Africa Mercy Ahoy!

Before and After

2007-08-18T22:11:00.000Z

This is a writing that began late one night almost three weeks ago, that carried on well into the early morning hours. I just picked it up again and finished it this evening. It is quite personal in nature. Feel free to skip it if you please, because it is long, doesn’t have any classy pictures, and really doesn’t share anything specific to living in Liberia. The last sentence is worth reading again! I place this writing here on this blog because it provides the context of where this adventure with Mercy Ships began in the first place for those who know me and have been following this experience.

I just finished reading the writings of an ancient Jewish leader named Nehemiah. It was an encouragement to me. It is a chronicle written by Nehemiah of his thoughts, his prayers, his interactions with people, and his adventures. In many ways, he was just an ordinary fellow, who sought God's blessing as he went about his business, and by being intentional, some wonderful stories unfolded. God used him. He oversaw the rebuilding of the broken walls of Jerusalem (important for security), he helped the city to begin functioning again, he lived with the people- not enjoying special privilege, and he helped the people focus on what was most important to them. Nehemiah did this while sometimes living with his Jewish people, and other times by living off with the Persians, the peoples who had conquered his people. God used this regular man.

When I read Nehemiah's account, I can't help but be drawn to some of the parallels of his story and my own. I ascribe to be like Nehemiah. I will not pretend for a moment to be anywhere near the man that he was; but in the theme of Nehemiah, of telling stories as they are, and of being thankful for the ways that God moves in simple tangible ways in this Earth, I'd like to go back just over seven months ago, and attempt to provide a context for this journey.

December 22, 2006.
I was alone in my office at church where I was the middle school youth pastor. I had come in to work for a few short hours to wrap up some loose ends before leaving for the Christmas holiday, for a week of vacation. While working there, since day three, it was my custom to begin my time and work at church k by stopping to pray. Sometimes this was thirty seconds, other times this was ten or more minutes. Sometimes it was focused and selfless, other times I was tired or my mind was racing ahead to other things reducing it down to a mere tradition or ritual. It was my way to ask God to move, to honor God with my work, to ask for blessing, and to seek direction for my time. On this afternoon, I was shaken. It was all four of these things.

I almost didn't stop to pray, because I was only going to do busy work. As I glanced over at the chair that I would sit in to pray in this manner, that inner voice in my head asked me bluntly if I was really going to pray. I hesitated, inclining not to. But then I told myself, no, this is indeed why I pray each time. So, I did. This fifteen minutes changed everything.

There are times when I pray when I feel like I am talking to myself (and feel quite silly). There are times when I feel like I am praying to God and that God is somehow absent. There are other times when I pray when I feel a closeness with God and prayer becomes a time of listening with my mind and heart, a time of sharing my thoughts and questions. There have also been a very few times in my life when I have experienced such intimacy with God and have felt tangibly guided by God with that voice in the back of my mind. This was one of those few times.

When I arose from this time of prayer, I felt that it was time to step out of my role as youth pastor accompanied by a tangible, surreal, deep peace. I was bewildered to say the least. I glanced over at the piles of folders stacked on my desk that has just become irrelevant, and left my office.

For the next ten days, until the next staff meeting at church, I processed, and prayed, and recited over and over the reasons for why this couldn't happen. But what about all of the relationships formed for the last year? You don't just step out halfway through the school year! I love this work. What will the students and volunteer leaders do? What will they think? What about finances? What does this mean that I step into... I asked over and over in prayer throughout the days if what had happened that afternoon was real or not. And every time, I felt that it was, and to step out. For the first few days I kept this to myself. I then shared with a few very close friends with a deep faith. We talked through it, we cried, we prayed. I was a mess on the inside, because at 23 years old, you don't do things like this. But the peace never left and my heart kept telling me that indeed this experience was real.

On the eleventh day, after Christmas and New Year's had come and gone, I found myself at the weekly staff meeting looking around the table. Taking a deep breath while my heart fluttered, I shared with my co workers what had happened, starting with the catalyst on that Friday afternoon, to the peace, to my questions, to how I felt it should manifest itself in action. I ended by sharing that I intended on doing exactly what I felt guided to do, to step out now. Four weeks later was my very last day.

These four weeks were a blur of a series of announcements, of meetings, of planning for my absence, and of rapidly tying up loose ends. These four weeks were a blur of emotions and feelings and doubts. I was afraid. I was afraid of being a fool. I was afraid of my identity, my relationships, and of what stepping out meant stepping into. I was a mess. But in this, my posture towards God softened from me telling God what I could do for God, to me trusting that God will do what God will do and that it is my role to offer my whole self to be used if God so desires. One posture is telling God what I can do for him. The second is offering my assistance. Big difference.

This posture continued to soften as I entered two months of uncertainty. I expected for something to come my way immediately, making sense of why I stepped out so suddenly. Instead, I waited for what seemed like an eternity. However, at the beginning, Mercy Ships kept coming to mind when I would stop to pray about what to do. (I didn't know what else to do.) After a week of it coming up over and over, I relented and sent in an application to volunteer. I didn't know much of anything about this group until I finally sent in my application. Expecting something to come up right away, I waited. And then I waited some more. Nothing happened. Well almost nothing happened. I had a lot of time on my hands- a lot of time to try to escape from the deep anxiousness in my heart, and a lot of time to dive straight into it, if I was willing.

To sum up a pretty miserable time, I learned about my identity and about connecting the dots from what I know in my head, to what I believe in my heart. I had to deal with knowing that my identity on the inside doesn't come from my job, or how much money I earn, or how much stuff I own, or how busy I make myself, to what other people think of me, or how I look, or if I'm in a relationship... to believing it. I had to enter into believing in my mind and heart and action, that my identity comes from being created by a loving God, in God's image. Yes, this will manifest itself in all of these other things, but central to who I am is in relationship with Jesus. This was an uncomfortable time of redefining 'success'. But it was good. My perception of many things was turned inside out, for the better. But oh it was hard.

One morning almost two months later, I found myself in my beloved orange chair in the living room as had become my morning ritual. I was there with my coffee, cereal, and Bible to begin my day by trying to be focused. Meanwhile, the application process with Mercy Ships seemed so incredibly slow to the point where I was afraid I wouldn't even be able to serve with them anymore if I was going to come back for the three weddings I was going to be in during the summer. But, I had come to the point in learning about contentedness and identity, where in my chair I thanked God for where I was. I thanked God for where he had brought me thus far, that he was in control, for many of the blessings in my life-big and small, and for a brand new day. I prayed that the application process would be swift, but the thankfulness was genuine. Regardless of what external thing happened, I was grateful. After this, I went to my next ritual of checking my email for any word from Mercy Ships. Ready for another delay, or more likely, no word at all, I waited for my email to slowly pop up on the wireless internet that our neighbours were so kind to share with my housemates and I. But there it was! An email from Mercy Ships inviting me to arrive in England in four days! I read it a second time slowly, got up from the kitchen table, and returned to my orange chair in disbelief. I continued thanking God, when my phone rang. It was from Mercy Ships in Africa! I talked with a nice lady with an English accent who asked if I had gotten her email. I replied that indeed I had. After a few more questions back and forth, we ended on the understanding that I would contact her back in a day with a decision.

It was an exciting day for me. It was what I had been less than patiently waiting for. Internally, I felt every confirmation to go. I met with my parents for dinner to seek their input, and they were a little less than excited to send their son off to a potentially dangerous voyage from England to Africa, and rightfully so. They asked some really good questions and tried really hard to be supportive. I tried hard to emphasize with their concern. That night I got together with a few close friends to seek their council, questions, and prayers. At the end of our gathering, I knew that I would be going!

For the next two days, I made travel arrangements, packed up all of my stuff in the apartment and moved it to my parent's house with the help of friends, acquired new health insurance, discontinued auto insurance and cell phone coverage, packed for an anticipated two months, and said goodbye to people. I was fortunate enough to be able to spend the final evening of youth group for the year with the amazing students to share the news and to say goodbyes, and to even arrive home to a farewell party arranged by friends at my house to celebrate with me. I shared the good news, we celebrated, and they prayed for me before the night was over. Brian Mulder even played a song he had recorded about it! I was sent off with much love.

Fast Forward a little bit here- past travelling, past arrival on the m/v Africa Mercy, past engaging in a new community, past beginning to serve in the galley on board, to a month later.

As the departure of the Africa Mercy came closer and closer, I was faced with a tough decision. The original plan would no longer occur. At first, I was going to serve in England, sail down to Liberia with the ship, be in Monrovia for ten days, and then fly home to be in the wedding of a good friend. Because our estimated date of arrival in Liberia had been moved back, I was faced with the choice of flying out of England prematurely, or of sailing and missing the wedding. After sharing the situation with Tony, he understood, and before I even asked anything, told me that I should sail and see what there is to see in Africa, thereby missing the wedding. So, I did. I dearly missed standing up with my friend in his wedding, and celebrating with his community. I was also exhilarated to continue on in this adventure.

I was left with an open-ended ticket on the Africa Mercy. I was told that there was always a space for me in the galley. It then became my place to choose a date of departure. When I looked at the situation, my options, the remarkable environment I was in, and prayed about it; I felt like I would be in Liberia for quite a while. And I have been!

After quite a while, the date of August 20 kept popping in my head when I would pray about the future. After a handful of times, I got up and looked at a calendar. August 20 is a Monday- the only day each week that has a flight from Monrovia to London, where I had an airplane ticket waiting for me to fly me home from London. A week later, three weeks before August 20, I had purchased an airplane ticket. And now, I’m headed home.

It has been strange for me to be here, not knowing how long I would be here for. It has been good though, helping keep me from becoming complacent. But now that leaving is real, a set of anxieties of what comes next is knocking on my door. The anxiety is back. But, when I look over my shoulder at how leaving to go to college went, at how stepping out and serving with Mission Year in Chicago was, at how I became the youth pastor at church, and at how coming here has gone, I know that it will be ok. I know that it will be more than ok. Serving in a manner like this has been a dream of mine that I never would have expected to have come true so early in life. Looking over my shoulder, I am so thankful and incredibly hopeful for whatever comes next, whatever it may be.

-Scott

Haircut Fun

2007-08-18T19:27:00.000Z

Before, During, and After

Once upon a time I left for Africa with the longest hair that I have ever had in my life. And then I didn’t cut it for almost five months. And then it was really long and curly and poofy. For a little while it was woven into superb dreadlocks, but that is another picture, and story.

On Thursday my scalp was liberated from carrying the equivalent of a couple winter caps worth of hair, but not before having fun with it. I dressed up for the occasion so Lorah, our wonderful hair stylist on board, and I could take a few glamour shots of the process. Above you will notice a before, during, and after picture of the process. I did have a beautiful mullet, if I may say so myself, for about fifteen minutes, but couldn’t bring myself to wear it for long. (I probably wouldn’t have been able to sleep at night!)

It has taken me a little bit to get used to looking at myself in the mirror. It has taken much longer for everyone else to get used to it. Right after the haircutting time, I walked by dozens of familiar faces and was not recognized. They thought that I must be a new person. Some even offered a courteous ‘hello’. I was even introduced as a joke by Rahel at our community meeting as I ran the sound board. From up front, before beginning the music of our worship gathering, she introduced the not-so-new crew member: Scott. It was met with a pleasant applause. It was a unique experience at first to talk with close friends, and to have them intently searching into your eyes and face to recognize you. They knew the voice and body, but not the face.

