May - Weekly Journal - 23rd - 29th

Ship Ahoy! Another three superb crew members bid their farewells before embarking on their next epic venture home: Sally, Melinda and Miriam. Sadness prevails and contrary to my original theory the farewells are becoming increasingly challenging. Despite this the week held some fascinating moments.

Then there was light! This is a well-known saying usually after re-fitting a light-bulb that has blown. However, in Freetown, life works a little differently and this phrase has a more far-reaching meaning. When some electrically charged item blows then everything blows up with it creating an interesting situation where everything is improvised for an indefinite time from hours to weeks maybe months. Usually the power is driven from rickety and unreliable generators that rumble their way through everyday life as though every vibration will be a last.

As an understood aspect of daily living, there is a slightly different approach to power blackouts, therefore the element of panic is alien. On this occasion during the evening, I happened to be engaged in story telling with the pikins at the Hope Centre. At the point of the blackout there was an eerie calm before the drum beats began. A slow rhythmic beat began to build into an energised explosion of sound. Intrigued I wandered into the gardens where all the patients were gathering for a spontaneous party.

At first, amidst the mounting excitement of the drum rolls, I was surprised at the ease everyone drifted into the gardens. There was an unspoken understanding to join in celebration upon hearing the African beats. The children invited themselves to try their hand at drumming in a throng of delighted energised jumping. Their eyes were saucer-wide and twinkling as they laughed along with the beats. It was incredible how many pikins could manage to get their little hands onto one drum!

The drummer man encouraged their playful enthusiasm as he rocked into his musical bubble. In the meantime, a handful of ladies began to sway and clap to the beats before the gospel songs erupted. A mama took the lead throwing a velvet melodic line into the dusk air before the gathering responded with harmonious raw tones. It occurred to me that everyone knew the words like it was part of their blood…religion was a million miles away. This was about the living soul. No matter what the basis of their beliefs they could still sing gospel songs through their soul. Well, it almost seemed it would be ignorant to think there could be any other way. It is quite an extraordinary mind-set and understanding of life.

As the music filled the night air and the dancing commenced, the magical charge in the gardens was unmistakable. It made me smile to think of the farcical mayhem on home ground when a power cut happens. The drama. The trauma. The local shops run out of bread and milk. Whereas, here in Africa, nothing is mentioned. No words pass about the situation. Only music prevails…food for thought.

After a long time of multiple postponements Mariama and I were finally meeting up. This time I decided to treat us both to an African café dinner where I could relay my drumming power-cut experience to her. It was particularly exciting as I had discovered an African bistro in the city centre. Firstly, there are no cafes and bistros to be seen in the city so it was a trophy of a find. Secondly, I was so chuffed that I had discovered a new place to meet in her city; that she didn’t know about.

‘Stop Press’ is a small courtyard with tall leafy trees. The service and offerings are simple: Chicken and rice, or chicken and plantain. There are no menus and you can only drink maltina, coke or Star beer. The loveliness about this place is that it only known to those in the know and has a customer base of working Africans who come and discuss politics, business and life. In this respect it is unique.  Mariama was suitably impressed too. It was fulfilling to be able to take steps to integrate and in cultural experiences.

After a few months of being cautiously advised that it was impossible to be directly involved in hospital trainings or procedures I was invited to cover Tenotomy theory and practical training of local health workers. It was a prestigious invitation from a leading ponceti surgeon Dr Frank Hadyn hence I considered it a valuable work event. For those not in the know, tenotomy is local surgical procedure to sever the Achilles tendon in babies with Club foot.

The morning was the theoretical training followed by surgeries, under local anaesthetic, for babies in the club foot treatment program. It was a great discovery to learn that I was enraptured by the medical knowledge and procedures. There was one point when I think my eye yo-yo-ed out of my head as they were digging around with the sister trying to snip a particularly tight tendon. So becoming a surgeon is still not on my list of goals or dreams but it all seemed so incredible how doctors can fix the body. The quick simple tenotomy procedure will have a life-changing impact on the babies’ lives when they grow up. It’s really the difference of being a cripple and walking.

By the end, as I frantically wrote notes, the doctors decided to lob wet plaster-cast bandages at me to catch. I nearly jumped out of my skin as it caught me off guard in the depths of the seriousness that medical procedures bring. However, one thing was for sure; the doctors has accepted me as part of their professional team and yet…wait for it…I was a journalist. This was a particularly fine moment.

