Joseph

"...So, would you like to go to church with me tomorrow?"
"Sure" I responded. "Where is it again?"
"Down in Monrovia."
"Will we take a car, or a taxi?"
Joseph laughs. "No, I don't have a car. Looks like we'll take a taxi unless you have one."
I look down at my bicycle and gently shake my head. "No car here. Looks like it will be a
taxi. So, when should I come over?"
"We need to leave by seven, so before then."
I swallow hard, dismayed, and try to hide my surprise.
"How about six forty five?"
"Um, sure. Sounds good. I'll see you then." I learned another lesson in this moment yesterday afternoon: ask what time a church service is before you commit to it!

I met Joseph a Saturday afternoon a month go in a Food Is Ready Now 'restaurant'. The one I was familiar with did not have food-ready-now as I walked down Jamaica Road with Lauren, so we kept on walking. Soon enough, we found another, smaller, Food Is Ready Now place (a convenient and catchy name for a food joint) that has become my favourite restaurant here in Liberia.

This Food Is Ready Now place is a small establishment that is half house and half restaurant. There is one small wood table in the corner with a wooden bench on each side where people sit. The table can comfortably accommodate four people by American customs or six or seven people comfortably by Liberian standards. The eight by ten foot room also has one more bench and a few pots and plastic bowls where the food that is ready now, is kept. There is no menu, because you simply ask what the special is for the day. At this location, there is a sauce of the day with rice, or an uber-spicy sauce to accompany fufu. After trying both, I prefer the rice. Sometimes the sauce is potato greens with little peppers. Other times it is cassava. Sometimes it is simply red.

On our first visit, Lauren and I ate rice with red sauce, or soup as the people here call it. We ate the delicious rice and sauce, leaving the meat behind. It's not that we don't trust the people, it's that we don't trust the meat. The rice and sauce were made with unclean water that has boiled for a long time making it ok. The meat: well, we've seen the market that it comes from. No thanks. It won't be wasted anyway. Someone will eventually eat it after we leave.

While we ate we talked with some of the people that were eating beside us. They were friendly and enjoyed talking with us. One of the men present, Joseph, was sitting on the bench behind me. He was warm, smiled a lot, and spoke clear English. (Sometimes the accent here makes it challenging to communicate clearly. The last syllable it often left unenunciated, t's sound like d's more often than not, and it is fast! I mean no disrespect here, but it sounds kind of like talking with a toothbrush in your mouth, minus the lisp, and on steroids.)

We talked for a while, and in particular, about his eyes. He has small cataracts in each. Last year, when Mercy Ships was in the same port, Jose-ph saw the team that works on eyes, but did not come early enough to make a slot for a surgery. A fifteen minute procedure could offer clear vision in one eye, but the precious spots fill up so quickly. We are at seven to ten such procedures right now, and will work up to a pace of twenty such operations a day in the coming weeks. Joseph asked what he needed to do this time so that the same thing wouldn't happen again. We replied the he needed to see one of the eye clinics that take place throughout the town every weekday. We also shared that we didn't know which day the crew was at which location. So, we promised that we would come back soon with a piece of paper stating this precious information. Before walking back to the ship (purchasing monkey apples on the way) Joseph wrote down his name, a friend's cell phone number he could be reached on, and his address for me.

Two days later I returned to Food Is Ready Now with a piece of paper the size of my thumb with the locations of the vision team from Monday through Friday. Joseph wasn't at the restaurant, but one of the people inside walked down the street to find Joseph. A few minutes later I could see Joseph's walking down the dirt road in my direction with a large grin on his face. We talked, I gave him the paper, and all was well. I urged him to go to a clinic soon before the slots filled up again.

A week came and went, and I found myself walking towards my new favourite restaurant with Josh, my roommate (who just flew home to South Carolina this week.) When I poked my head in the shop, there was only rice ready, no sauce or meat. We were just turning around to go to one of the other five similar places on the half mile stretch of road we had just walked, when sure enough, Joseph was walking by. I asked about his eyes. He said that he hadn't gotten around to making the trip yet. I then asked for any suggestions for food. With this, he insisted that we go to his house. So we did.

Josh and I sat with Joseph and some of his extended family on his cement porch in the shade. After a few minutes Joseph had inquired from his neighbours what all was cooking. And then, we had a small feast of different delicacies. We each had a glass bottle of pop that walked down the street on top of someone's head. Josh's donuts with some kind of surprise meat inside arrived the same way. Our rice and delicious sweet pumpkin 'soup' came from next door. (Well not next door, because there are few doors on this road, just doorways, but you get the idea.) To date, this has been my favourite Liberian dish yet. My bottle of Coca Cola was 20 Liberian dollars. The rice and pumpkin was 30 Liberian dollars, even though I offered 40. You can exchange 61 Liberian dollars for a single American dollar bill on the street here.

I talked with Joseph and his friends for quite a while as I ate. We talked about our faith understandings (it is as natural as talking about the weather here) our homes, our family size and locations, our perceptions of America, and the like. As we chatted into the afternoon, Josh decided that it would be more fun to play with the twenty or so little children who had showed up to stare at the white people. He played with the gleeful children while Joseph and I continued in our discussions. Soon after, I was invited to go to church with Joseph and his family. I had to decline because I was scheduled to work that Sunday, but said maybe later.

