my favorite children. That hill sure made me pray my way through the entire drive, hoping I would not stall the stick shift Land Rover on the hill and roll back down into all the other taxis, people, and wheelbarrows on the road (see my previous blog from Wednesday, September 17, 2008 called Loving My Babies and Friday, May 9, 2008 titled Sisters of Charity Mission). If you were a ship driver, you were also required to do “airport runs” , dropping off crew at the airport and picking up incoming crew members. I loved to welcome the weary travelers upon their arrival to Africa. I had some friends that selected airport runs because they wanted to be the first to meet incoming crew, potential spouses. Hah! Yes, sometimes this place has been called the “love boat.” There used to be an ongoing count of what number, Mercy Ship’s couple you were, if you were in a relationship headed toward marriage. I know of one friend who was successful in his airport run pick-up and met his now wife that way. Hahaha. 

One of my less than favorite driving memories took place in Pointe Noire, Republic of the Congo in 2013 but with it are some incredible memories as well. I never wrote this driving memory because it shook me up a lot when it happened. Nor did I spend time writing about my driving when there were so many other stories of hope and healing that I wanted to share. In fact, I was not currently intending to write about driving in Africa now, but apparently, I am. I was going to post some old videos that I stumbled across because I have been feeling quite unwell and I wanted to at least post something. Well, here I am now writing about driving. In November 2013, I was the driver in the Land Rover in an extremely long line of traffic that was stopped. It was a very normal flow of traffic, just cars, no extra wheelbarrows, hand carts, semi trucks, taxis, tuk tuks, mainly cars. Pointe Noire was not known for zémidjans or a lot of motorcycle traffic at all. I was on a two lane road and there were open sewage ditches on either side of the road. The traffic appeared to be going nowhere, but was very orderly. We were only allowed to use the ship Land Rovers for personal use, occasionally, and in 4 hour time slots, so we did not want to spend all day stopped in traffic. I was on a critical mission with a friend from the ship and a local Pastor’s wife from the amazing church I attended in Pointe Noire. My friend and I loved the Pastor’s wife’s style, we befriended her, and she was going to show us where she shopped for fabric. After years in West Africa, I learned fabric is a very serious mission. But back to the church where we met this Pastor’s wife. It was the Assembly of God Airport Church- Eglise des Assemblees de Dieu Congo-Assemble Locale De L’Aeroport. The services were in French, the church had a lot of shade, fans, and the sound system was more attuned to my Western ears. I was up for almost every cultural experience when I was in Africa, but was not the biggest fan of sweating in church for around 3 hours, being ushered to the front row, seats of honor, because we were white and with Mercy Ships, and I did not care for the feedback and what seemed to my ears as full on yelling into the microphones when being used. I felt the lesson was missed for a number of local churches that the purpose of the sound system is that one no longer needs to yell. I’m certain it was passion and not yelling, in a negative connotation, but to my ears it was yelling. Anyway, I found a church family and home in this church. There was a warmth and presence of God there. I met some fantastic missionary friends there, Mama Janice and Pastor Gary Dickinson. They “adopted” my dear friends Ana Glover/Biney, Melinda Kaney/McCray, and me into their family. They had daughters our age back in the USA. We shared many laughs together, some tears, a number of meals, a “family” picture, I helped sell their merchandise from their local women’s center called That Congo Thing that trained women with sewing skills who were at risk for prostitution and AIDS, we shared a lovely Thanksgiving meal together, and they threw me a surprise good-bye party when I left the ship in 2013. I was NOT going to have a good-bye party; it was not my introverted thing. I was impressed how Mama Janice and Pastor Gary had been in Africa for years and years, but yet had room in their hearts for more friends. Something some people struggle with doing if they know their new “friends” would only be in their lives for a season. I am working on going with it’s okay to have friends for a “season” and there’s always a “reason” so do not miss that “season.” Thanks Mama Janice and Pastor Gary for demonstrating this. 