After finding myself in the deep end after being thrown into tenotomy training you would think it was the adventure for the week. But… you got it! I offered to cover malaria training at the HOPE Centre whilst the fulltime trainer was away. After using flour for germs for the Cleaning Hands training I was stumped for a while how I could engage patients in malaria training. You get bitten and then you have a terrible fever.

On my inquisitive rounds I found a laminated story presentation about a boy who catches malaria. It was bland and rather dull. I was contemplating what I could do to bring colour and activities into the session and then the magic thought lit my brain-cells in frenzy. I could make a giant mosquito and fly it around the patients pretending to bite them. So that was it!  I designed a bright green balloon mosquito with bulbous bright orange eyes, black paper wings and a woollen string mouth with tomato ketchup on the end. When I explained the design to Bassey, my partner in crime for the training sessions, he was less enthused. That remained until he started to make the mosquito and to his credit he added the woollen string mouth. It was a masterpiece!

When the training day arrived, Bassey launched himself into flying the mosquito whilst I made the dreaded flying noise by squeezing air from a deflated balloon. It had an overwhelming effect. Every single patient was impacted either by rolling on the floor laughing or screaming with delight. We ended up having to ‘bite’ nearly every single patient. Then the dull story time arrived so I spontaneously decided that the patient crowd were suitably entertained by the mosquito to help act out the story. To be honest, this is one of the rare times I had a hearty laugh during the mission. The little boy who acted was beyond hilarious and the lady who played the mama was even better. A marvellous hoot was enjoyed by all.

Now for a momentous highlight in work events. The President and Vice-President of Sierra Leone visited the ship. The hype was quite astonishing however; there were eye-popping security risks to have so many Government officials together at one time. They presented themselves in a humble manner despite all the pomp surrounding them. The President was presented with his speech which he then carefully folded away before embarking on a speech from the heart. He had been so moved by Surgeon Gary Parker that he needed to express his emotional thoughts about the country and how they are tackling health issues. There was an exciting bite in the air before the skin tingling moment happened. I witnessed our Government Relations Officer presenting my story about a patient transformation after meeting the First Lady. So the President took my story to give to his wife J Beaming J A fantastic occasion J

After all the excitement in the week it was time to leave the ship for a night and stay at a beach. Janet McInnes, a delightfully bubbly lady who looks after the inuits eskimos, arranged the trip. We were embarking on a trip to be enlightened by new destination: Eden Park Resort at Mama Beach.

The poda poda, (a scoobydoo van held together by craft glue), was driven by tweedledee and tweedledum. They were lovely young guys but so completely clueless that at one point I did wonder where we would end up. With no suspension, and squeezed like sardines into the van it was an interesting journey. The worst thing is that with every bump in the road, which as there are so many potholes and craters is quite a few, we all hit our heads on the roof with a chorus of yelping. Needless to say, we finally arrived with big smiles as we clambered out of the van and congratulated the so called drivers. Bless ‘em!

At this point I need to pop you into the reality picture. The beaches are generally picturesque but there are few beaches, they take hours to get to and equipped with few, if any, facilities. Hence, I had not been to many beaches nevermind stay the night. To add to my difficulties I had to observe caution with suffering from allergic reactions to mosquito bites. However, this resort was built by a French lady who had imported most materials from France to build it.

The resort itself nestles into the edge of the tropical rainforest leading onto a beautiful golden private beach leading to a bright turquoise sea. The hotel is comprised of a cluster of pink bungalows with terraces. There is one larger bungalow that houses ten en-suite hotel rooms. The beauty and tranquillity of this place is a real treasure. Janet had luckily struck an amazing deal with the owners as a way to encourage Mercy Shippers to visit otherwise it was far beyond our price-range (well the long term crew members).

It was a day of drifting into daydreams, writing letters, dipping in the sea and having a chatter amongst ourselves. The sea was invitingly warm and clear for bathing and the warm breeze took the edge of the intense humidity we were all becoming so accustomed to. In the evening, we sat in the bamboo roofed restaurant and enjoyed a wonderful meal whilst re-living the experiences of the week. This was my quality time with my precious friends Jackie Bailey and Monica and a new interesting company of a small diamond dealer from India. It was moments like these that keep you sane and wading through the challenges of the mission.

May - Weekly Journal - 16th - 22nd

My little plastics girl Lillie was up to her usual pranks and mischief. It was time to have some focused time with her. I thought I’d poke her imagination with some simple story books.

Somehow pikins and books are far from associated, and books, in general, are a scarcity. I have still yet to find a bookshop in this capital city. It’s a harsh reality however, radio takes precedence for communication, which provides a wealth of information from around the world. At least this is a relief in the context of some sort of global knowledge.

