Sailing

I never thought making a pizza could be quite so difficult as the time I had tonight. At one point I actually had one leg in the air at a 90 degree angle and my arm fully extended in front of me so that three pizzas and their various toppings did not fly to the ground. For goodness sake, why would you not put a lip on the countertop in the galley of a ship?
Eleven days at sea and I am ready for land. I was so excited for the open ocean. Blue in every direction can get tiring, though. Not that I haven’t enjoyed it. Walking up a floor is thrilling. It’s like being drunk without the headache or nausea. Well, let me take that back, it’s not always without the nausea. I spent the first three days disoriented and dizzy in the head, which resulted in nausea with fortunately no vomiting. Medication finally took affect and my head was sorted out. The middle seven or so days were wonderful. I could work, eat, sleep with virtually no disturbance and all the benefits of sailing, of which there are many.
We have been blessed with a plethora of wildlife, ranging from whales to squid, as well as non-living spectacles, the most brilliant of which was the meteor shower, the Leonides. I could not have imagined the breathtaking wonder of a sky full of shooting stars in a black expanse as far as the eye can see in every direction. I’m sure I will never witness anything like it again. I was sad for crew members who expected “meteor shower” to mean a constant spray of shooting stars everywhere they looked. I personally have never witnessed the frequency and clarity of meteors we saw. If you were blind, you couldn’t miss them. Several times we slept on deck 8 to watch the show. Even overcome with drowsiness I didn’t want to miss the magnificence overhead.
Though most of the sea life was too far from the ship to get a good look at, dolphins were the major exception. Playful creatures by nature, anytime there was a pod near the ship they spent their time diving in and out of the waves created at the bow. It made me laugh watching them, seemingly having a wonderful time. At one point there were eight dolphins at the bow and more heading for the ship from every direction, as if they had called to the others to let them know where the party was. Another incredible sea creature is the flying fish we’ve seen our whole journey from Benin. When people told me of flying fish I thought the fish jumped particularly high out of the water. These fish have wings and fly 20 feet, 3 feet above the surface of the water. It’s truly unlike anything I’ve seen before.
As no one could go anywhere these past eleven days, crew members had to be more creative than usual in order to not go stir crazy. In the day we all do our “sail jobs”. Mine has been scanning, page by page, all the patient charts into the computer. It’s been tedious at best, but on rougher days, just staying seated in front of my computer has been challenging. I managed to work out a way to wedge both feet under the wheels so my chair didn’t end up at the other end of the room. After work, friends and I would often sit on the bow till the sun set, which was invariably beautiful. After dinner we played games, watched movies, prepared for Christmas. Event after event has taken place this past week and a half in preparation for Christmas. Each Sunday we’ve had an Advent service. There was a story night, which was mostly aimed at children, but adults enjoyed it, too. Winter Wonderland, an all age bazaar and craft sale, completely overtook midships. There were decorations everywhere and the scent of spiced apple cider filled the air.
Tomorrow, in the wee hours of the morning, we arrive in Santa Cruz, Tenerife, one of the Canary Islands. A small part of me is sad my sail with the Africa Mercy is coming to a close. I might be more sad if I hadn’t had terrible sleeps the last three nights due to the movement of the ship Leeeeeeeft, Riiiiiiiiiiight, then thud thud thud. To add insult to injury, the water tanks, as well as the generators, are just under my room. The noise has been deafening for three days, so much so that I considered sleeping in the rain on deck 8 last night. I settled for the library. Overall, though, it has been a wonderful and unique experience. I wouldn’t trade it. And forevermore I can start stories “when I was at sea…” which alone may be worth it.

2 December 2009

It’s strange. Though hospitals are filled with the sick and at times the dying, they are still thriving places. Nurses, doctors, patients, therapists, visitors. Someone is always walking the halls, even at 3am, whether nurse on rounds or patient thanks to the fussy 2 year-old next to their bed. It’s an eerie thing walking into a ward, recently filled with twenty recovering patients, now scrubbed clean, every piece of furniture strapped and bolted to the floor.
I took the last three patients with slowly healing wounds to a local clinic last Friday. Their wounds will be redressed a couple of times a day for the next two weeks or so until they are out of danger from post operative infection. I had become quite close with the two women and I felt a little like we were abandoning them. The fact is we have to go, I just wish we didn’t need to leave them in such a state. Hospitals are places to heal and recover. You should find help there, not be abandoned by it. You should leave the hospital it shouldn’t leave you. I must trust that mama Beatrice, Christine and Joshua will get the care they need at the clinic we have taken them to. We have done everything we can for them, and I suppose that is all there is to do.
Empty, stacked beds. Nameplates on the walls with no names in them. Toys for absent children to play with. One might think an empty hospital is a good thing, an accomplishment, the completion of a task. To me it feels useless and unnatural. How odd that I am more comfortable in the midst of chaos and disease than in a sparkling clean, still room.