Yesterday, I rolled down Jamaica Road on a bicycle to quickly check in with my friend to see if he had visited the vision clinic yet. I rolled to a stop in front of his house to see a few familiar faces, but not Joseph's. He soon emerged having just taken a shower. When we shook hands, I was half expecting a warm hand, having come from a hot steaming shower that fogs up the mirror in the bathroom despite the efforts of the ventilation fan. Well, it was a cold hand that had emerged from the cold buckets of water that had just been dumped over it. Anticipating my question, Joseph informed me that he hadn't been out for a week because he has been down for the count with Malaria, a wicked disease. Despite this, he asked if I would like to go to church with him. I was eager to head to a church without a large contingent of fellow Mercy Shippers, because despite trying desperately to fit in, we don't and can end up being a distraction to the worship. I was also looking forward to going as a guest. So, before I knew what I was getting into, I said "sure".

I, Scott the Not Morning Person, hiked down the gangway this morning at 6:29am by myself. (It was a tough sell to my crew mates to ask them if they wanted to go to a church that I didn't know the name of, or exactly where it was, at a splendid seven in the morning.) I walked down the port entrance in the quiet of the morning looking up at the sunrise. There were men running up and down the main road for exercise, and no honking of taxi horns! It was peaceful. Although it stayed quiet, this peace ended abruptly for me when I noticed the still water in the small swamp next to Joseph's house. I had never noticed the swamp before. There was no breeze. A few moments later I was greeting Joseph as my eyes followed a few mosquitoes floating about the porch. It was good to see Joseph. It was not good to see abundant Malaria mosquitoes in the early morning. Only my feet, hands, and head were exposed, but these mosquitoes can kill. Mosquitoes like these kill three thousand people every day with Malaria...

Eventually Joseph, his friend, and I left, walking back down Jamaica Road to the main road to catch a taxi. Soon enough, I was crammed in the back of a tiny car with three others in the back seat. Our hips didn't come close to fitting, so we all turn to our side, half spooning, as we thump and thud down the pot hole-filled road. I was amused when someone would depart our back seat, instigating a process of shifting around. Once they are free, someone else will begin to cram in, often on the other side. On two occasions, the new passenger would go to slam the door closed to lock us all in place, to no avail, the door bouncing open off of their hip. On both occasions, it was not the second, but the third attempt that was successful. I kept my amusement to myself.

At the church, surprise!, I was the only 'white man' (properly enunciated "why-mon" with no space in between, and repeated rapidly with growing excitement by little kids as they wave frantically.) But, I did sit with two familiar faces. This ceased when the pastor asked for any first time visitors to stand up. I offered a questioning look to Joseph on my right. He encouraged me to stand up. So, I did, with about four others. We were clapped for. I was relieved because I thought that this was the end! I can endure a little applause. Then, I was asked to come forward. I shot another questioning look down to Joseph who was still sitting like almost everyone else. Maybe no one noticed the six foot tall white giant towards the front and I could casually sit back down? Nope. Not so much. I walked up to the front in the center with four others where there were special chairs awaiting us. We got front seats! No more wooden benches for us, we were in nice plastic patio chairs, with arm rests! This had its perks. There was 'plenty, plenty' space for leg room, for my arms, and for seeing everything that happened. The only downside was that everyone was now watching the back of my head... for the really long service... that was really early in the morning... that as time went on, became harder and harder to stay awake for. With only a few slight bobs of the head, I made it!

After the service, we left quickly so another congregation could meet in the building, and we entered another taxi to take us home. Outside of the port entrance, we hopped out and paid the taxi driver. It cost us 75 Liberian dollars for the three of us to go about five miles through town. I talked with Joseph for a little while, shaking hands many times as we said goodbye. A few minutes later, I was walking back down the port road, and up the gangway at 10:45 as most of my crew mates were leaving to go to their church services. It was an early and unique morning.

On a Bicycle

I delight in biking through Liberia for many reasons. I get a fuller feel for the land, hearing, seeing, smelling, feeling it. It often proves to be an adventure. I get a little exercise while I'm at it. In addition to all of these bonuses, I find that biking offers me a much needed middle ground. I'll come back to this idea later.

I intended on learning what it is like to be poor when I arrived here. I was wrong. I have a better sense for it, but what I have really learned is what it is like to be incomprehensibly wealthy. This is coupled with a tremendously powerful social privilege. They go hand in hand. Whether or not I want this is entirely irrelevant, for I will be treated differently.

No matter where I go, I will be treated with privilege. When I stand by the road with a few friends waiting for a taxi, cars will stop, eject their passengers, and offer us a ride with a smile, whether I like it or not. I don't. (We turn and walk away not making eye contact.) When I walk into a church or school, I will be ushered to sit in a seat of privilege either in a special chair in the very front, or even on the stage looking back at everyone. I have to firmly refuse with determination to simply sit on the bench like everyone else. I can drop the equivalent of three week's wages for someone here (if they can find a job) on a single meal of food. I have smiled and walked through multiple security check points where the very guards, standing next to signs posting 'trespassers will be treated violently', become my personal tour guide. I can go to, and through a prison, because of privilege. Anywhere from one to four prisoner's freedom could be purchased with the amount of money I usually keep in my wallet back home. This privilege is very real.

