Day 408 or A Late Thanksgiving Post!

Well, this post has been late in coming, but it's here!

Thanksgiving is purely an American/Canadian holiday. Well, of course right? It's a celebration of the Pilgrims in America. It's amazing how many time someone would say "Thanksgiving, what's that?" And I would think "What's that? Thanksgiving??? What do you- Oh. Right. Not American. Alright, Thanksgiving is..."

Thanks to our amazing galley staff, we had a Thanksgiving feast worthy of any American home. Turkey, mashed potatos, gravy, sweet potatos, pie, just like Mom would make! (If your Mom cooked for ninety people that is!)

We decorated with tableclothes, flowers and wicker balls. The entire crew gathered to celebrate. A brief discription of the holiday and it's meaning, plus, special thanks to Larry, a reading of George Washington's Thanksgiving Prayer.
Which you can read here
http://www.earlyamerica.com/earlyamerica/firsts/thanksgiving/thankstext.html

Day 371 or Work

Somedays I love to work.

I'm not going to lie, somedays the last thing I want to do is work. Sometimes it's seven in the morning, I'm leaning against the counter watching bleary-eyed as people shuffle in like zombies from a bad b movie, complete with moans as they scoop up their breakfast. I think longingly of the bed down stairs and how I'd much rather be sleeping then watching people stare blankely at the food, their brains to tired to figure out what they want or even why they're there.

Other days, like today, I'm working hard to clean the glass doors, spraying and wiping, the paper towels turning as black as the road outside and yet the streaks still remain. Chuck walks by and comments that I should use newspaper. I decide to take him up on his offer and spend the next little while on a search for papers, which I was successful in.

Spraying down the door and wiping, the difference is clear, quite literally actually.
I've got my iPod, my musics playing, the doors are getting clean. I'm on such a roll, I nearly forget about break. When I'm done, I do the other doors on the other side. I'm so overcome by this breakthrough in cleanleness that I trek upstairs, attacking the glass upstairs.

I quite happy wiped away till I realized I had run out of paper and was forced to stop. A short break, then begin work in the dining room.

I don't always like to work, but sometimes there is nothing quite as satisfying.

Day 366 or One Year Ago Today

Can you believe it? It was a year ago today that I set foot on the ship I would soon learn to call home.For my anniversary, I decided to do a year in pictures, with each picture representing a month on board! Let's begin, shall we?


November '09 - Benin, Field Service



December '09 - Tenerife, Yearly Maintenance - The lovely girls of cabin 4418



January '10 - Tenerife, Yearly Maintenance - The fountain when you first get off the
dock



February '10 - Togo,Field Service - Marianna and Dag, part of the dental team



March '10 - Togo, Field Service - Outreach Program



April '10 - Togo, Field Service - Young girl we met at the hospitality center where patients go to finish their recovery



May '10 - Togo, Field Service - Girls dancing at the Fishing Village Church



June '10 - Togo, Field Service - Me, all prepared to go and watch eye surgery



July '10 - Togo, Field Service - FanIce man sleeping



August '10 - The sail from Togo to South Africa - Deck Seven



September '10 - South Africa, Maintence - The luggage of all those leaving for Appelsbosh



October '10 - South Africa, Maintence - Birds at the Umgeni River Bird Park



November '10 - South Africa, Maintence - Leaving the dry dock

Day 347 or Pictures!

Here are some pictures of a South African dry dock!



Side(ish) view of the ship.



Dry dock worker.



Trever working hard at keeping the deck clean from the super fine sand-blasting silt.



The base of our all important moving crane. I have no idea what we would do without it!

Day 259 or I Need...

The other day I saw a shirt that read 'I need Africa more than Africa needs me'.

It's true.

Africa doesn't need me. The moment I leave, someone else will step into my place. I am not the only yovo, I will not single-handedly change this continent. I will quickly be forgotten, no more than a passing memory. I am replaceable and forgettable.