I digressed, or maybe I didn’t, this is my story. I pray I have many years ahead on earth, if God wills and want someone to read these stories to me when I am older and need to see God’s hand of faithfulness and remember the adventures. Well, all three of us in the car decided we should turn around and get out of the traffic and take another route. I did about 1,000 side view, rear view mirror, and head turn checks to make sure no one was coming and I slowly crept out of the row of traffic. I put on my turn signal and was going to turn around in a driveway to my left. I was inching the Land Rover into the lane of oncoming traffic, where there was actually no traffic at all, there was not even a chicken or rooster running across the road. I pulled a little further out of the stopped traffic and out of nowhere, a motor cycle came zooming up behind me attempting to pass all the 30 plus cars stopped. I have no idea how fast he was going, but he hit the left, front, side of the Land Rover at full speed and went flying into the air. I lost my breath, I started shaking, and I thought I had just killed a man. I saw him flying in the air and by miraculous intervention, as if an angel from heaven grabbed his body as soon as he hit the Land Rover and held him in slow motion to turn him right side up, he landed standing up, on his two feet, looking directly at me, in the open sewage ditch, which miraculously did not have any sewage in it either. I could not believe it. I was panicking and certain he would have fractures, abrasions, a head injury, you name it. I immediately radioed the ship to tell them what had happened. No one answered. We were taught to never take the locals in our vehicle with us, just wait for help from the ship, if an incident like this happened. We also knew not to take the people with us to the ship for help. We are a hospital, but not an ER. We have to send our supplies that are carefully, mathematically figured out; down to the amount of gauze we need months ahead to get to our service countries to have supplies for the operations planned. I was frozen and did not know what to do. Although the street had been very calm before and it appeared no one was around, now people started to fill the street. They were starting to swarm around my Land Rover. I was so thankful the local Pastor’s wife was with me, I therefore had an interpreter. I knew the gentleman I hit would demand money because there’s a perception that all white people have money, and yes, in comparison, we are millionaires. I was shocked; his motorcycle appeared to be undamaged as well. I still wanted to make sure he was medically okay, so without thinking much and as the crowd around me was growing in size, I asked the local Pastor’s wife to have him and another bystander get in the Land Rover with us. I still had no radio response from the ship. For better or worse, I asked the Pastor’s wife where the closest local hospital was and she asked who I am going to call, Miracle Motorcycle Man (MMM), if he was okay if we took him to the hospital. Miracle Motorcycle Man agreed. We arrived at the hospital compound and took MMM to the ER. By God’s providence, there was a Mercy Ships interpreter working at the ER. He worked there on his off days. I was SO thankful. I explained everything that happened and explained I would cover the bill for MMM. By this time, my friend from the ship managed to make contact with our ship’s security officer and he was en route to the hospital to help us. Thankfully, MMM was okay. I took the initiative to pay the entire hospital bill. Although I adapted to many local customs and wore African dresses and headscarves, I still glowed in the dark and couldn’t hide my marshmallow colored skin. I stuck out everywhere I went. The hospital police started to gather around and assess the situation. Demands started to be made for large amounts of money from me. A lot of the situation is now a blur, but through my French, I learned MMM did not even have a driver’s license and he should have never been driving the motorcycle anyway. Our ship security officer arrived with another crew member. I was very thankful to see him. I paid a taxi fare for the local Pastor’s wife to get home. Our “critical” fabric mission was not going to be completed. 

Everything else happened very quickly, all I knew is that the giant metal gates that secured the hospital compound were shut and the local security team/police were not going to let us leave the compound. We were not going to pay large amounts of money I was not responsible for. I was in the Land Rover that had hit MMM and the ship’s security officer was in another Land Rover. We were radioing between our two Land Rovers and the next thing I heard was the ship security officer said something over the radio like, “follow me, if they do not open the gates, I am going to ram through them and you just follow me.” My heart sank, oh, my goodness. I started praying instead right then. We asked God to intervene in the situation right away. I cannot even remember if we closed our eyes during the prayer, but the next thing I knew when I looked up, the hospital compound doors were open and we drove through without incident. We made it back to the ship. I was shaking. I went to my cabin and cried and cried. That was a driving adventure I could have lived without. But, I am beyond thankful for God’s intervention and keeping me safe in all the adventures. I am thankful that Motorcycle Miracle Man was safe. I am thankful in all my years of playing Frogger in Africa, God has kept me safe. I am thankful in every “season” there is a “reason.” “God’s plans are to prosper me and not harm me, plans to give me hope and a future…”Jeremiah 29:11. Lord, in this “season” of sickness, help me to hang on tight to you, even though I don’t understand the reason.