Ultimate Frisbee

Ultimate Frisbee is a fabulous game.

Even better is ultimate Frisbee on the 8^th deck of a large ship in the open air with a jungle gym, swimming pool and massive air vent in the middle of your field and nothing between your Frisbee and the water but a small net.

Ten good friends and a broken Frisbee make for one jolly good time.

We are always searching for something fun to do after community meeting (essentially church) every Thursday night. Often we just eat ice cream and chat. Occasionally we play games like spoons or four-on-a-couch (or four-on-a-sofa for the Brits out there).  Last week my brilliant and hilarious friend Sam united two of his favorite things: socializing with his friends after community meeting and random fun on deck 8.

It is a rather treacherous game for me at the best of times as I’m no great sportswoman, especially with a Frisbee in my hands.  But as with most sports in this community the goal is truly a good time had by all.  Everyone accepts the good-natured abuse and heartfelt, if undeserved, encouragement and praise that go hand-in-hand with it.

I think during this particular game the secret goal of everyone present was to throw the Frisbee into the top of the twisty slide.  Automatic points for coolness factor alone.

Back and forth we went, over jungle gym, around air vent, barely missing the swimming pool.  Until the fateful final play:  the Frisbee gets thrown long, members of both teems in the end zone ready to wrestle it into their possession, it vacillates between the two, it flies into the air again, everyone holds their breath as it is caught by the wind and off, into the air and down to the water it sails. Alas, the game came to a sudden and sad ending.  Ten forlorn Frisbee players lean over the rail, watching our beloved, broken Frisbee float free to the fishing village in the distance as we ponder aloud a way to retrieve it. Eventually we gave it up as lost and moved on to car races.

To all of you living on coastline, if you ever spot a broken Frisbee in the water, it’s Sam’s.

So if you ever wonder if I do anything but work here, I would like to put you at ease.  I have lots of fun. Lots of random, clean, good-old-fashion fun.

Big Ideas

I met Don Stephens! And my shirt was inside out! It was my most Bridget Jones moment in some time. I was at Starbucks having coffee with Ben when Don Stephens walked through the café area. Truth be told, I didn’t actually meet him. He definitely smiled specifically at the two of us and said “hello”.

I must admit, though I usually scoff at the idea of celebrity, I can’t help being somewhat star-struck at Don Stephens live and onboard the AFM.  I’m sure he’s quite a normal guy, with all the quirks and limitations as any other.

God gave him a vision years ago for something world-changing and he had the courage to step into it with everything. The Anastasis sat in a bay in Greece after the purchase of it in 1978. Many thought the Anastasis would never sail. According to doctor Christine Aroney-Sine, the first physician on the Anastasis, the ship was almost laughed out of Greece. Few caught on to the vision in those early days and many thought the project was doomed to fail.

As I look around the ship now it is incredible to think it all began with one couples’ dream to do something in service to God. It’s easy to take for granted this place and the opportunity’s I’m presented with. Just the other day a film crew from iTV, a British television network, was reporting from one of our dress ceremonies in the hospital. The nurses were all taken aback when the presenter looked into the camera and said “reporting now from the Africa Mercy, the world’s largest philanthropic medical ship, stationed currently in West Africa”.  Of course it’s where we live and what we do. Sometimes it still shocks me.

And it makes me think.  Don and Deyon Stephens were simply pursuing in obedience the dream God had given them. What dreams has He given me? I will likely not do anything to the extent of the legacy and publicity of Mercy Ships. Each vision is unique.  What dreams has God given those around me that I don’t even know about? Big ideas that, if pursued in obedience, could change the world.

I found out the other night that the day Don Stephens walked into the Swiss bank to ask for a million dollar loan to pay for the Anastasis he was wearing one black shoe and one brown shoe. Turns out he is a normal guy after all.

Community Life

This community is a funny place. After four months here one would think it would be old news, but often I feel like I’m just now settling in.  There are certainly drawbacks to living in a community of 400 crew, but the benefits, in my opinion, far outweigh them.