But Africa is not. In my time here I have quickly grown to love it. It is somewhere that I will hold inside of me till the day I die.

Every time I leave the dock, I am struck by how much I love this country and in turn, ths continent.

The dust blown up by the wind, the palm trees above me. The people, thoses that smile warmly and those that stare with haunted eyes. Children playing in their torn clothes, babies crying and mothers cooking food.

The crowds in the market, everyone one yelling and talking and working. It's an overpowering force of sounds and smells and people. Venders shoving things at you, bartering for the 'best' price. The stacks of fabric that seem to wait to fall. Women getting their hair braided, men sleeping on their motercyles.The honking horn of the fan ice man, the calls of 'Etsi!' from the girls selling bags of water. The stacks of merchendice high upon their heads.

The smell of gas and smoke and dust as the cars and motercycles drive past. Families of five on zimmies and eight people in a five seater cars.

Broken down buildings or maybe half built. Faded paint, crumbling walls. Fofo's cooking, everyone waves. Maybe you just want to buy some bread. The goats are in the street and the cars scare them away. Watch the men pulling in their nets, maybe tonight they'll get to eat.

Africa has changed me and I believe for the better. It touched something deep inside of me and I am not who I once was. My heart has fallen for this beautiful place and I'll never be the same.
And maybe because it changed me, maybe I can help. Maybe I can help make a change for the better.

Day 235 or What If?

Since getting here to Mercy Ships, I've been doing a lot of thinking. I've found that being here is strengthening my faith, but not in the way that most people would think. I grew up in a wonderful Christian home, something I am very thankful for. A close knit Church family and being home schooled meant that I lived in a very small world.

Since coming to Africa, I have learned so many things, things about the world, things about people, things about me. As I spend time with people, I learn about them, their lives, their beliefs. And as I learn about other's beliefs, I've started to question my own.

I'm not questioning what I believe, I'm questioning why I believe.

I've talked with those who believe very differently from me. And when I do, I disagree. And when I disagree, I'm trying to figure out why I do.

One of the things that I've been looking at is the way we separate our faith from our lives. The way that we chose to live out our faith, but only in the areas that please us. We tithe, we pray, we go to church. That is good. We give our Sundays to our God. But what about the music we listen to? What about the movies we watch? The things we talk about?

Gandhi once said ''I would be a Christian if it wasn't for the Christians!'' What did he mean by that? For a faith that seems to pride itself on loving one another and being merciful, that doesn't seem to make any sense. If we were to act out our faith, every moment of every day, not just on Sunday mornings, then don't you think that the world, not to mention our lives, would be a better place? Why do we take Christianity out of politics? Don't we want our leaders to exhibit love and mercy? Then we would we banish the very morals we claim to support? If we take Christianity out of our schools, then what will we teach? If we take Christianity out of our movies, then what will we see?

Why would we separate our lives into sections, those which we will live by God's rule and those which are our own? Didn't we give God all our heart? Then why do we insist on blocking him out from our day to day life?

I believe that if we tried to live the way we believe, every day, every moment, every aspect, then maybe we won't claim the title of hypocrites.

Day 199 or The Dress Ceremony

Ward B. Beds on either side, chairs in front of them, filled with patients and crew, all here to celebrate with the newly healed women.
The steady flow of the air conditioning rocks the multi-colored paper chain hung from the ceiling. Coloring pages, the ladies' own artwork, hang above their beds.
We are waiting to see them. Hushed voices fill the room, English, French and Ewe. A little girl, arms wrapped around an upside down jack-in-the-box, walks in. Startled by the amount of people, she stops. Looks around. The shock on her face changes to happiness, and she skips down the aisle.
Then a sound. The sound of singing. The drums begin. The voices getting louder as the women come down the hall. We clap in time to the music and sing when we know the words.

Three ladies come in, beautiful dresses, hats, jewelery, and most of all, beautiful smiles. They, and the translators and nurses, dance down the aisle.
The dancing continues for a while. Then a speech. A woman from Mercy Ships talks about the grace of God and he's wish for us to forgive. To forgive those who hurt us, to forgive those who turned their backs on these women.