In my hunt to find a story for Lillie, I came across the most perfect book called ‘The parable of the Lily’. Thrilled and excited to share some creative moments with her I bounded into the ward.

At first the idea of being read a story perplexed Lillie, so the only way to encourage her to sit and listen was to feed her, which her mother did by means of a small sticky mango. She was also randomly smacking her torso, tormented by the itching under the reels of bandages as her skin grafts healed.

As I read through the book, Lille became dreamily wide-eyed, as the story revealed itself in her own imagination. After I finished reading, she endeavoured to tell me the 'real' story in her animated and endearing style. If only I could capture the revelation of fantasy swirling in her eyes.

Unknown to me, as I read, the doctors waltzed around the ward noting the calming success of storytelling; which had greater powers of relieving pain and stresses than any prescribed infant medication. This raises an amused smile…the power of love in action J

Within in a few days, the doctors unwritten notes about storytelling, came into fruition, when the charge nurse invited me to attend Lillie’s dressing change. Her burns covered half her torso (front and back), shoulder, arm and hand. The skin graft taken from her thigh was placed under her arm after the fused skin had been cut to allow flexibility to releasing the arm to function again.  Any kind of skin damage causes the most tormented pain as it is concentrated around the nerve endings.

Soon, the time arrived to go to the dressings room. Hand in hand, Lillie and I walked inside. The stretcher bed with a white sheet on top was positioned diagonally filling a small room. Apart from a small trolley table with an interesting handful of medical items the room was empty. There was only just enough room as we all filed in (the doctor, the charge nurse, a nurse, Bassey – my translator and I).

As the bandages were gently unravelled from around her torso the pain heightened, which was mirrored in her growing cries that reached a crescendo into the realms of hysterical screams. The sound still rings in my head. Desperation. Pleading. The torment prickling every part of sense in her being. I could only breathe deeply and hold her hand tightly, at this point, more for my sanity than hers. Then, after some time calling her name, in what seemed like a chant in my head, our eyes met. In that unflinching moment I promised another story and encouraged her to tell the doctor about her story growing a Lily. The cries ceased as the distraction grasped her attention. Calm was restored once more for the remainder of the dressing change. Her bravery was evident in her silent suffering.

When the storms of ship challenges pass, balance is restored through friendships.  On this occasion it was Claire’s farewell dinner held in the Country Lodge. As we trekked through the chaotic rumblings of disgruntled drivers at the dockside gates, photographer Tom jumped out amidst a crowd of local boys. He decided to join us at last minute so we all jumped into a yellow metal carcass on shaky wheels and hence our evening began. The emerging panoramic views across the city were an intriguing delight as always. I often wonder whether the rapid surges of excitement really were created from marvelling the landscape or, whether there was something refreshing to the mind by travelling up towards the skies; escaping the intensity of mission life.

Whilst lazing on the terrace for dinner the inevitable question was raised. “What will you miss the most?” Claire pondered over this for a second before confirming, “The people”. It is a strange phenomenon that themission attracts the best and worst personalities, who strive in chaos to deliver incredible work. Somehow, success is achieved. The impossible happens. It is a quandary that is food for thought.

The weekend held a welcome adventure. The street children were awaiting us at the Old People’s home. I just loved the anticipation, as we drove through the compound gates, of the shrieks of laughter greeting us, as the children appeared from the dust to run after the Land Rover. By the time we parked it was a struggle to climb out of the vehicle. A sea of dusty, ragged, clothing on jumping bean bodies were waiting.

The minute my feet touched the ground, children were grapping, swinging and climbing on every limb. It was delightfully uplifting to dive into their excitement but, the sadness prevailing the situation was the obvious emptiness they had. Any caring or loving interaction was so magical to them. It was a Disney film sprinkled into their lives for a few hours a week.  However, there is no quick fix for their lives and the most important element in our approach was to provide organisation, clear boundaries, genuine smiles and hands ready to grasp theirs. Their lives are led by bribery and corruption so it was necessary to be alert, assertive, and only give attention and praise where due. This was tough to the absolute limit. For me, there was a huge temptation to gather them into my arms, to demonstrate how precious they are. I resisted through a natural instinct; warning the potential damages caused by temporary involvement. 

This time there were notably fewer children that arrived.  With a big inviting smile, and the best sergeant major voice I could muster, I led the little ones to sit down on the step ready to do their colouring activity. Today, the little ones were more agitated, maybe because we were becoming more familiar, so there were numerous scuffles and punches flying around. When the teenagers wandered over to join us, I asked them to look over the little ones to help them share the crayons as we were running short (so many had been pocketed the previous week!).