This privilege makes me sick deep down inside. I am treated as if I am a superior human being. I am ashamed to say that I am treated like a god sometimes. Why pray when you can ask Scott for ______ ? (fill in the blank with 'freedom from prison', 'a visa to America', 'restored sight', 'an unimaginable sum of money') ...I better understand why books written on development from my faith tradition caution about this! It is dangerous to the heart to become conditioned by this for any length of time. I shutter at the thought of "Oh, I must deserve this!" Consequently, they must... not?

It is this very separation that caused such wickedness and bloodshed in this nation. It is rooted in some 133 years of former American slaves essentially making slaves out of the locals. It is rooted in separation and elitism. And then, there was war- a hellish, uncivil, child soldier, rape and pillage the locals, half of the country on international food supplements, hundreds of thousands of refugees created, illegal rainforest lumber and blood diamond funded, war, in its entirety.

And then I come rolling down the road on a bicycle, the gears in my head and heart spinning between idealism and realism over and over. In this less than eloquent dance, I'm after the middle ground. I will acknowledge the privilege because I never intended on changing the social fabric of an entire country anyway. Given this, I will do what I can within this position of privilege, taking guidance from an old Jewish prophet Micah: "He has showed you, O man, what is Good. And what does the LORD require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God." When I go to prison, I will start out by clarifying that I am no more or less of a man in God's eyes because of my skin colour or passport. I will make eye contact with the legless beggar, shake his hand, and ask what his name is, offering dignity not money. I will seek to buy locally produced and prepared food at local prices. I will continue to praise the beautiful side of the land and people of Liberia when opportunity provides. And I will continue to ride my bicycle.

When I ride the bike I am not wisped away in a massive Land Rover that acts as a tank. I am right there along with everyone else. I can ride in the rear of our group making eye contact with people, smiling and nodding my head, acknowledging people. I will grin when others find it absurd that people of such privilege aren't in their Land Rovers, or even in a chartered taxi, but on a bike? Like some of the people here? Yes. And when it rains profusely, I will laugh so that the bewildered masses know that it is ok to laugh too, and that I understand. That I understand, that they understand. That we're in this together, or at least working slowly in that direction.

It's not a game. There is no use in pretending that I'm from here. I'm not. And I only begin to understand. And the people here are not from my home. There is no use in pretending this either. But we are from the same mass of humanity on this Earth. We are all God's children. We are all the same in God's eyes, in God's heart. It is here that there are many budding relationships that are beginning to cross the divide. Individual relationships that create community can do anything.

Adopting Abraham #2

Last time I wrote about Abraham, it was just after observing his surgery. This was a while ago! After surgery, the little guy was a little groggy from some of the medicines that he was on, so he was on bed rest from Friday through Sunday. (This is a long time for a squirrelly seven year old!) However, Monday was crutches day, where he learned how to make his way around with one clubbed foot, one healing foot in a full length blue cast, and two brand new crutches. Needless to say, he was a little shaky at first. Despite this, he was eager to enjoy this new rush of freedom. So, when I came down between shifts, he was ready to head up to deck seven. I was too.

Deck seven is our impromptu play area for the children on board until something better can be set up on deck eight. It's long and narrow, but has a few tricycles, and other such scooters. Abraham took a liking to a little black motorcycle and a little green car. He also took a liking to me pushing him all over the place from behind. It was more than slightly awkward for him to prop his cast up on the little vehicles, but he sure enjoyed whizzing around the deck. And with time, he even learned how to steer! I appreciated this. He was a happy camper up on deck seven in the fresh air and with the toys. At the end, it came time to head back inside and down four decks to the hospital.

We played outside on three different days before it was his turn to head home. He arrived on a Wednesday, and headed home the next one. He was still slightly shaky on his crutches, but could whiz down the hall when so desired, for example, play time on deck seven. Abraham will head home with a cast with a closed toe for added protection against the abundant water he will encounter this rainy season. He will also head home with a healing left foot and a healing identity.

I desire for Abraham to be accepted. There are stories from our little patients of rejection, of stones being thrown, of families being ridiculed for having precious feet like my little friend's. Months down the road he will be out of his cast and moving about. After this, he will have a trip to Sierra Leone courtesy of Mercy Ships to have his right foot operated on. I hope he gets to play outside again during his next stay. But more than this, I hope that he knows that he is loved no matter how his feet look.

Adopting Abraham

There is a program called Adopt-A-Patient here on the m/v Africa Mercy. Crew members can volunteer to ‘adopt’ a patient for the duration of their stay here. It is then their role to intentionally spend time with the patient, to listen, and to love on them. On Wednesday I had my first opportunity to adopt a patient, Abraham. (Abraham isn’t his real name, but the one that I’ll use to protect his rights and his identity as I write online.)

Abraham arrived on Thursday afternoon with his sister so that he would be ready for his operation on Friday. He is seven years old, has attentive eyes and a contagious smile. He is gentle, a good sharer, and can play with cars for hours (more on this later.) He is lively and fun! He also has feet that have formed abnormally. But, I want to be clear that this is about Abraham in his entirety (his mind, his heart, his personality, his soul, his body, and all of the other important things that make up a person) who has clubbed feet. This is not the child who has clubbed feet (as his identity) who happens to be named Abraham- an essential distinction.