Nimba Mountain Trip

2007-08-18T18:56:00.000Z

Our Guest House

Hello Ivory Coast

On Top of the World

Our Expedition

A Gigantic Sandbox Toy

A Little Work on the Brakes

Playing With the Children While We Wait

Packing Up Outside Abuja To Return to Monrovia

At this time last week I was climbing up the tallest mountain in all of Liberia. It was beautiful up there in the clouds and above the clouds. With a long glance from left to right we could gaze down upon the countries of Guinea, Ivory Coast, and Liberia. It took our group a day and a half to reach this point, but it was well worth it.

On the eve of the four day weekend I huddled together with James, Carlos, Kassi, Sally, Jacinto, and Nathan in the dining room to review our final details for the trip. We determined who was to secure essential items for our three day, two night voyage such as bug repellent, mosquito nets, flashlights, candles, water, bleach (in case we were stranded with absolutely no clean water), money, cameras, and a touch of food. We also reiterated that we had no secured driver, vehicle, food or water for three days, directions, or place to stay for the nights as of yet. But, we did have a desire to travel up country into the bush to Ganta to spend a night, travel the next day to the mountain, return to sleep in Ganta, and then travel to home sweet home in Monrovia. And with this, we parted ways until the morning for our travels to begin.

It rains here. It rains here often. It is the rainy season. It was defiantly the rainy season when the seven of us hiked down the gangway after signing out for the weekend. It was pouring. We looked as if we were going backpacking decked out in raincoats, and with plastic bags covering our backpacks. We were also exhilarated to begin our travels. As we walked down the port entrance we prayed together for a beautiful weekend together, for safety, and for good times, all of which happened.

We began by taking taxis to Red Light, a main intersection North of Monrovia where there is a large transportation depot with vehicles travelling to all parts of the country. My taxi ride was uneventful, but those in the other taxi had fun. A man entered their car and asked if they were from Mercy Ships. (This happens all the time.) They said that indeed, they were. The man then went on to tell them, and all of the other people in the taxi for the rest of the 20 minute drive how wonderful Mercy Ships was. He had gone to the vision clinic and had received some precious glasses, of which he carefully pulled out of his coat, unwrapped them, and showed to everyone. At the depot, he took it upon himself to find the second group (my group) of travellers. Soon enough, we were reunited to begin a long process of negotiations for our next stage of travel. There were negotiations of whether to take two taxis, a minibus, or a minivan, there were offers and counter offers for prices for each of these, there was figuring out who the driver was and whether or not we had to take a ‘car boy’, all of which is taking place in the middle of a group of animated men fluxing between 10 to 30 of them. And, did I mention that we stand out in the greater surrounding crowd? At the end, we rolled away in a Toyota minivan with our group of seven, a driver, and a ‘car boy’ who was actually a car man.

Our travels down the mostly-paved road were dotted with pee-pee breaks (as they call it here), times to pull off the front tires to adjust the break pressure, times to eat yummy donuts, plantain chips, cooked corn, and glass bottles of pop on the side of the road, and wonderful UNMIL military checkpoints. Every time we stopped there were ‘plenty plenty’ people there to greet us, and lots of cute waving kids.

In Ganta we found a great guest house for five dollars a person. It included hung mosquito nets, a bathroom, a large barrel of water, double beds (to be shared) and generator produced electricity from 7pm to 11pm. It was wonderful. At night we had a feast of local food down the dirt road at Abuja. We also purchased some donuts, bananas, and coconuts on the street for an early morning breakfast the next day for an early departure. At night we played what I like to call ‘stupid camp games’- fun games that are for connecting with each other, not winning. We played one of my new favorites: the animal game. At the end of the night, I climbed into bed and tucked in my mosquito net, ready for the next day.

In the morning we hiked out, much like the morning before, except that this time it was not raining! We went to the local taxi area and began another long stage of negotiations. Yuck. After getting everyone all excited, again, and even having one car that attempted to cut getting cinder blocks placed in front and behind each tire, we made our way with our new ride. Nine of us rolled down the road in this small hatchback taxi for a two hour drive to the base of the mountain. By the way, this is somewhat normal here… We only had to hop out and walk one time, so that our taxi could drive up a steep, muddy hill

When we finally arrived at the base of the mountain, it was like we were in a different world, one that was quiet and beautiful. We hiked around for three hours up there, having a blast. I felt like a little kid in a giant sandbox, playing around with the rocks, abandoned mining equipment, water, and climbing all over the place. It was peaceful up there on top of the world, looking down at everything! For this period of time, we were the tallest people in all of Liberia, Guinea, and Ivory Coast!

On the way down from the base of the mountain, in our taxi again, our seventeen or so year old driver decided to ride the brakes the whole way. Riding shotgun, I shared that when I drive down mountains I pump the brakes on and off so that they don’t overheat. The driver nodded. After a long pause of continual brake-riding, I inquired if the emergency brake worked, pointing to the lever. With a node he said “nope”. I then offered that when the brakes stop working to please use the engine to brake. Being the verbal communicator that he was, he nodded. A minute later when the smoke began billowing from the brakes, and they stopped working, I was delighted that we rolled down the mountain slowly and safely with our engine holding us back. The driver kept the brakes on anyway for reasons unknown to me. At the bottom, in the middle of no where, we stopped for an unplanned repair of the brakes for a while. Let’s just say that throwing cold water on them so that they warp or crack wasn’t a good way to start.

In time, a pickup truck came on by and offered a little boost. We were delighted to accept and go cruising in the back of the 4x4 down the two-track around the mountain. At the end we arrived back in the town at the base and were dropped off. While we waited for our taxi to return we talked with the crowd of 20 kids that assembled and the 20 some adults. Some of us played football (soccer), some talked with the moms, some talked with the various UNMIL, UN police, and Mittal Steel trucks that all stopped to see why there were white people hanging out on the street. Eventually our taxi arrived, and we headed back to our favourite restaurant two hours away, and to our guest house, and slept really well.

Returning home to Monrovia was a piece of cake. We found a Toyota 4 Runner and flew all the way home with our group of seven and one driver. It was the most space that we had had yet!
The trip was so much fun. We saw so much of what makes Liberia what it is- the people, the culture, the land, you name it. What made it so amazing was the company though. Our crew was easy going, incredibly patient, adventurous, encouraging, and down right fun. I am thankful to have made such excellent friends while being here. As we walked back up the port entrance to the ship again, we stopped again to pray, being thankful for a great journey.

Return Flight on August 20

2007-08-08T22:14:00.000Z

I have an airplane ticket to return home! I will fly out of Monrovia, Liberia on August 20. I really love it here, but it would also be wonderful to be home too! It is a win-win situation. I bought the ticket last week, and have been thinking about it for longer, and figured that I should probably pass this on! (More on this later.)

Eye Surgery

2007-08-08T22:02:00.000Z

I headed downstairs this morning after the breakfast routine was finished to change into scrubs. A few moments later, decked out in some fresh blue pants, blue shirt, blue hair net, and blue show coverings (are you noticing a theme here?), I entered operating theatre number six. This is one of the operating rooms where we do our eye surgeries! For the next hour, I watched intently as a cute three year girl was slowly given vision back in her right eye.

As I sat in the quiet, sterile operating room, the sensation was much like going to a grand sports stadium and rooting on the home team. I found myself cheering for the doctor in my silence, willing him to do well. There were moments of watching the action first hand, and then peering over at the monitor for a close up. There were times of a little tension, and other times of relief, such as when the new lens was finally inserted and in proper position. It was a rush to say the least. And best of all, at the end of the hour, a three year old girl was recovering from anaesthesia with a newly repaired eye! I had to leave afterwards to go help get lunch ready, but by the time I saw the eye surgeon for his lunch, he had already removed cataracts in two other patients. What a great morning. I like this place!

A Foot Washing

2007-08-08T21:51:00.000Z

Something that has been a challenge for me since first arriving here, has been encounters with seemingly shameless and unwarranted demands (not requests) for money and material items. For me, it isn’t so much the money or specific item, but the idea behind the demand. Integrity, character, honesty, and dignity are priceless… they cannot be bought nor should they be compromised for money, especially meagre amounts of money. It is here where the problem lies for me. If it was a sincere and warranted request to help with a true need, then this is one thing, but a cold, rude demand, as if it were a game, is quite another.

I cannot begin to count how many times a sassy young lad has blurted out “Whi’ mon, gimme mo’ney” with an outstretched, open palm, paired with a subdued smile. Sometimes they are eight, other times eighteen. Sometimes it is the raincoat tied around my waist. Other times, the sorry looking bicycle I am sitting on (a bicycle that I wouldn’t even bother to lock up back home.) The worst is the demand for food. Spotting the group before being spotted, the group is perfectly normal and content. They’re talking or laughing or sitting. But when I walk by, a boy says ‘food, gimme food’ meekly, pointing to his open mouth with one hand, holding the stomach with the other. If I look over my shoulder once I am past, they are all laughing together. It encourages the heart to grow cold to sincere needs... There is a similar effect when a price is solidly agreed upon for a taxi ride, before even touching the door handle to enter the car, yet upon arrival there is a demand for more based off of some frivolous or fabricated reason. At this point I find it challenging to not think less of this particular man. It is hard to imagine some positive cultural explanation or innocent excuse for it, when it happens over, and over… and over again. Thank God, this is not always the case.

I eat dinner from time to time at my favourite Liberian Food Ready Now establishment. I am given honest change back when paying for food! When walking back from there last night, the mud/dirt road was extra soupy. The thin, hard packed, dirt trail on the side of the road for pedestrian use disappeared a few times without a makeshift bridge, leaving one to guess the depth of the mud (and who knows what else) you’re stepping in, with your sandals. At one such point, we were clearly on the wrong side of the street as I watched my two friends venture in front of me, accidentally covering half of their feet in the stuff. (It left a funny, distinct line on their feet, like when you wear socks for a whole day when you’re out in the sun, and then when you take them off you have a fantastic tan line. This time, it was a mud line!) We laughed, shrugging our shoulders. The people in the stand next to us on the street laughed too. Fortunately for me, they graciously guided me on a route across the road to keep my feet clean. It worked, and they would know, because despite their flip flop foot apparel, their feet seem to always be clean of the stuff. It is what happened next that was a huge encouragement to me.

A lady had seen what had happened, went inside to get a small pitcher of water, and emerged from her house offering it to my friends to rinse their feet off. She gently insisted without a spoken word. So, my friends took the little plastic pitcher, full of water that she must have purchased, and rinsed their feet off, slowly dripping the water on their feet and sandals on the side of this road.

I nonchalantly passed Kelly a small bill while this was happening to offer the woman as a thank you. I had been conditioned to do this from so many people asking for money in response to favors-turned-services. Well, when Kelly offered, the shy woman declined. Kelly offered again, kindly, thinking she much not have understood what we were offering. She again declined graciously, gesturing that it was a gift. In this moment, she served us, shattering the callous expectations that have grown inside of me here. We were complete strangers and she blessed us. She blessed me. She made my day.

Joseph

2007-07-29T21:49:00.000Z

"...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

2007-07-29T21:42:00.000Z

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

2007-07-29T21:31:00.000Z

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

2007-07-14T22:58:00.000Z

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

2007-07-14T22:55:00.000Z

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

2007-07-14T22:50:00.000Z

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

2007-07-10T21:49:00.000Z

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

2007-07-09T21:31:00.000Z

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

2007-07-07T22:58:00.000Z

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.

2007-07-05T19:29:00.000Z

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

2007-07-05T19:28:00.000Z

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

2007-07-05T19:27:00.001Z

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

2007-07-05T19:26:00.001Z

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

2007-07-05T19:21:00.000Z

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

2007-07-02T22:08:00.000Z

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.