It is time for the testimonies. The first woman comes up and tells how she has been touched by the grace of God. How, because of him, she now has her life back. She can now live. After twenty-five years of VVF, she now can be free. Covering her new dress were pictures, pictures of a bird in a cage, pictures of the bird escaping, pictures of the bird free.

The second woman spoke of a hard life. Of a pregnancy that lasted long. Of passing out, and being brought to the bush, where her friends and family dug her grave. Of telling her brother that she was cold, despite the fact that she was no longer conscious. Of being brought home. Of being told to go to church, and when she was there, no one would sit next to her. They talked about her. And she never went back. Of having a second child. Of the child growing up. Of coming here, and being healed. And now she will go back to church, she will go back to church and praise the Lord. She shouldn't be able to walk, she shouldn't even be alive. But she is.

The third woman spoke quietly, softly. She didn't share much. Maybe the pain was still too fresh, maybe she was overwhelmed. She thanked God, thanked the doctors. She thanked them for ending her seven years of shame.

VVF is a very real problem in Africa. With hospitals far away, most women give birth at home. With no medicine and very little help, these pregnancies are hard and dangerous. Lasting hours, to even days, sometimes the strain is too much for the woman's body. Tearing muscle and tissue inside, they become broken. Unable to contain it, they leak urine, with no way to stop it. They become surrounded with the stench and everything becomes stained. Already trying to live with this, they become outcast, ostracized by society. No one talks to them, their husband divorces them.
In a culture where family is everything, they are alone.

These women come broken, and leave healed,praising the Lord for the life he has given back to them.

Day 184 or Six Months...

Yesterday was my six month anniversery. It was also the day I said goodbye to Kristin.

There are a lot of great things on the ship. But there are some hard things too.
Saying goodbye is the hardest thing about this ship. People come and people go, a steady stream. After a while, you get used to it. You get used to being sad and letting go. You know that you miss them, but you're okay. You can go on.
Then someone comes along. Someone so special that when they leave, it's like losing the first one all over again.

To all of my friends who ever left; I miss you, and truly hope that you are happy.

Day 179 or Ever Present Darkness

What is voodoo? Well, your opinion varies depending on what culture you live in.

If you've grown up in a western culture, then voodoo is something seldom talked about, and no one believes. It still lives there though, hidden under different, careful names, things such as Ouija boards, horoscopes and other such 'harmless' things. The western world turns a blind eye, claiming it doesn't exist, while gently feeding it in the shadows.

The differences between that and the the world of Africa is stunning. Voodoo is everywhere. A walk down the street and you see it. You see it in the pig, hooves bound till they seize up, thrown in the back alley. You see it in the string, tied around the baby's belly. It's the fear in some one's eyes when you pull out a camera. It's the deep, dark scars carved onto their faces, desperate rituals. It's in the masks that you see in the market. Smooth wood, some calm and peaceful, some leering, horrific and twisted. Their lives are controlled by that which they hate and fear.

When you can, pray for those who's lives are so deeply entwined and pray for us, as we try to reach and heal them.

Day 137 or What is it Like to Travel in Africa?

So you want to go somewhere in Africa? Why not take a taxi!

An African taxi isn't like the ones you get in the states. First of all, the American taxi drivers won't appreciate you trying to barter your way to a lower price. A common practice in Africa, but frowned upon in places such as New York.

Then there is the issue of space. You could be enjoying a nice ride with just two or three of your friends. In that case, space isn't a problem. But it's not that uncommon for there to be three people in front and four in the back! Or even five! After all, what's the purpose of laps? And if you have an open trunk, then hey! Why not throw a couple people back there? So far, I believe the record has been ten in a five seater taxi!

Once you've gotten everyone in, the price negotiated, then you're ready to go! And don't bother with the seat belts. If they actually do have them, then there is a good chance that they don't have buckles.