His feet are turned inward at about a 75 degree angle. They are pigeon toed. To use your hands as a visual, hold your arms and hands straight out, as if you were falling and were going to catch yourself. Rotate your hands so that your fingers are facing each other. If your hands were his feet, they would first be rotated like this. Then roll your hands so that your palms face you. His feet are also turned this way. Imagine walking on the area between your wrist and your knuckle by your little finger. This is how Abraham walks. It can be done, but it is challenging. His feet could have been operated on six and a half years ago… But then again it is better to be fixed now, than in another six and a half years. Also, if it would have been caught earlier, it would have been much easier to treat. On a different note, my feet used to be pigeon toed when I was smaller as well, until I was placed in shoes that pointed my feet in the right direction. As a result of this early treatment, my feet work quite fine right now. (I bet you never knew this smidgen of Scott history.)

I met Abraham on Thursday in the evening after I was done working. I called the nurse on duty in the ward to make sure it was ok, and then headed over. I arrived in a room with about eight kids, four mothers, a few translators, and a few nurses. Some of the children were confined to their beds following their operations while a couple others were playing on the floor unhindered. There were even a few toddlers (siblings) romping about. A few balloons made of latex gloves freely floated about (those nurses!) among two handfuls of toy cars, and colorful building blocks. In this environment I met Abraham and his older sister. He was shy at first. (I sure would be if I were going to have an operation the next day, was surrounded by white people for the first time in my life, was on a ship of all things, that is relatively freezing cold from the air conditioning, that doesn’t have any windows in the hospital, and that makes funny noises.) We played a little bit before I had to leave and go to our community meeting.

The next morning we played for a joyous three hours together before his surgery. We constructed a tower, played with a slinky for the first time ever, but mostly played with cars. I was also excited to play with new Hot Wheels cars for long periods of time! I did find it fascinating that according to Abraham, cars here go ‘beep beep beep’ where as when I was little cars went ‘vroom’. But then again, the taxis here don’t go ‘vroom’ because they go so relatively slow, but they do go ‘beep beep beep’ all day long. We had a lot of fun. After our time together, we were laughing, talking back and forth, and connecting. It also was a great way to keep his mind off of the operation. When the time did come, we picked up our cars and it was time to operate on his left foot. But instead of saying goodbye, I said “see you in a few minutes” because not only is Abraham my adopted patient, but he is also the one surgery that I have the privilege of observing while I am here.

Clothed in my scrubs, shoe booties, surgical hat and facemask, I was reunited with Abraham before he entered the operating theatre. We prayed together with Abraham, his sister, and the nurses for safety and for the doctors. Soon after, Abraham was deep asleep and I watched intently for the next three hours.

Observing surgery

Surgery is amazing- the way that we can put someone into such a deep sleep, breathe for them, take away the pain, and cut things and sew them back up so that they can heal properly. The two orthopaedic surgeons were so skilled! They used tools that looked even more intimidating than dentists’ to do the job. Throughout the operation I asked Abi questions, lots of them. She is a medical doctor who is training to be a surgeon who was also observing the surgery. She taught me so much! When it was all finished, Abraham’s Achilles tendon was lengthened, some bone pieces were taken away from the over-extended side and were then grafted onto the other side to make the foot straight again. Then, two pins and some sutures were put in, guarded by a boy-blue cast to hold everything together so that the foot can heal properly. A day later, Abraham has a sore foot, but a straight one! He is in a cast right now, but when it comes off in a few months, he will have a close to normal, healing foot! And finally, when the healing process is over for the left foot, he will visit the Africa Mercy next year in Sierra Leone to have his other foot operated on!

Some of the tools used

I am in awe of how well the medical staff works together. I am in awe of the precise equipment they use. I am in awe of how they can use this teamwork and equipment with their training to heal my little friend. This will allow a seven year old the chance to fit in again and to move more freely. I watched an ‘ordinary’ miracle in the operating room!

Abraham and I played with cars again tonight. He wasn’t quite as perky, but still laughed and smiled as we rolled the cars around his bed, constructed another tower out of all the blocks, and then drove the cars around the tower and each other. He is a special, brave little guy.

Prison

I went to prison today. I still do not know what to say because I feel all heavy inside as it is still sinking in, so I’ll try to offer some under-developed thoughts and initial reactions, and leave it at that.

-All of the men that I talked with came across as normal, everyday Liberian people, in a good way. They were considerate, hospitable, humble, and people of dignity. They shared their stories, and wanted to know about mine.

-Every person that I talked with said that they did not have a trial, did not see a judge, and did not ever talk with a lawyer, that they were sent directly to jail. No one knows how much longer they will be in prison.

-Two men gave me names and phone numbers of relatives to call to inform them that they were presently in jail, because their family did not know where they were. When I called this afternoon, one was surprised, said that this was news to them, and that they would go there immediately on Monday morning when the prison would allow visitors. The other number was out of service so no contact was made.

-One man said that he had been in jail since January 2006 for being accused of stealing a cell phone, and that 1500 Liberian Dollars (25 US) would be enough to pay the guards, to then pay the court, to set him free.

-I sat in a cement cell seven feet long by four and a half feet wide that currently holds five men. Some of these cells hold eight men. Some of these cells hold men that are not mentally stable. Each cell has a plastic bucket with a cover that functions as a toilet that the inmates empty once a day. I did not see any signs of electricity in the cell block.