Day Trip

2007-06-17T22:39:00.000Z

The spacious front two seats of our manuel Nissan Sunny taxi

The less than spacious back three seats

A little bit of sleep after a long day

A beautiful beach with two ship wrecks and some guy with a farmer's tan

Off into the sunset on our way home

On Saturday I embarked upon a day trip down the coast with some friends. We had a wonderful time. We met some great taxi drivers, some cute kids, many friendly Liberians, and a hospitible man from the UN originally from Southern Italy. I also was told that I look like a movie star when I have sunglasses on. There wasn't too much space in our taxis as we bumped along the paved and dirt roads, but then again we only spent a total of seven hours in the things.

At one point we were waiting at a taxi depot for our driver to return, so we spent some time with the large group of children that slowly gathered around us. Two of the little girls were amused at my white skin, and that I had a hairy face. It was new to them. They would touch my arm and pull away giggling. They were in the first and second grade, enjoyed kickball and soccer, and thought I had a funny accent.

On our walk back from the tropical beach, we stopped and talked with an Italian in a UN truck. After a few minutes he offered us a ride and a brief senic detour. We accepted and enjoyed, the new company, the space in the truck, and the air conditioning. We were soon two tracking down a road that resembled a river. A few times the hood of the truck dipped under the water as we roared on, windshield wipers-a-flying. We left a nice wake. At the end of the road was another beautiful, hidden beach. By the time we were driven back to the taxi depot, we had shared stories back and forth and had made a new friend. And if we want to return, there is an open guest room waiting for us in the UN base if we want an extended visit. Again, I am amazed by the hospitality of the people here.

A First

2007-06-17T22:35:00.000Z

That’s right, this is my finger above, my left pinky to be precise. I am proud to announce that I was the first one to ever have an x-ray taken of me on the M/V Africa Mercy. (No, I didn’t get a certificate or anything.) Some of you may be asking: “Scott, why did you have an x-ray taken of your finger?” If so, that’s a good question.

I was playing basketball (not football, roller skating, bowling, skiing, soccer, or street hockey- all sports that I have broken bones in.) I went up for a rebound and was struck on my finger and felt a familiar snapping sensation. It felt the opposite of good. I checked it out thoroughly, and proceeded to play a little longer. A few minutes later I decided that it would be a good idea to stop. So I did. By the morning it had blossomed into a visually pleasant spectrum of deep reds, purples, and even a little bit of light green. The next day I paid a visit to our friendly crew clinic.

Our radiologist was delighted to have an opportunity to play with our new toy. I thought it would be fun too. So with a ‘cheese’, we took a couple pictures of my finger. We then went across the pier together to the other ship and developed my portrait… it didn’t turn out, but it was cool to see the process that we employ here in Liberia. Later in the afternoon, after she did some fidgeting, we took another pair of pictures. I saw her a little bit later in the afternoon as she hiked up the gangway. She shared that it looked like I had a broken bone. So we looked at the film together in the sunlight. “Number ten” I thought to myself. Fortunately, later on, when the crew doctor took a look at it, he shared that all should be well, that it was only a little deformity. He said that it looked like the little shard on the underside of the second knuckle grew that way. “Or maybe it is from the last time I broke the finger playing football” I thought. Anyway, I simply tape my fingers together for the meantime because they look cool that way. Well, not really, but it keeps the little guy from hurting. In a few days it should be fine.

During the whole process, I shared my picture with a handful of people between the top of the gangway and the time I made it down to deck 3. I thought it was fun to look at. My friends thought the same. In the back of my mind, I thought ‘you’re not supposed to share medical stuff like this with other people’. I still did anyway, but couldn’t help but ask: “Why not?” Why is a picture of my insides supposed to be so private? Aren’t we all the same anyway? And finances? Are they that different? I guess that some people feel sensitive about such things. For me, it’s just my finger, a body part. Heck, everybody has a body! But nobody has been the first one to be radiated here except this one!

Blood Diamond

2007-06-17T22:28:00.000Z

I watched the movie ‘Blood Diamond’ on Thursday. A few pieces of it take place in Liberia. The rest of the film takes place in Sierra Leone, England, South Africa, and references the US from time to time. Of our audiences of seven here in Liberia, four were from the US (who imports 2/3rd of the worlds sold diamonds), one was South African who understood the Afrikaans that was spoken, one was British, and one was from Benin (the home country of the main actor) who had been in Sierra Leone in 2004 and talked with those who had ‘short sleeves’ and ‘long sleeves’ from the uncivil war.

Charles Taylor trained the rebel commander in Sierra Leone who oversaw the killing. Taylor sold the blood diamonds across the border into Liberia for the rebels, helping them to further finance their endeavours, and his. His trial for war crimes (17 counts) began two weeks ago.

Lord of War, Traffic, Syriana, Inconvenient Truth, Blood Diamond… powerful cinematography. Each has stirred me. They are just movies, but point to many of the veiled results of our current global community.

It was unique for me because for the first time, I am living in close vicinity to the communities that have been devastated from being on the short end of the stick. The soil is the same color here. The nationalities represented in the film were represented in our small group.

It isn’t a distant land over the horizon when you live here. Now, most of the passion that had welled up inside of me was gone when I woke up the next morning. It was more of a passing thought. But the reminders here do not go away. The stories live on. The bullet holes remain. The four brothers, of my taxi driver yesterday, who where killed in the war are still absent. And he still tells us about it freely if we simply ask.

On one hand, I have a world of watching and learning to do here. On the other hand, I must continue to engage such things. I am reminded of the quote that “we must read the Bible in one hand with the newspaper in the other”. My faith understanding and faith experience thus far, given my social context, speak loudly into life here greatly. Life here greatly speaks into my faith understanding and faith experience thus far, given my social context. May they continue to sharpen each other.

And for those of you who have seen the movie, yes, I continue to use my hand sanitizer.

Monkey Apples

2007-06-12T20:57:00.000Z

A bowl of monkey apples that is carried on top of one's head

Another delicious morsel

So, I ate four of these today. They were scrumptious. The locals call them Monkey Apples. To eat one, you crack it open with your thumbs to reveal the fruit on the inside. It looks like a little jellyfish inside there. You then pop it into your mouth and try to suck off as much nectar from around the see as you can. It tastes somewhere between a sour cherry and a sweet grapefruit. It was delicious.

On a more serious note, I visited Doctors Without Borders today and began a personal process to spend some time learning from what other NGOs are doing here. As I ventured into their compound and sat down, waiting to be seen, I looked up at the bulletin board in front of me to see two Mercy Ships references in big bold letters. I am now realizing that I am tapping into a vast network of relationships here that weaves through my ship and through the churches I have already worshipped with. It is such a large, yet small community!

Just Another Ordinary Moment

2007-06-10T15:58:00.000Z

As I walked through the neighbourhood a man came up to me asking for help. I had just left a two hour worship service in the community, and in all honesty, had lunch on my mind. Not wanting to become separated from the group I was trailing, I told him that I needed to keep going. He paused, and asked if he could walk with me. “Sure” I replied. So we walked together, talking back in forth in dialects of English divided by a massive ocean. He asked if I was from Mercy Ships. I replied that I was indeed. He began to tell me about his eyes.

“I see things dimly” he said. He said that he cannot focus any longer and read smaller print. I made it clear that I was not a doctor (a common misperception) and then asked if he had tried glasses. He had, even really strong ones. He wanted to be able to see again so that he could go back to his job with the BBC.

Now, during this transition of the Anastasis leaving and the Africa Mercy arriving, there are no operations occurring. Every day, a long line appears down the gangway of one vessel and up to the top of the other carrying stuff, lots and lots of stuff in transition. We are rapidly preparing for the five operating theatres to be fully functional. And if all continues to go well, they will be in two short weeks. When this happens, I should become armed with little slips of paper, each providing the details of what kind of medical screening is taking place, at what location in the city, on what specific days. But right now, there are no precious pieces of paper to be had. So, I told the man that he would have to wait three or four weeks.

The man did not want to wait.

He had waited for a long time. One month was too much more to wait. When I said that the screenings might take place at JFK hospital, the local hospital, he replied that he didn’t want to go there. He wanted to see a doctor, a Mercy Ships doctor… now. He pleaded in a manner that was kind and respectful, yet passionate and desperate, like a man who longed to be able to see again, and to be able to have a job again to provide for the basics. He smiled and said that he had seen me coming from the church, and said that he wanted to be able to read his Bible again.

I am sure that he is used to waiting. It is what you do in times like these here. You wait for things to get better. You wait for water, for electricity, for the government, and for development. You wait, wait, wait. He didn’t want to wait for the government, and being as close as ever to getting help, didn’t want to let this opportunity go.

So, there on UN Drive we stood, together, trying to communicate back and forth.

In the end, we exchanged names, shook hands a few times, said goodbye. I then crossed the road, walked past the UN soldiers at the checkpoint, down the 200 meter road protected by ten foot cement walls capped with razor wire, and past two more UN security posts on my way to the dock, where the Africa Mercy rests, where my sack lunch was.

This is just another ordinary moment of being here, one that tugs at me on the inside in a host of directions. I am thankful to be here. I am thankful that Mercy Ships is here and will soon have twice the medical capacity than a short month ago. I hope that James will be able to be helped. Maybe he can be helped. Maybe not. Maybe he can be helped by the nurses and doctors that I serve food to here in my home. Maybe not.

Food is Ready Now

2007-06-08T16:11:00.000Z

So I was invited to join a few people to go out for an authentic Liberian dinner last night. Naturally, I opted for the opportunity to walk out of the port and walk into the culture here. We snagged four delicious donuts outside the UN checkpoint for thirty five cents. Donuts in hand (wrapped in newspaper, in a plastic baggie) we crossed the road and walked into the neighborhood. We stepped into the first restaurant on the left. It displayed a promising sign that ‘food is ready now’. This is important because the last two times I’ve ordered food, it has taken an hour to come out.

Six of us shared two plates of regular rice, a plate of spicy rice, a bowl of fish soup, and a bowl of cassava with fish in it. The first few bites took a little bit of getting used to. I don’t know if it was the superior strength of the spices, or that it was just plain different. But after this, it was delicious. The cassava that they make here is really good!

It was good to know that my dinner came from this community. (Note that I didn’t say comforting, but good.) The fish likely came from just down the street earlier in the day. They are displayed in the sunlight in the open air market. The spices and vegetables are the same. If anything, the rice would have come from outside this community because some 90% of it is imported.

My experience in eating food with others, is that it brings you together. This time was no different. Our group came together. Also, it was a good way to connect with the common way of life here. The only thing that I am worried about is my stomach coming together with the little foreign microbes that live in the water here. If something is cooked or boiled, or freshly pealed it should be fine. I did not drink the clear water that was presented to me even though I forgot my water bottle. However I did a no-no and ate the little pieces of tomato that were laced through the spicy rice. (They were so good.) A day later, my digestive system is still fully in tact. May this continue. At the end of the meal, we each contributed a single dollar to collectively pay for our food and to leave a generous tip. It was a successful outing. May there be many more impromptu dinner outings in our community here.

Football

2007-06-06T22:39:00.000Z

I played in my second match of football (soccer in the U.S.) tonight. The first round was next to CeCe Beach. There is a fishing village next to the restaurant with boats, nets, houses, and people who like to play football. I walked down the shore and watched for a while in the scorching sun. I was beckoned to join, so I did. Now, I felt that I would do all right. I can run for about an hour right now and have always been able to hold my own in the sport. And then, we began to play together. Maybe I’m just a sissy, but after twenty minutes of sprinting back and forth in the sand, without fresh water, under the early afternoon sun, I was pooped. So with a little whimper on the inside, I asked for a sub. The rest of the match lasted another fifteen minutes. No one else took a sub. I also asked how long they had been playing for. The response was casual- three hours. Yikes! Looks like tall white man didn’t hold his own too well. But hey, we all had fun.