In an impressive attempt to keep order, the teenagers quietly nudged the little ones into place. Their calming influence was hugely successful however, it was evident that this was a rare demonstration of positive interactions. After considerable contemplatio,n I realised that the young men needed some kind of responsibility where they could demonstrate their capabilities with those they respected. This is why they had responded so well. It was actually completely spontaneous at the time when I asked them to help. This realisation was so encouraging because I now knew they had the capability to work and earn themselves a living in a job taking authority from the manager or business owner.

So, as the little ones coloured under the sharp supervision of the teenagers,  I went to the other side of the terrace and sat with the elderly folks. One of the gentlemen was absorbed in playing old fashioned tunes and hymns on his harmonica.  It was beautifully played, so much so, I sat day dreaming for a moment. Shortly afterwards, one of the gang leader teenagers slouched down next to me. He commented that the old man was banging out some great old jazz tunes.  This was surprising in itself and even more so when the conversation advanced into future hopes and goals.  I discovered he was a determined young man who was striving to do well at school to develop his skills into a recognised profession. To do this, he was paying his school fees through acts of crime because that was the only way for him to achieve. I admired his courage and motivation and, somewhere along the way, he had retained his natural charm and manners.  It was a revelation that was refreshingly positive in what seemed to be a hopeless situation.

As I launched into the adventurous lands outside the trash burning city I headed towards the tropical rainforest hills where the chimpanzee sanctuary lies. The lightning flashes through my veins were evidence of the closeness of my dream stepping intothe borders of reality.

As the Land Rover climbed up the winding hill roads, the intense flames of city activity melted away into a polka dot view. Then I was suddenly aware the buildings had disappeared and instead, all around, there were beautiful green rolling hills blanketed with the wonders of tropical rainforest vegetation and the odd thread of terracotta winding roads. I felt a rising excitement the further we escaped from the polluted city streets. We were advancing into a kingdom reminiscent of Lord of the Rings, yet here, Lord of the Eagles and Vultures may be more apt.

On the way, the richness of the orange dirt tracks was quite astounding; as was the bumpy ride on the rough terrain. Land Rovers are the only way to travel these routes without the inevitable breakdown of the cars, that are seemingly glued together with string. The ride was becoming rather good fun until we reached the track leading up to the sanctuary. Here, a small sign strongly informed the necessity to only use four wheel drive to avoid being killed!

As we turned the corner I became aware that my mouth had dropped towards the floor. An almost vertical rocky mountain side lay ahead. I vaguely remember uttering, “You’ve got to be joking,” in dread of what was to come. However, my friends remained cheerful, and even a touch excited, at the prospect of driving up a cliff face. Suddenly, we launched up the vertical road. My next memory is my heart banging in my head as the vehicle stalled. In my thoughts, my life would be over in seconds once we started to roll back down the cliff. The most confusing aspect regarding this horrifying situation was the fact my friends broke out into laughter. Their insanity was something I was struggling to grasp at that point. It was time for me to flee. I managed to unlock the car door before they all reassured me that we would survive this trip. I had lost all hope of survival therefore, I agreed, despite the continuing thuds from my heart ringing in my ears.

The van jolted forward and, within a long minute, we arrived at the car park. The thrill of being alive was buzzing for quite some time afterwards.

The sanctuary was situated on a hilltop in the middle of the rainforest. Initial impressions were very surreal. There were round pink houses with grass roofs set into a pixie peaks amongst lushious palm vegetation. I wondered whether we had landed in Alice in Wonderland. This was followed closely with a realisation I was still in shock from our hair-raising ride. After a few blinks and nips I knew this was all real. Alice in Wonderland landscapes do exist.

The three hour tour had us revelling in the world of chimpanzees. The sanctuary follows strict protocol how to care for the chimpanzees to enable their release back into the wild. The backgrounds of some of the chimpanzees were shocking. Many were abandoned pets which were used to abusive lives; suffering through the whim of their owners.  They are intellectual animals with five times the strength of a human and they have their own language and understand human commands. The observation of the young chimpanzees was riveting. The acrobatics performed on the rope whilst enjoying their games of ‘tag’ were very entertaining. I discovered they are very loud creatures too. Their laughs and shouts seem to echo for miles around.