-I later noticed that the men had taken their flip flops off before entering their home (the cell). The three thin blankets laid next to each other on the floor had been carefully brushed clear of dirt with the remnants of a hand brush sitting in the corner. I still had my sandals on. When I apologized for wearing my shoes inside, they were completely understanding and gracious.

-The toilet buckets (for 600 people) are emptied by the edge of the property. The hand pump well is located about 150 feet away. Many of the inmates are constantly sick…

-Some inmates had long pants and a long shirt to wear, some had just shorts or just a shirt, one had only boxer briefs to wear.

When I was first debating if I should really go, I was anxious about security, and incredibly unsure of what to exactly do upon our arrival. Do I just simply walk in and sit down and talk? Do I listen? What in the world am I doing?!? I only found comfort in two things. First, that I was going with 18 others from Mercy Ships, many whom have gone multiple times and speak highly of it. They have also shared about innocent inmates who they assisted in liberating and about helping to open up sealed windows in pitch black cells to help the inmates. The second, and primary thing that I found comfort in, was the long history of follower of Jesus visiting those in prison. Some of the early church leaders directed the intentional communities to visit, help, and be an advocate for prisoners.

I did not want to go for my sake, as if I was going to a zoo to look at the animals.

By the time I left, I felt that it was a good thing. The words ‘warm, fuzzy, pleasant, and fluffy’ do not come to mind to describe it. It must be miserable to exist there. However, it seemed to be an encouragement to the people, to listen. It seems to have been helpful to contact one family as to the whereabouts of their son, to relay to two families to visit their now sick relative, and to call Big Momma (he assured me that this was her name) to tell her that her son wanted her to come visit and get him out of prison. This is how it all seemed.

I continue to ask myself “What do you do with all of this?” I purse my lips, shake my head slowly from side, and in the end, gently shrug my shoulders. I do not know. I will pray. But I do not know. I do not know. And for the present time, this is ok.

Package

A little package arrived with an eye surgeon from Holland yesterday, just for me! Wayne the Barber connected my Dad with this doctor when each shared about Mercy Ships as their hair was snip-snipped away in Holland. Doesn’t your barber assist in hand-delivering packages from across the ocean? It began for me with an email asking if me “If I wanted anything brought to me from home, what would it be?” I pondered and pondered for almost a week before arriving at my conclusion: all that I really want are a few home-baked Mom cookies (also known as Mrs. Parrott Cookies by my friends. They are even more famous in the circles I run in than Grandma’s Cereal Treats! Yes, I am from a fine heritage of baking with love.) Well, needless to say, these delicious morsels baked with love, arrived yesterday. I went to sleep a happy man.

Dental Team Visit

I spent a day with the Mercy Ships Dental Clinic at Redemption hospital here in Monrovia. It was an eye opening experience.

As we rolled up to the hospital entrance this morning, the car brakes screeching us to a stop, a crowd of people stood up from where they were sitting in the shade. They first walked across the pavement to the entrance, then trotted, then a few ran to form today’s line (or cue as everyone else here seems to call it.) It was like back in the days when the elementary school bus turned the corner onto my street signalling for us to pick up our backpacks and make a compressed line, edging our way to the front. Cutting still happens here too…

When I first arrived inside, I was cognisant of the lack of space. The dental chairs are so close that the staff zigzags around equipment and each other brushing past the patients’ feet. Meanwhile the fans are blowing away trying to frantically cool the place down. The fans need some help! Despite the closeness of everything, the team sure moved efficiently! They were like a colony of ants moving frantically, yet in order. The goal is to help as many people as possible with the best care we can provide, because for every person helped, there will always be another few waiting in line.

Let’s walk through the operation here. To begin with, the patients wait outside the hospital. They are then screened to see if any particularly urgent cases are present so they may be brought to the front. They are then admitted, their information is taken, and they wait in our waiting room. In the waiting room there is entertainment in the form of the Jesus video being played, and teaching about how to properly care for one’s teeth. Both are exciting! When one of the five chairs in the other room becomes open, it is quickly sprayed down and sterile instruments are brought over while the next patient is called.

Upon sitting down, the patient is asked what the problem is. After this a pair of sunglasses is administered to block out the bright light… and anything else that may make its way in the direction of the eyes. And then, the dentists do what they are best at- they work in a tiny dark place with precise instruments to fix the problem so that it may heal. In this, teeth are frequently extracted because there is not much left of them to repair. Most of the problems we encountered would have been much easier to treat in their first stages. Unfortunately, they had grown large enough for them to finally come. There were some instances where root canals could have been performed, but when the option is to help three or four patients in urgent need by removing the problem, or to perform one single root canal and crown, the choice is obvious. (However I have been told that if it is a front tooth that is in need of a root canal, there is a group here that we can send the patient too and sponsor their visit.)

After the dental work, the patient is then forwarded to another station where they are given any necessary pain killers or antibiotics (penicillin). They are then instructed in what to expect to take place with their mouth for the next few days or weeks and are then free to leave the clinic.
The work done while the patient is in the chair is intricate and intense. I watched the volunteer doctors pull out remaining roots from teeth that have decayed away long ago. I have heard the crunching of an impacted wisdom tooth on its way out. The jaw bone was exposed, bone had to be drilled away at the edges to free the roots up, and in the end, the wound was stitched close. (This is really quite expensive in the US!) I watched this one intently a few feet away as the British dentist explained to us what he was doing. I watched things that made me queasy and light headed to the point of watching the white spots dance until I had to look away. I also watched the wiggling, flexed toes of the patients and felt it for them. However, when individual examinations were over, I also watched many sighs of relief when they were finished, and the ensuing smiles.