I’ve been reflecting on it as I’ve just celebrated my birthday. I honestly didn’t think I would be made to feel so special and loved by this community I’ve lived in so short a time.  My close friends, my African family, decorated my door (the traditional way of greeting someone on the morning of their birthday), sat with me at dinner and even wore the party hats I had received from home, and baked me the most beautiful cake I’ve seen in years. In the evening, after community meeting, they watched as I opened presents and we laughed together as we all shared cake and wind-up-toy races (my bets were always on Achoo, the wind up toy crab).

It’s easy to feel a little lost in the crowd on this ship. Of course there are friends around on any given day, but at times I can wander from dining hall to midships to deck 8 completely anonymous.  Or so I thought.  The other day on my birthday I was greeted by birthday wishes and blessings everywhere I went.  Heartfelt hugs, sincere inquiries as to how my day was, and even a few “How old are you today? Really?! You don’t look it!” I suppose one is to take that as a compliment? My favorite comment of the day was when one of our translators said “I pray God grants you the desires of your heart” but my friend Maggie heard “I pray God makes your grandchildren smart”! I mean, I know I’m old, but I’m hardly thinking about grandchildren.

 At times it’s maddening to live in a steel fish tank. There is nowhere to go to get away from the noise, of people or the workings of the engines.  You can hide in your room, but with a generator next door and a roommate (lovely as she is) above, it is neither private nor silent.  Happy, excited, frustrated, upset, desperate to the point of tears; this community sees me in all my ups and downs.  It would be difficult to keep a façade, so I don’t try.  I am who I am, dealing with my stuff, in this community.  But the beautiful thing is, I have never felt judged for it. So I’m grumpy one day.  People understand, they’ve been there too.  Another day I’m excited and can’t wipe the grin off my face.  Friends want to know why but respect my privacy if I’d rather not share.  I am accepted here, and it is wonderful.

 My favorite is community meeting every Thursday night. The room is filled with people of every age, ethnicity and spanning the doctrinal spectrum.  Yet we all gather to worship together, to attest to what God is doing, to thank Him for His faithfulness and to once again acknowledge as a community that it is not us, but Christ in us, that makes any difference whatsoever in this country.  Looking around at the community of faith on those nights brings tears to my eyes. We are all “damaged” in one way or another, no one person getting it right all the time.  Together, though, God has made a light in the darkness, a testimony not only to the outside world, but to each other as well.

 Living in community is not always fun. It is challenging, and stretching, and at times, like 7am breakfast, I wish the other 399 who live here would go away. But it is a good place to live. It is healthy, and though I can at times only grudgingly admit, it is beautiful. 

Ward Life

Nursing mothers,

20 patients to a ward, not including guests and caregivers,

the spicy, earthy smell of African food,

curtains that hang from the ceiling by magnets,

translating through several translators and a fellow patient to speak to one patient because she comes from a remote Northern region of the country,

giving medication times by pictures of suns and moons

It is truly an adventure nursing on the ward on the Africa Mercy.  You never know what supplies or equipment you’re going to have one day to the next. And you’re not sure it’s going to work if you can find it.  You don’t know if your assignment will consist of four patients with nothing going on or ten patients, each of whom could keep you fairly busy all shift.

I’ve just come off a set of night shifts: 10 hour shifts on Thursday and Friday night, 12 hour shifts Saturday and Sunday night.  Nights are interesting. You spend a lot of time on the ward, but not necessarily a lot of time with patients.  Usually they’re sleeping the majority of the night.  This was not the case with these past shifts.  They were busy, which is fine.  It’s easier to stay awake that way.

“Sista, sista”, I hear from behind the curtain that blocks the light at night.

“Douleur” my patient says, and points to her feet, motioning with her hands an obvious throbbing gesture.

“I’ll get you medicine”, I say in English and crudely sign taking pills, to which she nods with a quiet “Merci”.

Such is communication when translators are nowhere to be found, as is often the case on night shift, or when they are all tied up translating for someone else.  We call it ward sign language.

Part broken French, part English, with a good portion of hand gesture.

The wards in our hospital are a special place.  It’s not a first world hospital.  There’s a two-year-old dying in ward B because we don’t have the medicine he needs to treat his type of cancer, which wouldn’t happen in a first-world hospital. But it’s definitely not an African hospital, where patients lie in the hallway bleeding to death from a broken arm they cannot afford to have fixed.  Our hospital is a strange in between.  We do our best with what we have.  Sometimes it’s not good enough.  But it’s more than nothing.  It’s a place all it’s own. At times comical; at others tragic. Always an experience unlike any other.