Tonight we played in a field inside of the port with ten Mercyshippers. We asked the UN troops from Nepal if they wanted to join, but they were busy doing exercises. A good time was had by all. I was happy to play on solid ground and to wear shoes. I was also happy to land a pair of goals. At the end of the match I finally realized how dirty we all were. The dirt here is like the stuff in Georgia. Can anyone guess what color the soil is here?

After an evening of fun

Sploosh

2007-06-06T22:08:00.000Z

I really enjoy swimming. It is refreshing, fun, and most enjoyable with others. I really don’t enjoy the initial shock of the cold water on my skin when I first plunge in. But, I do enjoy being in the water and know that twenty seconds of goosebumps is worth an hour or more of swimming goodness.

I really enjoy Liberia. It is beautiful, different from home in most ways, offers so much to learn from, and has amazing people. It is also best to be explored with others. I really haven’t enjoyed being overwhelmed by so much to take in, on the inside. But, I know that this is completely normal, to be expected, and is something good to work through.

I find myself emerging from that tingling sensation after plunging head first into the land and people of Liberia. It has been much to observe with my eyes and ears, and to internalize with my mind and heart. But, I have more of an understanding of what normal is now. And, I really like it here.

Normal

Taxis. Taxis are bright yellow/orange here. There are lots of them. The fleet looks like it has been around for quite some time. Up to eight people, and their items are placed in or on the taxi of choice. You need to make hand gestures on the side of the road to signal which direction you hope to go so that it lines up with the direction of the people already in the car. A flat-palmed hand pointing down the road indicates that you desire to go straight down the road a ways. (Think jazz hands with closed fingers.) A finger curling down the direction of the road means that you hope to go to the next stop down the road. A finger pointing away or across the road means that you hope to go straight down the road and to then turn in the indicated direction at the next intersection. We have much to learn from their carpooling system! Gas is purchased by the gallon. Each gallon is sold in a glass jar that is then poured into a funnel and into your gas tank. If it rains, a communal window-roller-upper will appear. Each person in turn can then roll their window up and pass it along to the next person. If all goes well, it isn’t raining too hard by the time the fourth window is rolled up.

The communal window-roller-upper

Roads. Most roads in Monrovia seem to be paved. Most roads outside of Monrovia seem to not be paved. Some such roads flood during the rainy season. (The rainy season only lasts for six months and seems to just be beginning.) A few roads have lines painted on them. I have seen one working stoplight so far. I have seen many UN checkpoints as well. If I am a little bit away from Monrovia, they ask to see some ID. When they see the Mercy Ships ID, I am waved ahead right away in front of others.

I feel that I am adjusting well to everything, but continue to think a lot. I ponder what I am seeing, how it relates to what I have experienced back home, what it means for me, and how it relates to where I am in my journey of faith and in life. (I don’t anticipate this process ending any time soon.) Some encounters contrast so much with each other that I cannot help but entertain their implications in my mind. One such instance is a trip that I have taken to CeCe Beach.

CeCe Beach

Looking back at Monrovia. If you look on the horizon above the left side of the rock you can see a long white ship known as the Africa Mercy

On the way to CeCe Beach is a market where everything is being sold ranging from plums (mangos) and coconuts to cloth and gasoline, eggs and fresh fish to flip flops and cassette tapes. It is crazy in a good way. Add to this lots of dust and exhaust to breathe, car horns for the ears, and lots of people carrying items on their heads, and you have our local market. There are tiny shops and tiny houses lining the road. Most houses here in the city seem to be made of tin sheeting fastened together.

CeCe Beach is a restaurant on a beautiful tropical beach. The sand is clean, there are palm trees dotting the shore, and little huts that you sit under as you watch the waves and eat your food. It is a good place to spend a long Saturday afternoon like I did this past weekend. In addition to downing my entire water bottle, I sipped two icy-cold Sprites and ate part of a chicken dinner as an appetizer. It was an afternoon of genuine rest- rest that was much needed. After my afternoon of paradise I headed back home to the Africa Mercy.

In exchange for a day at the beach, two pops, and some chicken and french fries, I paid five dollars. Pops were a dollar each. The meal was 12 dollars split four ways. Now, by standards back home, this is an exceptional bargain. Here, I’m not so sure. Many of the people that I brush shoulders with in the market live off of a single American dollar each day. This probably covers one and a half meals of food, and not much more. My inexpensive outing was equivalent to five day’s labor more or less? Five dollars can go a long way here and can do a great deal of good (or bad.)

Instances such as this percolate questions in my mind such as: what is my responsibility here as a fellow sympathetic human being, how do the teachings of Jesus speak into this, and why do I have such a hard time weaving these two economic scales together? It asks questions of my heart. And of my identity too. But, I don’t want to bore you with them. As for now, I hope to cultivate a few intentional relationships with the people here because I don’t really know any Liberians, I hope to begin to connect with a few of the other NGOs that I see all over the place, and I hope to begin the work of praying through this stuff.

In other news, I’m not sure how long I will be in the fine country of Liberia. Originally I was going to be here for a week and a half after arriving, and then fly home to be in Tony and Christen’s wedding. Then the schedule of the Africa Mercy’s sail was delayed. Then I talked with Tony and he said that I should sail and see Africa. And then I said thank you Tony for understanding even before I asked if it was ok to sail. And then I was in the Atlantic Ocean when I would have needed to fly home. And now Tony and Christen are successfully married and I am in Liberia. And now I’m not sure how long I am going to be here. I really like it. As of yesterday, I am free to stay here as long as I would like. (Well, actually I need to pay my crew fees for food and lodging and such so it really isn’t ‘free’, but you get the point.) So I’m here, I’m learning tremendously, I’m thankful to be here and to be here with Mercy Ships, and I’m not sure how long I’ll be here for.

Life

2007-05-31T22:27:00.000Z

So… I’m in West Africa right now.

Everything is different- the people and the smells, the plants and the animals, the spoken English dialect and the church worship, the temperature and the star constellations, the degree of security and the standard of material living, the money system and the items in the local market.

God is the same.

I feel different because different things are important here. Clean water is valuable here so I am mindful of how I use it. In Michigan I live next to the largest fresh water lake system in the entire world so I may use water as I please. Here, relationships are the most important and dictate how time is oriented and used. In Zeeland, raw efficiency and productivity is the compass for how time is to be allotted and measured for success, whatever success means. I am relatively new and unknown in this place. At home, my history is known and there are shared common cultural assumptions. I am contemplative of the differences, yet some things do not change.

I am still asking the same questions of what matters in life. How can I best love God and love people? (By doing purposeful small things with great love.) What am I going to purposefully do next with this in mind? (Location, employment or lack thereof, formal or informal education, living situation, involvement in local and global church, specific social causes… vocation) Who am I doing to do this with? (Friends and family, spouse or alone) What is it that brings me deep peace, fulfilment, and passion in life? (Living in the love and peace that God offers, connecting deeply with people and God, empowering people to be more fully alive, learning and growing, having fun)

I can fill in many of the blanks, but worry about others, and always want to do my best at it. I am also convinced that it is the journey, not necessarily the destination that matters the most. Besides, it is silly to worry about the future so much that I neglect the only thing that I can actually affect: the present. I should spend my time celebrating how green the grass is here and not off over on the next hill, because I can only affect the grass standing between my toes anyway. Now, I sometimes feel: ‘if only I could go and do ______ , then my deepest inner desires will feel fulfilled’ but it hasn’t delivered yet. (Sarcastically) maybe next time!! I know that this won’t deliver, no matter how wonderful life is or could become, because in the end it comes from the inside, from the heart.

I accept and love God dearly. I accept and love the amazing people that have been placed in my life. I know with my mind and believe with my heart that God and people love me dearly, but I don’t always accept this and live this way.

When I live this way from the heart, with God and people, then I am free to live moment by moment in the purposeful journey (not the destination) and then the specifics of filling in the blanks don’t matter so much, because again, it is not necessarily the what, but how it is accomplished.

This journal entry was one for me and was not really written for others. But I’ll post it up here anyway, with the hope that some of it resonates with a few people and can be an encouragement.

Sunday Service and Presidential Visit

2007-05-28T23:54:00.000Z

On Sunday I had the pleasure and honor of worshipping with an African church. I left feeling as if I was at home. Now, I guess that this is how I should feel wherever I gather with believers to worship God, but it still caught me off guard. And oh, they know how to worship! Where has this little church been my whole life!

We walked to a church in the neighbourhood that a few other Mercyshipers attend in our church clothes. I had on my sandals, cargo pants, undershirt, and a shirt with buttons to be proper. After weaving through a few of the small dirt streets we arrived at the building of the church. There were many friendly greetings and introductions, and then we were inside. As a sign of immense hospitality, we were invited (well, almost directed) to sit up in the front on the stage. Fortunately, a few of my new friends knew to politely decline and to insist on sitting in the back. And then, the service began.

I was so impressed with the manner with which we worshipped. The people were so excited to be there. The singing came from the soul and was powerful. There was much dancing accompanying the singing. A variety of people spoke and were also involved in the gathering. And again, the hospitality was remarkable.

At the beginning of the service, brand new visitors were asked to stand up. About fifteen Mercyshipers and ten locals stood up. What happened next still makes me smile upon recollection. We were asked to come up front. So, we did. Then, the entire church began to form a line to come and greet us and shake our hands as they sang and danced, worshipping God. I shook everyone’s hand in the church in this warm welcoming, except for the cute little kids who were a little shy to offer a hand up. What hospitality!

The offering was done in a similar way. We danced and sang as we all filed by the offering basket up front. We were joyful givers!

From all of this singing and dancing, it became a little toasty in our church. Add to this that it seems to always be hot here, that I was wearing long pants, and that I’m from Michigan, and you have one sweaty pig! The sweat that dripped off of my hair onto my cheek tickled as it trickled down. My back seemed to form a small river of the stuff too. By the end of the service, there was a Scott-sized bum print left on the wooden bench where I sat. It was an honor to worship with the body of Christ here in Liberia. I will look forward to next Sunday when I will be able to go again.

A few UN troops guard the dock

The motorcade arrives

The President stepping out of the car

In other news, the president of Liberia visited our vessel today! President Madame Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf came for a tour of the M/V Africa Mercy and to meet the crew. Security was quite tight! There were UN troops, police, and other government agents protecting the surrounding area. I am getting used to seeing assault rifles all over the place, but it still perks my attention when I see them. (After typing this last sentence, I looked down out the window to see a UN troop riding a children’s bicycle down the dock that resembles a Big Wheel with his assault rifle casually sitting in his lap.) Anyway, I was sitting directly in front on her, five rows back when she spoke to us! She set aside the speech that was written for her, to address us personally. She thanked us deeply for the work that we are doing, and that we do it in the way that we do. She impressed me. She was very kind, gracious, and articulate as she spoke to us. She is a brilliant woman and seems to be doing good things for this nation.

God is Good

2007-05-26T20:47:00.000Z

The past four days have been so wonderful. God has been good to me. So much has happened in the last four days that they have become a blur to me. I have been on the go since our arrival. And through all of this, the peace in my heart has been very real.