By the end of the day, sixty two people were helped for free and the man with an eye problem was instructed to come back a few days later when the vision team will be at the hospital (after his tooth was removed.) Another child who showed up with a clubbed foot was also forwarded to the orthopaedic team to be examined. Another man with a tumor in his mouth had a biopsy taken and will return in a few days to see if he will need to be scheduled for free surgery on our ship. If so, we will schedule him in.

All in all, it was amazing to watch this team work. Yes, I sterilised the instruments in the afternoon, but they served me much more than I ever served them. Because of their various forms of training, these friends and shipmates really helped a lot of people through the medical work, but also in the way that they treated the patients with respect and care. I am blessed to live in a community like this.

Long before these dental tools and techniques were invented, one St. Francis of Assisi was quoted saying “Preach the Gospel (the good news) at all times, and if necessary, use words.” It is a true pleasure to live with such eloquent, yet verbally gentle preachers.

An Eventful Day

Today began nice and peacefully as my day off. I deliberately slept in for a little bit. When I emerged upstairs for a late breakfast, the first three people that I talked to said right away “You just woke up didn’t you?” They were right. I was relaxed. After a scrumptious bowl of Kellogg’s Corn Flakes, and a good, long conversation with Kevin, I returned downstairs and spent some rare time by myself. It was good to read, and be still, to reflect and to look ahead.

When I emerged upstairs for a late lunch, the pace of my day quickened. After eating I went out on the dock, past the dozens of patients waiting to be screened, and into the examination room (tent) to observe with Dr. James. I sat like a fly on the wall watching with wide eyes, ears, and heart; for this was the orthopaedic surgery screening that was taking place.

This was the second round. The first screening had already occurred and had directed patients that we could possibly help with our orthopaedic surgeons to this specific day. Once here, two orthopaedic surgeons were screening patients all day long. They examined local Liberians in need of help from eight in the morning to almost eight in the evening! Each waited patiently in the shade of awning for her or his turn to be seen with the hopes of help. And I was able to watch this for two hours.

One girl had wounds from during the war when shrapnel cut through her legs and abdomen while she was a little girl. Her mother was running for shelter with her tied onto her back (as all the women carry their little ones around here) when the girl was injured. It is now about nine years later and she will be helped within the next few weeks.

Another boy with a clubbed foot came through. (This is when the foot turns sideways and/or backwards and cannot be used as usual.) He is also scheduled to be helped soon. There was another little guy with a dislocated knee and a kneecap that was out of place. He will also be scheduled to be helped. As the examinations took place and conversations followed, I watched the eyes of the patients. The wide eyes of the child. The hopeful eyes of the mother or grandmother. Wow.

However not everyone could be helped. Some were told that an operation would do no good, or make the situation worse. An elbow and a leg from a car accident a long time ago, legs broken from falling out of a tree, a foot that didn’t form correctly fifty years before. It was hard to watch this. I felt it for the people sitting a few feet away as the news sunk in. What do you do? What do you say?

In the end, each patient was encouraged regardless of the news. Dr. James went well out of his way to get to know each potential patient asking about family and sports, jobs and preferences. He was good at making them smile.

After spending a special two hours in the toasty tent full of people, watching and learning, I headed out. A few minutes later, I was in a completely different world. I was in a family cabin with 40 other crewmembers (25 little kids, 15 adults) for birthday party for Isabella’s first birthday. She is the cutest toddler ever, and has wonderful parents. Until dinner time I watched a bunch of little kids play games, dance to silly songs, eat cake, and even break open a piñata.

At dinnertime I prepared a dish, put cling wrap on top and set it in my room. I then rendezvoused in reception at five thirty with some friends to go play volleyball at the Nepal UN camp. A few of the troops joined us. Many more watched and laughed with us. When it was finally too dark to see the ball we stopped and walked back home covered in red Liberian soil. And then my day began to slow down again.

I have now showered and am squeaky clean (this is becoming more and more rare these days). I nuked my delayed dinner and had a small feast of fried plantains, rice, and cassava. Yum yum. And now I sit typing these last few sentences, having finished my tea, ready to hike back downstairs to my bed. I want to go to sleep early, because tomorrow I have the privilege of following the dental team to a local hospital to observe and to help out. I am thankful to be here.



I was all done writing, but just before posting this entry I skimmed the news headlines on the BBC world news web page. I was dismayed to find that my home here made one of the two ‘Africa' slots available. You can read the article by clicking here and see a picture about a half mile up the road. Your prayers for this land would be appreciated.

VVF Celebration

After completing my morning tasks in the dining room, Joanna and I looked at the clock and decided that we wouldn’t be too late for the celebration ceremony happening down in the hospital deck with the VVF women. Trotting down the steps I wondered where it would take place. When I got to the bottom, the generators a deck below were loud (the ones that make the ship vibrate three decks higher as I now type), but the singing and drums fifty meters down the hallway were even louder. As we walked down the corridor it became louder and louder until I could peer through the group congregated at the doorway. They were having genuine ‘church’.