As the car begins to pull out, you begin to have an idea of what you just got yourself into. Truck? Truck? Oh, don't worry. If you go fast enough, I'm sure you can get into a lane before we get HIT!

With congested traffic, zimmy-johns (motorcycle taxis. Twice the craziness, half the protection.), and random people running across the lanes, it is quite a skill to drive. Lanes are just suggested guidelines and it's not uncommon for the taxi to dash across an opposite lane, or no lane at all, simply to get ahead of the car in front.

I have found that it is best not to look out the front window at all. If you do, then you will notice little details, such as the person running right in front of you, the motorcycle just a little to close, or the large semi-truck barreling straight towards you. It's better to just look out the side window at the people on the sidewalks, the buildings, the beaches, the very large and deep ditches that you are much to close too. Things such as that.

But I will say that despite the craziness of an Africa Taxi, they seem pretty tame once you've taken a zimmy-john!

Day 118 or Screening Day

In the past we've done one or two big screening. Because of the elections, we've changed that this time, with many smaller screenings with any where from one to six hundred people.

I signed up for this past Thurday. My time began on Wensday night, when I managed to fall alseep at one, only to wake up at two. Why, I have no idea. All I know is that I layed in bed till four, when I decided that was rediculal. I headed upstairs and talked to Heather, the receptionist and friend, till six. Got ready and at seven, left for my screening!

We drove for about twenty minutes till we reached Ba, the location for our screening. At seven, there was a line as long as the gate. We entered the compartment to find about twenty or so people inside who had been waiting to be seen since the night previous. Despite the fact that they couldn't have been comfertible on the cement ground, I still recived many smiles.

We were all assigned jobs, with mine being one of the three people who excorted the people either to the Data room when they were expected or the exit gate, when we couldn't help them. It amazed me how something as simple as the direction in which I walked affected how I felt. To walk with someone towards Data Entry was wonderful, and I hoped the best. But to walk towards the gate was hard and unfortanty common. It amazed me time and time again how these people would take the news that couldn't be helped. Was it bravery and courage that let them stand tall, or had they just become numb to the pain?

The people stood outside the gate where they were let in, fifteen potental paitents at a time, with fifteen more next to the gate waiting to be seen. In total we screened somewhere around two to three hundred people, with around five hundred people in lines, counting the caregivers.

To see all these people, each dealing with their own struggle. Bow legs, tumors, burns, anything, they wished for help. All dressed in their best, hoping that the doctors from a ship could help them.

People waited on the side of the gate, and as I walked those who were unable to be helped, Dulce would sweep in, like a giver of mercy, asking if they would like prayer. Many excepted, a few did not.

But there were those who's lives might be changed, who we can make a difference for, by the grace of God. And it is those for whom we are here for. The reason this ship is here is for those people who stand outside the gate, who wait all night, for the chance to be healed.

Day 104 or Saying Goodbye...

First of all, may I say that I am always amazed at how fast time flies... It seemed like I updated just yesterday!

This has been a hard week. First, with saying goodbye to Daniel. Daniel is one of the guys who works on my dinning room team. While we're not saying goodbye forever, he is transferring departments, which means that he will no longer be there to make the dining room more fun...

So what did we do to celebrate his last day? Well.. We had a lot of fun!
For those of you who don't know, it a dining room tradition, that when someone is working their last day of work, they are sprayed with the hose. He knew that. We told him. His response? ''It's my last day, so I'm going to spray you!'' Which he did... point blank range. Needless to say, my doubts that he wasn't going to do it were... quenched. Or should I say drenched?

I then decided to get him back. While picking up utensils to wash, I notice one covered in yogurt. Perfect. With great deliberation, I wiped the yogurt on his arm. I was so focused on the yogurt, that I failed to notice what he was doing. With out flinching, he raised the running hose and sprayed me, once again, point blank.