I stepped out into the open air on deck seven of the M/V Africa Mercy on Wednesday morning at 5:30am to see the sunrise over Monrovia. The first thing that I noticed was that the air held a distinct smell. The air of Monrovia smells like a campfire of pine wood and pine needles with a hint of burning rubber. There were also a few dugout canoes with small sails out in the water. They were fishing. At a distance, we sighted the Anastasis, the vessel that we were sailing to meet. As we approached, it grew larger and larger. With time we could see all of the crew standing either next to the railings or on the dock. There were drums and singing and dancing. Once we were close enough, we cheered together. It was grand. There was much to celebrate; the Africa Mercy had finally arrived! So many people had waited so long and had worked so hard to make this happen.

Out on the dock I was reunited with a friend from college that I had not seen for two and a half years- Steph. I have been following her adventures with Mercy Ships in Ghana and Liberia through her blog for the last three months. She has helped me navigate the waters of the application process, but more than this, she has helped me prepare for living purposefully in this land. Later, in the evening, she guided me on a tour of the Anastasis, a ship that I have heard a great deal about, and finally was able to meet.

On Thursday, I devoured my first Mango here. The local people call them plumbs. I’m not sure why though. Oh, it was delicious. I say that I devoured it because by the end of my tastebud sensation, juice was dripping all over my hands, beard, napkin, and plate. Yum Yum.

In the afternoon, four of us ventured out into one of the local markets. Three of us were newbies. One of us had been in Liberia for quite some time. It was an experience riding with eight of us in a taxi the size of an old Nissan Sentra. The rest was a blur of sights and smells that words would do a dismal job of articulating. It is said that a picture is worth a thousand words. If I had some, I would offer them. Unfortunately it is better for me to not carry a camera with me when I go out, so I don’t. What I can say is that I’m learning a lot here, and have a long way to go.

In the evening the Mercy Ships crew came together to worship on the Anastasis one last time. It was a wonderful time of worshiping through singing, praying, and sharing where all the Anastasis has been for the last 25 or so years of missional service. Again, it was a time of celebration for the community here, and for me. I felt so at home and at peace as if I was at Cran-Hill Ranch or at the Gathering at Hope College or at Mars Hill. Afterwards we ate ice cream together and talked for a long time. It was good.

Yesterday I had the privilege of venturing out into a series of remote villages with Pam who works with our community development services here, and with Ann who was also along to learn. We visited a few wells that World Vision had helped the community dig and a few that Mercy Ships had coordinated as well. Beyond this, I am still processing everything that I saw and experienced. It is a lot for me. I will need more time. What I will say was that the people are so incredibly hospitable and genuinely friendly. And also, in the conversations that our group had we were asked on two occasions to pray for specific requests. One time was at the request of an amazing teacher in the village. He asked us to pray that as he teaches that the students will learn and be empowered. In particular, that those who were child soldiers would learn new ways and forget those other experiences. The other request for prayer was from a respected woman in the community who is suffering from Malaria right now.

Today I meandered through a different open market with Steph and four others. Again, the people here are so friendly. We had a great time people watching. On our way a few people purchased some cloth for clothes. We also picked up a few plumbs (mangos), coconuts, and tiny peppers that looked good. We bought our peppers from a little kid who was walking around with a basket on his head. When we asked how much they were, the little guy was quite confused. It was probably because of our funny American accents here. Anyway the confusion never left, but a little crowd of mostly children gathered. In the end, we offered to pay him too much (which wasn’t too much for us.) After we gave him the money, another child said that we had paid too much and gave us some of it back. In the end, Steph gave it to him to keep. I was amazed at how honest and straightforward the people were, everywhere. Everywhere we went, there was no bartering and no one inflated their prices for us because we were white. Many people saw us and immediately asked if we where from Mercy Ships. I asked one man, Alfred, how he knew that we were from Mercy Ships. He said that the Africa Mercy had arrived two days ago, and that he was waiting for us to make it out of the port. He said that last year his brother had been helped in an operation. Even our taxi driver who drove us home knew before we said a word. He said that he listens to the BBC here and that they told him about it. Also, about four times, groups of people would look at me and say ‘Jesus, Jesus’. They thought that I looked like Jesus! When I asked why, they replied that it was my hair. I would smile and tell them that ‘No, Jesus had dark skin like you’. But then fifteen minutes later, someone else would feel the same way. I just laughed. I must have looked Palestinian today.

I am well. I have a tremendous amount on my mind and heart right now, but God has been good to me. He has been very close the past few days. And for this, I am thankful.

Tomorrow will be my first day walking to an African Church. I am eagerly anticipating this with excitement.

Off the Coast of Liberia

2007-05-22T21:07:00.001Z

Our crew is excited right now. I am excited right now, for in less than twelve hours we shall sail into Monrovia, Liberia. I cannot wait to step foot in Africa.

I feel at peace right now. Tonight we gathered on the bow of our vessel as the sun began to set into the deep blue sea. It was still. We worshipped. Singing and praying and gazing out over the still waters we worshipped the Lord in thankfulness. It was a special moment for our crew. It was a special moment for me. A peace sank in that has been absent for a week or so. It was, and continues to be, one of those times when everything just seems right, and in its place. A time to be gentle and humble, and thankful, because life is Good. I celebrate that my heart may be in this posture as a new chapter of this journey begins.

Sailing and Sea Legs

2007-05-22T21:01:00.000Z

I have really enjoyed this whole sail. As time progressed, it kept getting better and better on the open seas. As we left Blyth there was the initial thrill of actually sailing. And then, the idea became a reality that I hadn’t yet grown my sea legs. I only had sea stumps. This became more interesting after leaving the Netherlands and sailing through the Bay of Biscay. I alluded that we hit some rough waters, but didn’t want to exaggerate anything.

Well, after the storm had passed, some information was shared with us that I felt would be worth passing along. We experienced “force 10 winds (55-63mph storm force winds with very high waves with long overhanging crests)”. I asked one of the experienced officers on duty to estimate the height of the waves. He guessed 5-7 meters. Also, our ship rocked aggressively from side to side because the waves were not hitting us straight on. We maxed out our roll from side to side at a whopping 27 degrees. (And this was before it shot across and rolled this far to the other side!) But sailing was not always this rough.

After the storm, the waters became still, the sun came out, and it became toasty out. And it has continued to get hotter and hotter ever since. I guess that the creatures in the ocean like it, because they keep coming out. I have seen lots of floating jellyfish by day, and glowing jellyfish at night. As our ship comes on them, they panic and try to scare us off by lighting up. As pretty as it is, it doesn’t work. They get even brighter as they are launched into the air by the water off the bow! I have also watched dolphins playing by the front of the vessel and splashing around, porpoises leaping out of the water, into the air, and landing on their sides, and three whales cruising along. It sent chills down my spine at first when I saw the dorsal fins flopping around in the water. I thought they were sharks. They sent puffs of mist up as they breathed. It looked like a the midst that comes out of a super soaker when it is out of water, only much more so. It sounds about the same too. And last but not least: flying fish. They also are startled when our ship bears down on them (I sure would be) so they get up speed and leap up out of the water and fly away like a paper airplanes. Some are little three or four inch ones. Others are probably about a foot long. Some are off by themselves. Others are in schools of ten or more. They are impressive.

I have enjoyed sailing and will miss the beauty of the open seas. After two weeks of it, I really don’t even notice the rocking any more, however gentle or rough it is. The problem will now be to make the land stop moving when I am firmly planted on it. I guess I have grown my sea legs after all.

A Photo Journal Of the Africa Mercy

2007-05-19T11:08:00.000Z

The BBC created this photo journal of our vessel a few weeks ago. For a quick walk around my home, click here.

On My Bed

2007-05-18T23:10:00.000Z

I cleared off my counter to create space for my brand-new-to-me old computer so that I may type. Looking around, I realize that I have a collection of tools here that I use often that shed some light on life on the Arica Mercy for me.

Purple bed spread. First I would like to note that I did not select the color of this puppy! It was chosen for me before I arrived. My bed spread is an English thing, a Duve'. The cover comes off with the loosening of a few buttons that it may be washed. The faithful Duve' has kept me warm in England, and continues to now that the air conditioning is turned on. I can now call my room 'The Icebox' again! This is a good thing

Bunk beds. That's right. I'll have a bunkmate one of these days.

Doxycycline tablets aka Anti-Malaria Meds. The rainy season is just beginning in Liberia. Besides, we're on the water. And the Ottawa County Public Health Department said that I wouldn't need anything... (Over a million people die of the disease every year.)

Alarm clock. 5:45am comes early every week day for me. (Well, this is actually quite late six time zones away, depending on how to look at it.) Good thing that my alarm clock is there to greet me.

Carpet fuzzies. Everything in my cabin is new, including the carpet. So, like Michigan sand after a day at the beach, there are blue carpet fuzzies on and in everything, except for my belly button. I don't have much of a bellybutton, and it has a hard enough time collecting lint, let alone carpet fuzz.

Head lamp. I used to hear that our ship got quite dark when the electricity went out. Then they tested the emergency generators. Now I know that it's really dark when they shut the power off. It is a little safety precaution.

Hand lotion. I wash my hands often while working in the galley. This keeps them nice and not chapped.

Digital camera. A wonderful tool to share memories with others on the other side of the Atlantic, to keep memories fresh, and to have fun with!

Battery charger. Power outlets provide electricity that alternates at 50Hz, not 60Hz like back home, hence a European style charger. This keeps my CD player and digital camera going.

Email address. People come and go with Mercy Ships as their time of service comes to an end. This is one of many email addresses that I have already collected as people leave.

Peanut butter sandwich. My late night snack. (It is gone now!) The Galley closes after dinner so the only way to have a mini-meal is to make it earlier in the day.
CD player with Jars of Clay CD. I really enjoy music. The band Jars of Clay has actually served with a group called Blood:Water Mission that works in similar places in Africa. Their songs resonate within me as they articulate many of the lessons I am learning right now specifically with regards to Africa and faith

A Brief History Lesson

2007-05-18T22:42:00.000Z

I just returned from watching a documentary on the recent history of Liberia. Wow.

Fourteen years of civil war, beginning in 1989. I had just begun elementary school in 1989.

Charles Taylor. Anyone who has watched the movie Lord of War has seen a thinly veiled reference of him. His court date for for crimes against humanity is in a few weeks.

A peace agreement was reached in October 2003. I had just begun a year of service in La Villita, Chicago.

The first free elections were held in October 2005. I had just begun working as a youth pastor.

I have just begun the final stretch of this sail and will soon arrive in Liberia. A few days later the president of the country will come and visit us.

Try to wrap you mind around this present reality. Each year the Human Development Index ranks the world's countries according to their degree of development. Niger sits on the bottom of this list as number 177. Liberia hasn't made the list yet, because there isn't yet much to report. About 70% of the people in the country live off of less than one American dollar each day. About 80% of the population is currently unemployed. Monrovia used to be a war zone four years ago. The remaining bullet holes are a vivid reminder of this. There is need for food, clean drinking water, basic health care... an infrastructure.

The UN has established security with a peacekeeping force of about 17,000 troops. The United States has helped fund a large portion of this operation. In addition, I heard on the news a few months ago that we have forgiven Liberia whatever financial debt it owed the U.S. Now, the country was organized in 1847 when some liberated American slaves sailed to Africa to form this nation. I am told that to this day the people feel a close connection with America, like they are the 51st state.

Because of the security the UN provides, there is a community of Non-Government Organizations present who are serving with the people. Oxfam, Red Cross, Doctors Without Borders, and World Vision are a few familiar groups that Mercy Ships serves with in Liberia. I hear that they are doing beautiful things there and look forward to witnessing it firsthand.

I share all of the grim challenges of the country not to belittle it in any way but to articulate a few of the ways that it is different from back home. I would not want anyone to describe my home in this manner, especially someone who has never stepped foot there. I mean all of this in respect acknowledging that I have a great deal to learn. I simply hope to share what I learned tonight.