It was a time of celebration for the women who had healed after their operations. They were celebrating the beginning of a new life. When they head home, they will be accepted again, many for the first time in years. For some, it will be the first time in over twenty years. There was singing songs of worship and dancing, lots of it. After a few songs, one of the healed women would step forward and share for a few minutes about their story. There were stories of being turned away by families, but also of being healed. They were thankful to God, to Jesus for a new hope. They were thankful to the doctors, and crew, and for those back in the crew’s home countries for making all of this possible. But mostly, and most importantly, they were thankful to God.

It was a pure time of worship. It was so joyful and free. It was a time of reflecting and of looking ahead. It was a time of singing, dancing, and of sharing stories. It was a time of thankfulness. It was so good. Each woman was wearing a new Sunday dress and had a new Bible to take home. Both were gifts and symbols of new life for them. These sisters in Christ will head home on Monday! Truly good things are happening.

(Insert smooth transition here.)

‘Behold, the kingdom of God is at hand’ said Jesus of Nazareth. He said this in different forms and in different ways. He said this in ancient Israel in the social context where it was declared by the occupying Roman army that ‘Caesar is God’. Caesar was God according to the coins in the monetary system, according to the might of the military, according to the political system, and according to the empire’s state religion. Jesus suggested that another way of life was possible.

By Eugene Peterson’s paraphrase of the scripture of Luke (in the middle of the story)- He (Jesus) came to Nazareth where he had been reared. As he always did on the Sabbath, he went to the meeting place. When he stood up to read, he was handed the scroll of the prophet Isaiah. Unrolling the scroll, he found the place where it was written, God's Spirit is on me; he's chosen me to preach the Message of good news to the poor, Sent me to announce pardon to prisoners and recovery of sight to the blind, To set the burdened and battered free, to announce, "This is God's year to act!"He rolled up the scroll, handed it back to the assistant, and sat down. Every eye in the place was on him, intent. Then he started in, "You've just heard Scripture make history. It came true just now in this place."

At the end of Jesus’ life he shared that even greater things would happen amongst those who follow him and his way of life. It is a tremendous privilege to see pieces of this happening around me here in this community. It is an honor to live and work in such a place. ‘Behold, the kingdom of God is at hand!’

Other updates that don't fit well under a title, except this one.

The Anastasis departed six days ago. The elegant vessel is on her final voyage to a scrap yard in India. She was used for roughly thirty years as a hospital ship. It was hard for a lot of people to see the vessel depart. More than this, it was hard to see forty Mercyshippers depart with her.

There have been so many goodbyes. They come with the territory, but are still hard. A few good friends left with the Anastasis. My fellow gallymate Geathe left for England this week while my roommate Ryan returned to Florida. This ship continues to be filled with the most amazing people, but the turnover is tricky. This is an in between world. It is not a long term community for most, but yet it is intense because we live, eat, sleep, work, worship, explore, and laugh together. It is not Western yet it isn’t Liberia on board either. It is a unique, delightful place where they collide together, like the different spices that blend together in my mug with hot water for a delicious tea.

Medical Stuff

The hospital is open, surgeries are happening, and we have patients! After three months of transition, this ship is doing exactly what it was designed to do! It is exciting to see what is happening just down the hall on deck 3! All of this began last Monday.

On Monday there were five eye surgeries and many VVF patients were admitted. All day long there were nurses under the tent out on the dock checking people’s vitals before they came onboard. As I went about my day on the ship, I would walk past the new patients on the stairs or in the lobby. It was different for me, but this will soon become normal too.

To see a few pictures and read some stories about this, you can check it out at www.mercyships.org by clicking here. (It’s a really well maintained site.) If you watch the video following the first patient on this vessel you’ll see my friend, and across the hall neighbour Naomi helping the patient up the gangway. Our paths crossed on the steps as they headed down to the hospital to remove her protective eye patch. Later in the afternoon when our first patient was doing fine, I went for a run and saw her as she began to walk out of the port back home. Again, these things are becoming normal. We have a large medical staff of doctors, nurses, technicians and the like on board right now. It is wonderful to see them working so diligently.

Fantastic Friday

A little over three weeks ago, Naomi, Kelly, and I volunteered to work in the coffee shop. (We have a little Starbucks café onboard, one of the perks of having a board member high up in the ranks of Starbucks. Even better, all of the quality coffee has been donated for free for the next ten years.) We had a good time working together, talking with our friends who came through, and brainstorming about what we could do with the place. By the end of our hour and a half shift, we had the basic plans completed for implementing Fantastic Friday.

For the next week, we constructed a few signs, rounded up sound equipment, made a signup for the open mic, and gathered all of the cake mix we could for the introduction of Cwaffles to the Africa Mercy. Come two Fridays ago, there were many questions of what Cwaffles were, and also how this Fantastic Friday was going to go. As the aroma of the cake batter sizzling in the waffle irons filled the town square, people congregated. And we had a good time together.