To top off the morning, we then discovered a drain monster! There is a metal grate about the size of a dinner plate under the sink covering a drain and apparently, a drain monster! Daniel was the one to discover it. He drained the above sink, apparently, to the dislike of the monster, who then pro ceded to grumble and growl. Then he attempted to actually come out! Water came out of the drain and the grate rose and fell as he pushed against the tube, wishing to come out. Rachael though, knew what to do, quickly going to reception to write up a work form and alerting the drain monster's worst enemy! The plumber!

The dinner that night proceed much like that morning. We did run out of food, drinks, dishes, cups and silverware, but still managed to keep on running! Stressful, but we manged to get everyone fed and happy! The clean up time involved everyone getting sprayed at one point or another, a major water fight, a butter fight and a marmite tangle. For those of you who don't know what marmite is, it is a British thing, a yeast extract to be exact. And in my opinion, smells like black death. Which means, I then, or more exactly, my arms, smelled like black death.

So in the end, dining room is hard, stressful, rewarding, tiring, difficult, challenging, and sometimes, a whole lot of fun.


Not only did I have to say goodbye to a good worker, but tonight was the going away party of a good roommate. Kaylee will be going back home tommorrow. I'm sad to see her go, but I'm glad that she gets to start in this new chapter of her life, grad school! 4418 will not be the same without her. Her sense of humor that never ceases to amuse all of us. I will also say that I have never seen someone, especially an American, who can dance like an African the way she can! You go, Kaylee!

We celebrated her last night in the crew galley, door closed, music blaring, cake baking and a dozen girls dancing and singing along with the music. Things won't be the same with out her, but I know that she'll be happy. We'll miss you Kaylee, have fun on your new adventure!


Post Note:
For those of you who were courious, yes, Rachael did actually write 'We have a drain monster' on the work sheet.

Day Fifty-Nine or Finally Sunburn Free

This past Friday, I was invited to go with a group that would be climbing the nearby volcano. Excited by the prospect, but not sure that was what I wanted to do that week. Going back and forth, unable to decided, I hung out with friends till two-thirty in the morning. Set my alarm and decided at six the next morning to join them. Sleep? Sleep? Oh, three and a half hours is plenty!

First we had our nice walk down the dock and to the bus station, which was about a fourty, fifty minute walk or so. We caught the bus, rode for an hour, caught the next bus and rode for another two hours. Finally, we reached the point we were going to start hiking from.

As many of you know, I'm from New Hampshire. You say 'mountian' I think 'green', 'trees', 'streams' and an occasional boulder. This, on the other hand, is a volcano in Tenerife. The barren landscape that surrounded us seemed at sometimes to resemble the sand-swept Tattoine of Star Wars and at others, the desolate planet of Mars. Hills and valleys made entierlly of rocks with the texture and firmness of hardened styrofome.

As we got higher, we could see the ocean and the city, so far away. The buildings looked to be no more than white pebbles spread across the ground.

The hike was hard. At first a long up hill walk, which then turned steeper, switch backs up the hill. Despite the look of the area, like on of a desert, it was cold. I wore my sweatshirt and a scarf wrapped around my face, to much amusment of my traveling companions.

The more we continued, the more I fell behind. Deteminded to reach the top, or should I say, what we could reach. In order to reach the very top, you must have a permit, which we did not. We were allowed very near the top, but not the tip. Soon I reached a point where I was the very back. Never out of sight, but the footfalls of my companions could no longer reach me. I stopped and turned to look back. As I looked out, across the sand and rocks and ocean, I was struck by not only the beauty of the land, but also the silence. No cars, planes, trains, voices, music, birds, nothing. I have never heard such a quiet as that. It was the sense of peace, of beauty. After a moment's reflections, the quiet was interupted by the calling voice of Johan, encouraging me to continue on and not give up.

I did make it to the top, or where we were allowed, and back, in time for the bus. When I finally made it back to the ship, hours later, I was greeted in the mirror by my sunburn. If you had placed me next to a fire engine, I would have blended in perfectly. I am happy to report that it is gone and my skin is now back to it's normal paper white.