Canary Islands

2007-05-14T20:57:00.000Z

The Africa Mercy in Santa Cruz as seen from the top of a tall hill

We arrived in Santa Cruz this afternoon. Decked out in shorts, sandles, and sunscreen, it was one small step for most of the crew…one giant leap for Scott off the gangway on to solid ground. By the way, they speak Spanish here! It was good to greet people with “Hola” and “Bueno” again.

This island was formed by a volcano so it is very tall and steep, and rocky. Just out the window at the top of the steps I climb in the morning is a large, relatively vertical hill. I decided to climb it. An hour later, I was through the town and up on the top of the hill. I appreciated observing the people and the culture in this place. In many parts, I felt like I was in Mexico again from the artecture, the spoken language, and the way that the houses were built so close to each other, and into the hillside. Today was a good day.

It was announced that we will be in Santa Cruz until Thursday morning. This gives us a chance to get the vessel ready for the final stretch of the journey, and an opportunity to take a day of rest on land one last time. This means that we should float into Liberia in a mere eight days! It will be a radical shift. Tomorrow is our last day of unrestricted water usage before we begin our rationing of water to arrive in Monrovia with as much as possible. Because we will need it. Besides, I imagine that any water that we do not need will end up coming out of a public water spicket in some neighbourhood with a line of people waiting with plastic buckets. Filtered water is still needed in Monrovia. Before this begins, I will take one last marathon shower tomorrow, and thoroughly enjoy it.

Here are my travels thus far. Blyth, England. Rotterdam, Netherlands. Santa Cruz, Canary Islands, Spain. Next stop: Liberia.

Here is where we current are parked for the moment.

"X" marks the spot.

Blue

2007-05-13T20:40:00.000Z

I waved to Africa today. Morrocco to be more specific.

When the Africa Mercy sailed out of Blyth a hundred or so people came out to see us off. They waved at us. And we waved back. Its not so much that you wave to anyone in particular, but that collectively you wave back and forth. Its like being on a float in a parade where you wave rather aimlessly. Anyway, when we arrived in the Netherlands, it was the same thing. Waving. And I have continued this tradition of aimless waving for the fun of it. I waved goodbye to England, and to the Netherlands. I have waved to France, Portugal, Spain. And today for the first time: Morocco. Now, I haven’t technically seen the last four, but this is beside the point. They’re still there.

There is water everywhere. Blue everywhere. And it is beautiful. North, South, East, and West: just water. No other ships, or airplanes, or even airplane trails. It is great.

To the East

To the West

It is at times like this that I cannot help but realize how small I am here on Earth.

The Sail Continues

2007-05-10T20:10:00.000Z

Europe has come and gone already. The last time I sat down to write I was skipping over wimpy waves down the East coast of England. Well friends, I am now lurching through the massive waves of the Bay of Biscay, where my computer mouse moves back and forth on it’s own to the sway of the ship, where the sun is setting to the West, where I can wave to France on the East, and where the wind and waves are so bad that we have been commanded to stay inside. But guess who was outside a little, gripping on to the railing above the bridge for sweet dear life a few hours prior to the announcement! What a rush.

The view out my window at the top of the steps

The Netherlands was a beautiful country from the few puzzle pieces that I saw of it. The people there were vibrant and alive. They dressed expressively, were hospitable, and were simply beautiful. Quick rundown on Rotterdam where I was: Rotterdam is Europe’s largest port. It was bombed to smithereens by the Germans in World War II. It was rebuilt and now has a remarkable infrastructure, architecture, and public transit system. Being in the Netherlands, everything is quite flat, like Iowa. The Africa Mercy pulled up right into downtown Rotterdam, next to it’s famous bridge, the Erasmus. It is the main artery into the city from the South.

Waiting patiently at a bicycle stoplight

On Sunday, I borrowed a bicycle from one of the local Mercy Ships volunteers and went for a three hour ride out of the city. In the Netherlands, they have black streets for the cars, and red streets next to them for bicycles. There are stoplights for both! It makes biking easy and fun. It was brief, but a good way to get a feel for the land. There are canals everywhere to drain the water that is then pumped back into the ocean to prevent the land from flooding. Much of it is below sea level!

It is now Thursday. We left on Tuesday. We hope to arrive in the Canary Islands off of Africa on Monday afternoon to refuel, stock up on fresh water, and to have the hull inspected by some divers! After this, we sail to Liberia. I do not know how long I’ll be a part of the crew. I’m not even exactly sure what my role will be. I do know that I am deeply excited for what lies ahead.

Waving Goodbye to England

2007-05-04T20:38:00.000Z

We are sailing! As we plow through the water at 18 knots our home sways back and forth, back and forth. As a swift elevator seems to pull you down as it accelerates upwards only to let you float slightly as it the top of your assent before the doors open, so does the chair that I am now sitting. Twelve hours into it, I am beginning to get used to it. Earlier I was a little tired from it and laid down in my bed to take a brief siesta. I was surprised to find that even my bed sways to the rhythm of the waves. It makes complete sense, but I am just used to my bed being a place where everything stops when I turn out the lights, crawl under the soft covers, and sink my head into the pillow. When we walk in groups down the halls, we move to the left and right in unison like a school of fish. It is quite comical.
I waved goodbye to the coast of England today as we sailed out into the open waters.. Tomorrow we arrive in Rotterdam in the Netherlands. I will be close to the province of Zeeland, the motherland! I look forward to walking the streets. I expect the culture to be foreign, yet familiar. Krijin tells me that there are lots of tulips there.

I am well. I am tired on the inside, but have been able to have some good conversations with friends here, and will receive my day off tomorrow as a gift. Goodnight.

And Soon, We Will Sail

2007-05-03T21:49:00.000Z

In less than twelve hours we sail. The crew is bubbling with excitement. I am ready for this. After dinner tonight we gathered as a crew for a celebration. Afterwards, I hiked up to the top of the vessel, above the bridge to overlook the city one last time, and to pray. This was a picture that I took. If you follow the massive wind generators down the port to the horizon, the last one marks the opening to the North Sea. Tomorrow we will row, row, row our boat, gently down the stream, turn right just pass the final propeller, and we’ll be on our way to Africa!

Sinking In

2007-05-02T21:00:00.000Z

I am at a place now where this is becoming my home. I no longer feel as if I am on a vacation taking a trip to some foreign place. My former home on 15 E Central downtown Zeeland is just an empty house now devoid of the people and possessions that made it my home. In addition, I intend on staying now for at least another month with the Africa Mercy sailing through the Netherlands to Spain and ultimately to Liberia. Although I do not completely understand what awaits for me, for us, in Liberia, I am eagerly anticipating what it might be. If we pass all of the intrusive inspections and copious certifications we have been bringing upon ourselves, we will sail in two days… I stood up on top of the bridge last night in the quiet away from the bustle of the engines below. Overlooking the quiet city lights and still waters my mind and heart wandered through much of this as it all sank in- the stepping stones of the past four years up to this point, the present transition of this becoming home, and the anticipation of what could be the future in Liberia.

Earlier in the evening I watched a football match (soccer) on deck three with Rodrigo. Deck three is the hospital. We were undergoing a test of the emergency generator so most of the lights were off along with the majority of the electricity sockets. Being resourceful chaps, we meandered downstairs to the hospital ward where there are vital outlets for vital medical equipment that stay on when our power fails, for vital times, times such as this! We ran a 75 meter extension cord from our precious outlet down the hall in the direction of our secondary goal: television reception. In the cargo hold we opened one of the deck’s few opening portals to hang our bunny eared-antennae out. With much fidgeting and a 30 meter antennae cord later, we watched our semi-final match in a medical examination room on the doctor’s stools.

On one hand, I am in England where we have an abundance of fresh water. We can go to the store if we need any sort of food for the galley. It is quite a materially developed place. On the ship I do not have much space to call my own, but my needs are more than met. When this puppy docks in Monrovia, my cabin will stay the same, and so will the vessel, but the external surroundings will be drastically different. We will likely have to ration our water. Three minute showers. One load of laundry every other week. It will be hot there. It will smell differently. Our ship and crew will begin to do what it was intended for.

This means that on deck three, the exam rooms, operating theatres, and wards will continue to be rapidly setup for the next few weeks. The stuff being stored there will be moved elsewhere. Equipment will be setup, sterilized, and calibrated. The rooms will cease to be a potential location for resourceful football watching because patents in need will begin to flow, and then flood through. And this is a good thing.

It is a transition for our ship, and for me. In my mind and heart I am getting used to this ship being my home just as it moves again. England is one place for it to be. Liberia is another. I began this journey in anticipation of learning from and being changed from people in Africa. I also began this journey to serve with, and to serve, Mercy Ships- an organization of people seeking to creatively, intentionally love others holistically. I am here to interact with people who live very differently materially and socially than what I call ‘normal’ for myself. I am excited yet fearful of this. It is unknown. It will mess with me in everyway. It will not feel warm-and-fuzzy good. But it will be Good. A new step of this journey, this race will begin.

I feel like I am standing on the starting line of a distance race- butterflies in my chest, adrenaline shooting jitterly through my muscles, chills in my shoulders, heart racing and pausing, racing and pausing. My mind rehearsing what the course looks like noting the mile markers. I have trained for this voyage with Mercy Ships over and over studying social justice and life and faith in school, living in intentional communities, engaging my neighborhood in Chicago, and giving what I had at First Reformed Church. Wonderful people have been placed in my life at every step of the way. And God has been good to me, guiding me every step of the way, and has taught me a great deal about myself and life and what really matters.

(pause)

So, after having typed all of this, I realize that it may sound a little dramatic, but it’s what I’m working through right now. Some days are wonderful here. Some are tough. Some are both. Some are neither. It’s more fun to post fun pictures and stories because then you’re not putting yourself out there. But this is where I am right now. I hope that is connects with where you are at.

For more on what may lie ahead in Liberia, feel free to check out my friends blog at http://africaahoy.blogspot.com. (Guess where the idea for this blog’s name came from!) Steph has been in Liberia with Mercy Ships for a month now and has written two particularly poignant entries on April 23.

I thank you for following along, for your support, and for your prayers in this journey.

A Few Connections Back Home

2007-04-27T19:01:00.000Z

Today was another day off, so I made sure to wander through the town because we are scheduled to sail in one week from today! As I meandered, many things caught my attention and reminded me of important people back home. You can take the Michigander out of Michigan (to England), but not the Michigan (and the relationships) out of the Michigander!

Tomorrow the galley gets a break because we are ordering pizza from Pizza King for dinner! There was a sketchy Pizza King in Big Rapids where us Cran-Hill Ranchers would go out when our campers had headed home. I couldn’t help but pose with it!

Yes, it is true. These older adults are playing a variation of Bocce Ball in the park! At Hope, and at home (my parents’), and at home (15 E Central Ave), and a few times at church at night when no one was there, there have been many matches of Bocce Ball with good friends. I hope to still be playing when I am older.

I also went for a run along the North Sea again. During my run I went underneath some large power lines. As I listened to the lines crackle, I noticed that they were at a different pitch than I am used to. In the US, the power alternates at a 60Hz hum. Here, it is 50Hz. I knew that this was something that Andy Huisman and Peter VanWylen would have also noticed, and appreciated.

There is a small market with open stands in the town centre of Blyth where one lady was selling buttons! It reminded me of Grandma, because she has an amazing collection of buttons that us grandkids use with card games when we come up to the farm.
Double Decker busses in the streets are a regular occurrence here. I watched this one wiz around the roundabout remembering my days driving the good ol’ First Reformed Church bus/tank. There were many great voyages on that bus, some really hot, others really cold, but regardless, great. It was an honour to drive for the amazing students in the youth group. We have shared some rich experiences together.