It was a pleasure to see so much of our community onboard come out to come together. It was fun to see people intrigued by, and enjoying Cwaffles (cake waffles with a little ice cream on top, an idea passed on by none other than James-I’m-married-to-Teresa-Sorge) There were a few quickly crafted poems that were read, some serious songs were performed, and many silly songs were sung including a fabulous rendition of “My Heart Will Go On” from the Titanic soundtrack done by three gentlemen in high pitched, forced voices. Joy, a four year old cutie, even sang for us! In the end, we had a great time together. We were delighted that so many people came together, for a fantastic Friday.

Biking

Biking is always a great way to get a feel for the land. Now that we are well into the rainy season, this becomes literal too. The land actually drips off of you! On Sunday, I pedalled out with two friends. Although it was clear, I was suspicious of the weather, so I wore sandals instead of shoes. (Shoes turn into heavy sponges where sandals remain the same.) My instincts were correct.

We biked into downtown Monrovia because the roads are of better quality than if we were to head in the opposite direction to Dwala Market, and are better equipped to handle the waters. (I have always gone the other way, through the market down to the beach. A few days ago I was told that the road washed out down there. We made a good choice.) The further we cycled from the ship, the more ferociously it rained.

We made our way to Ducor Palace. It sits highest in the city close to the ocean. In its day, it was a five star hotel that American presidents would visit... Two months ago, a ship with UN tanks and soldiers arrived at night next to our pier in the port, unloaded, went to the Ducor Palace, and cleared out the squatters that were living there. Now, someone has purchased the property and is beginning a long process of renovating it. They have a long way to go.

I walked the grounds, next to the empty swimming pool looking up at the windowless rooms, down at the mounds of rubbish on the hill, and out at where our ship would be visible if it weren't raining cats and dogs. The palace must have been quite the place. Now it is but a shell of what it used to be.

The rain didn't relent, so we headed home down the hill as it poured and poured. It was so much fun on my bike! The roads were small rushing rivers- empty rivers with almost no cars on them. About 80% of the traffic is usually taxi traffic. With such heavy rain, no one was going anywhere. The people were all plastered next to buildings under the overhangs. I would watch them as we moved along. They would look, and stare with a perplexed look. I would look back. And then, when the recognition set in that there were indeed three white people sloshing by in the rain on bikes, they would smile a big glowing white teeth contrasted by dark skin smile... I thought it was pretty funny too.

Biking is also a reality check. For example, when I watch family home videos from back in the day, and there is a cute little four year old named Scott who appears on the fuzzy video, although this is a long time ago, I know that the curious, mischievous little guy is me, but I have to continually tell myself this. It is a reality check to have to keep telling myself how things really are and were. In the same way, I have to continually tell myself how things really are here in this place. Of the people that I roll past on a bike… an estimated 10% of the population has AIDS. 80% unemployment. Much of the population living on a dollar or two a day. Half of the little ones in Monrovia (the age of me in those home videos) will contract Malaria this rainy season… It is a reality check. It is challenging to wrap my mind around this, especially when some of the faces are becoming familiar.

Bong Mine Trip

On Saturday morning I hopped in a land rover with my fellow galley team for a trip up country to the Bong Mine. We drove just down the street in the rain to the train yard. When we arrived, we drove up a dirt ramp onto a flat bed rail car. We pulled the parking brake, hopped out, and were ready for our ride. The train was scheduled to depart at 7am so we arrived at 7:30am. We departed at 8:30am. Schedules are a little different here.

Our train consisted of a small locomotive, an empty passenger car, our flatbed car, and three empty cars for hauling gravel. As we chugged out of Monrovia, we stood on the flat bed car, sat in our 4x4, and sat on top of our Land Rover. It was a beautiful view out of the city.

Because we were on the railroad, we saw a different side of Liberia than before. Everything builds up around roads. In contrast, the train tracks cut straight through everything. We went straight through villages, markets, fields, hills, and the rainforest.

At the end of the tracks were the remnants of the Bong Mines. In 1991 the place was destroyed by war. I didn't have to look too far to see the bullet holes that dot this country. It used to be a massive iron ore operation with strip mines, heavy machinery, processing facilities, a railroad to the port in Monrovia, and a power plant. The surrounding area used to have an infrastructure. Now, all that remains are the shells of the buildings that used to house this industry, the rusted remains of what was not harvested for scrap metal during the war, and the railroad track.

We ventured down the rough roads around the mine, through the puddles, to the tops of some of the hills, and to the bottom where there was a lake. I went for a little swim in the fresh water lake. It was a beautiful area. On one hand, the vegetation had reclaimed some of the earth making it gorgeous and I wished that it could stay that way. On the other hand, I desired for the mine to be restarted so that the people could be employed again and so that the country could begin to rebuild more quickly.

A Brief Update Before Bedtime

All is well. The past two weeks have been full ones, and quite good ones. During this time, there have been going away celebrations for departing crew, and the welcoming of new crew members, bike rides in the sun and in torrential downpours, a train ride up country to an old mine and even an open mic night in our ship. I have not written in a while, and because it is past my bedtime, will cease to do so soon tonight. I simply wanted to post that I am well because a few people have expressed a little anxiety about the absence of posts, and say that I hope to chronicle what has been happening on this side of the Atlantic very soon, hopefully tomorrow night. Until then, goodnight!

P.S. The medical operations began last week. It was wonderful. We were asked not to share anything about them until today so that our communications crew could share it first with the international media. If you want to check it out, head to www.mercyships.org (or click here) for a fuller picture.