He fell like a sack-a-potatos

2007-04-25T21:26:00.000Z

It has been a little while since last writing. I have enjoyed the past week, and hope to share a few specific experiences. But before this, I hope to articulate a few reoccurring thoughts that I have been chewing on. The first is the very act of writing a journal online. To me, a journal is a method record events, but also to sift through my thoughts, desires in my heart, and reflect on how this journey of life has been, is, and seems to be going. It is something I can be brutally honest in, because I know that I am the only one using it. On the other hand, ‘online’ to me is an impersonal place, where anyone can see everything. It is a sterile place where all of the walls are made of glass. So the idea of journaling online is something that I am getting used to. I am ok with sharing events that have transpired, but am reluctant to, well… journal. Regardless, this is a wonderful means to communicate across the Atlantic and to begin to stay in touch with!

The second reoccurring thought is more of a question: How long am I going to serve with Mercy Ships? I enjoy it here, the crew is good, and I continue to dream of seeing Africa. I desire to learn from what Mercy Ships does while serving in Liberia- digging wells for water, micro lending for economic development, HIV/AIDS awareness, not to mention hundreds of free medical operations where tumors are lifted off, blinding cataracts are removed, and the like. Yet, I cannot stay here forever. And, I miss the relationships back home. But what this really boils down to right now is whether or not to sail on May 4.

Initially, I planned on sailing down to Liberia, to be there for about ten days, and to then fly home to be back for the summer (important weddings, maybe camp, and who knows what else.) However the schedule for the sail has been continually pushed back, so it is not possible to see Africa and partake in these other events. The question becomes: to step off of the ship and return home on the 4th of May, or to sail with Mercy Ships to Africa (stopping in ports in the Netherlands and Spain) and to come back to the U.S., sometime. I would appreciate your prayers for direction in this and for those others involved and impacted by this decision. Thank you.

On to some recent experiences-

I watched my first football match (i.e. soccer game) in a pub. I felt like I was in the stadium! There was standing room only, and it was loud! We freely insulted the vile team from Chelsea (boo!) and cheered for local, heroic Newcastle. I learned some new lingo as well. When reading, make sure to try it in your best British accent:
‘He fell like a sack-a-potatos’ –describes when a player from the other team intentionally falls looking for a penalty
‘He needs to check his shoe’ –when a player kicks the ball wildly
In addition to this, I was amused to hear the locals using the word ‘bloody’ at random. (It just sounds funny.) At the end, having bonded as a group, we said our goodbyes and hiked out. Unfortunately I carried the smell of John’s cigar smoke with me on my church clothes all the way home to the ship. But, it was worth witnessing a true football match in a pub- a cultural experience.

I travelled to Newcastle and back for 3£ (6$) by bus. I enjoyed looking out my window for an hour and 15 minutes at the North Sea, the fields, roundabouts, horses, and everything else dotting the English countryside. Upon my arrival, I wandered through the city centre by foot for three hours. I was intrigued by how the new mixes with the old. I felt that the picture below describes this well. On the left are remnants of the Newcastle city wall, dating from the 13th century. On the ground are old, slippery cobble stones. To the right are some older buildings. And in the distance are two massive cranes constructing a sky scraper.

Here is my reflection in a piece of art. Behind me is the city wall weaving through the city. In front of me is a theatre.

Later on I was informed by some knights who emerged from the nearby pub that it was Saint George’s Day, the patron saint of England. The lads ran around with their plastic swords and shields valiantly defending the wall. The English film Monty Python and the Holy Grail came to mind as they posed for me. As I left I told them to be careful not to lop anyone’s arm off.

I hopped off the bus back in Blyth and was walking down the street on my way back to the ship when I recognized two smiling faces strolling towards me, Brianna and Sean. They were out to feast upon a classic British cultural meal of fish and chips and invited me to join them. So, I did. Here we are hoping that the grease doesn’t clog our arteries too much. But hey, as the box says, this is ‘traditional fish and chips from your favourite fish shop’.

We survived. And so did the pigeons that we fed the leftovers to.

Is it Milk?

2007-04-19T21:14:00.000Z

Today was my day off again. It was wonderful. After breakfast, I returned to my bed, and drifted in and out of sleep, in a relaxed, warm, peaceful state. I felt like I was in a hot tub. I would pray a little, drift off to sleep, wake up five minutes later, and repeat. When I did arise for good, I head to a local coffee shop for a caramel soymilk latte. Mmmm. I journaled, ate some chocolate that I had hidden in my backpack, nursed my coffee, and eventually had a great discussion with a few other people in the place who noticed that I talk weirdly. (Actually they all talk weirdly but don’t know it!)
In other news, our special preservative-chocked milk on board expires in a mere ten months! We had better start drinking the stuff! Does anyone else begin to wonder when milk expires eleven months after it is processed? Good thing that we found a meagre stash of soymilk! My stomach is delighted to know that it shall be lactose free for a while again! All of this reminds me of a discussion I once had with my cousins in the days of ‘I Can’t Believe its Not Butter’ with Fabio. Well, there was a generic brand of margarine named ‘Is it Butter?’ We weren’t sure. Is it butter? Is it cardboard? Or plastic? Anyway, is this really milk?

This evening, I ran the soundboard for our ship gathering. It was a challenge to setup and was fun. Jim DeBoer would have been proud of me. (He is the man who pretty much everything, but in particular does all of the technical stuff at First Reformed church.) Afterwards, it was time to offer my second guitar lesson.

And last, but not least, our ship is scheduled to depart this port for Liberia on May 4!

The Galley Crew

2007-04-16T14:53:00.000Z

I just finished off a fresh biscuit straight out of the oven as a little afternoon snack with the chef. This is one of the perks of working in the galley! Speaking of the galley, I have yet to introduce my fellow team mates and friends.

Catherine is on the far right. She is Scottish and has a wonderfully sharp accent. She works ambitiously like my mom (and keeps things just as tidy) and helps me to navigate the culture here- including tea time! Geathe is next to Catherine and is straight from South Africa. (She also has a wonderful accent.) She is very kind and laughs often. Audrey (who is looking supurb here) is our fearless and easy going Canadian chef who is next in line. She prepares phenomenal food and has a great African apron collection from Ghana. Glenn is the next one peering over Audrey’s shoulder. He is gentle, free to laugh, and has coordinated everything in our galley, and does a remarkable job of it. His family arrived a few days ago- Pam his wife, and Scott (what a great name) his 6th grade son. Pam is also just beginning to help in the galley. Their roots can be traced back to Texas. Jessica is next in line with a big smile. She is the one who just headed back to Colorado. But before doing so, she showed us all the ropes of the galley, and did a fine job of it!

In other news, our ship has been leaning to the side today. I guess this is what happens when tons and tons of fuel are loaded into one side of the ship. Nevertheless, I am still amused that my cart would roll away in the dining room, and that I would hike up one way, only to ease back down upon my return. It plays mind games with you!

Last night nine of us played sardines on decks five and six. We all felt very sophisticated in doing so, and probably got as much glee from it as the little kids around here would have. It was a good time. There was much laughter.

Dutch Bingo

2007-04-12T20:19:00.000Z

Greetings from Blyth, England, where I officially observed the legendary custom of tea time today, where my home moved again to the other side of the river, and where I now work with a man from the province of Zeeland in the Netherlands! Krijin (pronounced somewhere between crane and cry’in) joined our galley crew as an assistant chef. We were talking over lunch today when we found our connection! I attempted to play Dutch bingo (because this is what you do when you find a connection in West ‘Dutch’ Michigan) but it didn’t go so hot. 160 years of separation since the settlers left will do it.

So, my home moved again. It was a similar sensation to when one is stopped at a railroad crossing, watching a train pass by. The mind shifts back and forth between the train moving, and the sensation that the train must be stationary and they are moving. This was me as I went from moving about the ship casually glancing out a window, to plastering my face (and fingerprints) to a window taking in our progress. Our propellers also grumble and vibrate like a train makes the earth too.

My friend and fellow galley mate Jessica is leaving tomorrow to head home to a nice snowstorm in Colorado. It seems like she has been here forever (because she has been here for three more days that I have) and will be strange to adjust to her absence. She showed me the ropes of the galley and did an excellent job. We will miss her excitement, joy, and contagious smile.

Carpet Fuzzies

2007-04-11T20:51:00.000Z

I was asked about how life is on the ship regarding my cabin and the food and such. Well, the food is delicious (And I’m not just saying this because the chef is sitting directly behind me.) For breakfast we have a variety of cereal, oatmeal, fruit, juices, toast, coffee, and sometimes a treat pancakes such as this morning. Lunch is a moderate sandwich bar with sliced meat, cheeses, tomato, cucumber, onion. This is my favourite meal to set up for because it is not so very early in the morning, and it is easy to setup and take down. Dinners consist of a few cooked entrées with a salad, and sometimes dessert. I am eating very well here!

As far as living conditions, I have a cabin designed for four people all to myself! Although there is no window, I have my own bathroom, closet, and tiny living area in the back of the cabin. The carpet is new, so I keep collecting little balls of carpet fuzzies that resemble belly button lint. Everything is brand new.

I am much more settled in now, and time is going much faster. At first, everything was new to me, so I would have a challenging time shutting my mind off when I went to sleep at night. Now, the days seem to go by quickly.

Tomorrow we will be sailing back over to the other side of the river to load some more items onto the ship from a warehouse. I enjoy watching them navigate it so delicately. It is so massive, yet they can slowly walk it up to the dock (float actually.) The vessel has come a long way since I first arrived. Hopefully we will be ready to sail in a few weeks!

Sunday- Day 10

2007-04-08T19:57:00.000Z

Today began with a little sunrise church service on the top of the ship. It was a touch chilly, brief, but beautiful outside. And then, I went back to bed! Later in the morning, about 12 of us gathered for our own little service, where we each shared something. The account of the empty tomb was read, we sang a few songs, a few people shared some of the things that they have been learning, and we had communion together. I share this because it was very natural given how long we have all known each other, it was honest, and essentially, it is what I feel that church should be (or really is)- a time of scripture and prayer that involves all of us, but also about understanding the Good News in the past, applying it in the present, and being intentional to go forward with it. For me, it was refreshing.

On a different note, I wanted to share a few of the day to day things that make life here distinct:
-I have counted at least eight other people who also take the freedom to wear socks and sandals!
-When I leave the ship and come back later, the gangway (the ramp into the ship) drastically changes angles. I can leave and walk down an almost smooth ramp. And then come back later to regular stairs.
-When an engine runs, the floor of the 6th deck here at the computer lab vibrates so much that I need to keep my CD player on my lap, or it won’t play!
-Here in English, English, cookies are biscuits, pants are trousers, underpants are pants, tummies are kai’tes, and carts are trolleys.
-When you go running and smile and nod at people, or wave, or say ‘hello’, they say ‘cheers’. Who knew?

All is well!

Friday April 6, 2007, 11:06am, or Friday 6/4/07 1106 as it would be written here.

2007-04-06T14:41:00.000Z

It is Friday today, and a good one at that! It is a beautiful day outside, a beautiful day in Christian tradition and celebration, and a beautiful day here for me! I have most of the day off and the internet is finally up now so I can actually write home! Hurrah! I will do my best to recount my experience thus far, but am afraid that I am going to mush some events together. Although I have been on the Africa Mercy for almost exactly for one week, it seems like I have been here much longer because everything is so different! But ah, it is great. So, without further ado…

Thursday March 29

I woke up nice and early to be ready for a long day, encouraged by celebrating with the youth group and with friends. Then, Tony, Brian, and I had our last breakfast in 15 E Central Ave. together at our dinner table. I packed up all of my stuff into my backpacking backpack and was delighted that it all fit. This allowed me to take my guitar along as my second bag to check in at the airline. Around noon, I met up with Mom and Dad and we were off to O’Hare International Airport together. Wanting to squeeze in as much American culture as possible before my departure, we feasted on some good old McDonald’s burgers. And then, after taking a picture together, we said our goodbyes and I was on my way.

I enjoyed walking around the airport terminal, listening to all of the different tongues being spoken. I was fascinated by such rich cultural diversity.

My first flight was very smooth. The food was good, there were movies, and I was on the aisle. I even slept for one hour. However, I also found that I lost six or seven hours of time by the time I landed, and that I was worrying that my bum must have become flat after sitting on a plane for eight hours! And sometime during the flight, it turned into Friday.

Friday March 30

The Amsterdam airport was another place of great diversity. In addition, most people were speaking in Dutch! I found cute little touristy wooden shoe key chains and fresh tulips outside of West Michigan! I also found the airport security people to be a little less uptight than the American ones. So, I joked with them, and they let me take a picture of my backpack. It looks like this!

I also purchased coffee and received change back in a small pile of Euro coins.

After my second flight I strolled out of the luggage area, anticipating using a local train, but instead found three guys holding a Mercy Ships sign! Hooray! They drove me a half hour from Newcastle to Blyth. The whole time I felt giddy like a little kid, because the traffic works so differently here, with the cars on the left hand side of the road and all. And yes, roundabouts are fun!

I arrived at the Arica Mercy stunned by its size. It is massive!

The rest of the day was pretty much blurs together for a few reasons. One, I was so excited to see this operation. Two, everything was new. Three, I had only slept for one hour. So, in a stupor aided by coffee, I met a lot of wonderful people and went to a couple meetings where I learned exciting things such as where to go if we start to sink, that our ship guards used to be in the special forces of the military, and where my room is located. And then, I climbed into bed, where the combination of caffeine, the frequent PA system tests, and my racing mind kept me from slumber. Perturbed, I surrendered and took a shower instead. After a long, soothing, therapeutic shower, I popped the door open to clear the steam out of my artificial sauna. A few minutes later, there was a frantic knocking on my door, a jingling of keys, and an inquiry ‘anyone in there?’. In my towel, I opened the door just before it was opened for me. The fire alarm had been set off by my shower! The three of us smiled, and we introduced ourselves. After a good chuckle, I thanked them for visiting my cabin, and invited them to come back whenever they wanted to. About five minutes later, the thoroughly tested PA system announced “This is your captain. When you take a shower, please keep the door closed, or it will set off the fire alarm. Thank you.” Mine was one of the first showers taken on the ship, because crew had only lived on the ship for two days! And at night, I slept very well!

Saturday April 1

I met a lot of people on Saturday. I met my friends that I would be working with in the kitchen- Glen, Jessica, Audrey, and Catherine. I also met most of the crew. On accident, I met the founder of Mercy Ships, and the captain. At different meals, I sat by each of them, and later on introduced myself, not knowing who they were. And afterwards, I would walk away smiling, because I didn’t know! I was impressed by both of them.

The atmosphere of the ship stuck out to me. There was excitement in the air, from completing sea trials, being in a new port, a large influx of new crew, people beginning to live onboard the vessel, and hey, there was even being food served up in the galley! It was a lot like when moving into college or Cran-Hill Ranch, where everything and everyone was new, and there is much setting up to do.

Sunday April 2

After fixing up breakfast in the galley, I hopped on a Mercy Ships bus, that holds 15 people, back to Newcastle for a church service. What stuck out most to me was talking with the people. They stopped for about 15 minutes in the middle of the service to eat biscuits i.e. cookies and to talk. I had a hard time understanding the British accent! After the service, a group of us walked through the streets of Newcastle. I was amazed to see brand new indoor shopping malls next to really old buildings. The cobble stone streets wove up and down, and around in all directions except for straight North, South, East, and West. Walking around, I had to be so careful with crossing the road, because the traffic is still quite confusing. It is easy to look left, and begin to step into the street, only to have a little car come zipping along on the right! And then in the middle of a bunch of stuff is this old castle, as if it is no big deal at all.

At night then, five of us played something familiar to me, a game of Settlers of Catan. It was a different twist, and a lot of fun.

Monday April 2

Food arrived. Lots of it! Using the crane, we hoisted in these blue containers to the cargo hold about the size of a 15 passenger van. They looked like giant Legos. We would then rapidly unload these pallets of food as quickly as possible with pallet jacks. We took these enormous morsels of food down the hall of deck 3, the hospital, to the tiny elevator. To get them in, we would then ram them over the little ridges in the floor, with them often tipping forward precariously. Once in, they would head down to deck 2 with the massive freezers, coolers, and dry storage area. We would then form lines to divey everything up and into its proper location. Oh, it was fun and crazy. We resembled ants, taking such a large proportions of food to our size, guiding them through and down our tunnels for later.

I also piled into a car and went shopping. I withdrew 60£ from the ATM. They look funny to me! In the store, I was fascinated by all the new brands, by trying to convert everything into American dollars, by the British accents, and by the shopping carts. The back wheels pivot too. Very bizarre for this Michigander. When purchasing my new, European battery charger (They have different shaped plugs and voltage here so I didn’t bring anything that plugs in) I greeted the cashier. She looked up with a quizzical look and inquired “You’re from the UK, no?”. Oh well for fitting in! I don’t mind.

Tuesday April 3

We sailed today, all the way to the other side of the river! It was fun to feel the ship rumble as the engines were turned on. Up on the top of the vessel, on deck 8, on top of the bridge, I watched. It was stinking cold, but stopped raining. Here is a picture of the river, and of me looking like a dufus during our venture.

We moved so that a coal ship could take our berth, and so that the crew could walk into town. So, later in the evening, six of us made our way to town to wander around and to talk together. It was great to be on land again. Fortunately, Geathe joined our galley crew today! Not only do we have another fun person to spend time with, but now life is a little more relaxed for us, and people can take days off!

Wednesday April 4

I went for a run today. If you look up Blyth, UK on Google Maps, you can find the port where our ship is at the end of Ann’s Row. (Type in Ann’s Row, Blyth, UK) I went for a trot South a ways along the coast of the North Sea down a path by Link’s Road almost to the light house by Old Hartley. I was amazed at how similar the beach is to ours in Michigan, with the sand, and the dunes. The difference is that there are majestic wind generators here.

I also went for a tour of the engine room! Wow. We’ve got four V16 engines, each about ten feet high that rev to about 700 rpms. Each one is good for roughly 4000 horsepower. At full power, we don’t get the best gas milage though. We would burn about 60 tons of fuel a day. Good thing we rarely do this! Now, fuel here is 88 pents a liter. This translates to about 6 or seven dollars a gallon… Imagine filling up this single tank…

The crank shaft (the rod connected to the propeller) is about as round as a beach ball! It was amazing.

Thursday April 5

I began the celebration of my day off by sleeping. And then, I slept a little more. I arose relaxed twelve hours later, just in time for lunch! I later walked through the market and bought some Cadbury chocolate. It is sooooo good. The day was on opportunity to slow down for me by reading, talking with people, and getting to pray at length for the first time in a while.
My typical day begins at 0540 so that I am in the galley by 0600. From here we get breakfast ready until 0630, and then take a break to eat. We then clean up and get lunch fixings ready. Sometimes we’ll elect to take a 45 minute break in the morning after we’re ready, other times not. We then come back at 11ish until 2ish. Then at 4pm until 7:30ish we’ll do the dinner thing! So it is a random day, and good to rest for a little bit.

I very much enjoy working with the galley crew. We get along really well, have fun singing while we cut veggies, don’t mind being silly, and are an encouraging bunch. I feel uplifted after being with our crew.

In the off times (and while working sometimes, and while eating for that matter) I get to spend time with the rest of the crew here. I am fortunate to have a lot of people to spend time with. One of the things that I was most anxious about was being lonely. This has not been the case at all, because most others are also looking for something to do. However, it is quite different to be in a place where people don’t know your story- where you’ve been and such. I don’t know how I feel about that.

Friday April 6

And then back to today, again!

A Brief Update!

2007-04-03T13:17:00.000Z

I arrived safe and sound on Friday here on the Africa Mercy, my new home! The people here are wonderful! The atmosphere around here is much like the dorms in college with everyone moving in. New people are constantly arriving, there is stuff being installed and moved everywhere, and things are starting to take shape. Speaking of things coming together, the internet was just connected, so I apologize for taking so long. In addition, our connection will be severed in a few moments, when we set sail... ...all the way to the other side of the river to a new berth. Once our ship is settled in a little better tonight, I intend on recounting some fun stories thus far, and share a few pictures!

Safe Arrival in Amsterdam

2007-03-30T05:53:00.000Z

I am currently typing away in the Amsterdam airport. It looks a lot like Holland here, except that most people actually speak Dutch. And yes, for those of you who are curious, they do sell fresh tulips, and wooden shoe keychains in the gift stores here! Next stop, Newcastle England!

Bon Voyage

2007-03-29T14:07:00.000Z

I will be leaving Zeeland Michigan in about five minutes to begin this journey to England, and then to Liberia. In light of this, here are a few bullet points!

- I hope to use this little blog as a journal to have fun with, to share stories, post pictures and such, and most importantly, to keep in touch with amazing friends and family while being away!

-I also hope to make this site a little more interesting, so please come back in a week!

-I will soon drive from Michigan to Chicago, to fly to Amsterdam, and to then fly to Newcastle, England. In England, I get to serve with an amazing group called Mercy Ships. I will be on a massive ship named Africa Mercy. The crew and I will get this ship ready for its maiden voyage with Mercy Ships for about a month. After this, we will sail it to Monrovia, Liberia to meet up with the Anastasis, the other massive ship that Mercy Ships has. Once there, we will begin to move all of the stuff from the Anastasis (the old ship) to the Africa Mercy (the new ship). Once this process begins, I intend to hop on a plane and fly back to the USA.

-My official role will be as a Dining Room Steward. This means that I get to help with the food and serving and such in the kitchen. This is a good thing, because I hear that ship crews get grumpy without food. When I'm not on duty, I will be able to check out what is on land, and what all of the other parts of the crew are doing!

-I'm leaving in such a hurry because I received a phone call on Monday morning, inviting me to be in England on Friday. (The rush is because the Africa Mercy finally was ready for sea trials. The trials began yesterday and continue into today. Once they are done, they need a crew!) I thought matter over for a day, having many conversations, praying, reflecting, and then contacted Mercy Ships saying that I would indeed join them. During the proceeding two days I got four immunizations, purchased new health insurance, bought plane tickets, changed my mailing address, post-poned my cell phone coverage (try to call me, I dare you!) and car insurance, packed for two months on a ship for two climates, and oh yea, I completely moved all of my stuff out of my apartment into my parent's basement! In all of this, I have been slightly rushed, but was able to see everyone at youth group one last time, and to celebrate with a last minute, Brian Mulder organized, going away celebration at my home. It was truly wonderful to see so many people!

-I need to go now! I hope that this fills in a few of the gaps! Please check the blog in a couple days for a better update!

Scott

Welcome

2007-03-28T21:51:00.000Z

Welcome to my blog! Updates will be coming soon. I will be leaving in T minus 23 hours.

~Scott