To be to observe wildlife so closely was a treasured experience. I think I was almost ready to pack my bags and go on a safari afterwards.  Instead, we investigated our tree canopy house. A surprise awaited us; it was decorated with murals from a resident African artist.  The house was beautifully presented with wooden floors, African mats, sculptures and with numerous terraces to sit on. The lounge/dining room had french doors that swung open to a patio in the tree canopy.

The sound of the tropical rainforest is a harmonious melody that creates a soporific longing to relax a little deeper. Here, you could linger forever and never tire. The sounds flow over every cell soothing and urging rest whilst gently tapping into the imagination box in the mind. It was so incredible that I later wrestled with sleep because I had such a longing to hear more of the changing melody that was composed of; the breeze through the trees, bird song, dragonflies buzzing, crickets stringing and, the odd chimpanzee shriek of laughter.

That evening, I had volunteered to cook dinner on the outside barbeque. This was a smooth, slick operation until there was a sudden African storm when the heavens opened, followed by moving house thunder claps and electrifying lightning strikes. There was a magical moment standing under the roof of the BBQ kitchen, sipping wine whilst watching the storm perform. The dinner continued to cook and we all ate well before heading to slumber in our dreamy tree canopy.

May - Weekly Journal 9th - 15th

New! Pikin Treasures Lilie & Junior

There I am in the Hope Centre hounded by a group of triumphant casted legs ortho children who had thought it a great achievement to throw down their crutches, scramble over before hanging off my clothes to balance whilst pleading to be picked up. This inevitably ends up in a few scoobydoo scrappydoo fights along the way and Me shouting ‘Oi!’ every time I see a punch flying out the corner of my eye. With a few cheeky diverts I managed to wriggle free to go and find Bassey.

As I approached the terrace Bassey appeared hand-in-hand with a beautiful little girl: “Look who I found Clara.” She stood motionless with her arms straight by her sides like a soldier. Nothing registered in her expressions. She just stood and stared ahead. As I talked softly to her Bassey took her hand to put it in mine. Her hand rapidly withdrew in horror and fear of touching the white man.

“Here we go again” I thought. Sometimes overcoming the white skin intolerance is a hurdle almost impossible to overcome.  I turned away weary from the severity of my rejection. Then, in one last attempt I turned round, held my arms out towards her saying, “Come, come”.

To my complete surprise she fell forward in her soldier stance right into my arms. From the moment I caught her she wrapped herself around me in a deep cuddle; even tucking her head into my neck. Needless to say, I stood bewildered by the sequence of her reactions.

Upon finding her mama I discovered that this was four year old Lilie Konteh. She had suffered severe burns a year ago after falling into a pot of boiling water. Her entire arm and torso on the right side of her body was scarred and the skin on the upper arm and torso had fused leaving her with only her hand functioning.

Whilst in my arms Lilie relaxed into a close cuddle which, considering we were strangers, I found immensely trusting. Her mama was astonished by the drastic change in Lilie. She was usually extrovert and cheeky. This began to concern me. Later on I discovered that Lilie was so ashamed of her skin, in colour and condition, that she gave me the only thing she could; her love.  This revelation was choking in its tragic sadness.

Soon after the cuddling episode I became aware of a great twist in Lilie’s story. She had a brother friend called Junior Lamboy who also had an appointment with Mercy Ships. Junior is a sweet little five year old boy. He also has a burnt hand from falling into a frying pan on the fire. The mamas had met in a supermarket at home a year ago and united in the strongest of friendships.

New! Pikin Treasure Hawanatu

Just as I strolled up the dock to the Gangway I caught a sight that captured my heart with a smile.  A Mama was lifting her tiny daughter up in the air whilst her daughter squealed with delight. There was such joy and banter between them. Hawanatu Jalloh is two years old. She burnt her feet walking over hot charcoals in the ground. Often the cooking is done on a fire in the ground. When the cooking is finished the burning charcoals are covered with dirt to keep the heat until the fire is needed again. There is nothing visible to indicate the fire burning under the ground.

 

Church Leaders Conference

There is nothing like an early start in Freetown before the humid trash smog sets in. Within a few minutes we had jumped into a taxi with no other hanger on passengers, which incidentally is highly unusual.

Upon arrival I was a little disappointed with a notably shabby hotel although this is a realistic environment in Freetown I had a flicker of hope of somewhere with a little more hygieneJ.   It’s the sort of place you hold your nose and pray, regardless of faith or religion, that you will survive the one minute ‘to go and relief yourself’ whilst doing an incredible contortionist act to avoid touching literally ANYTHING! Followed by showering in antibacterial gel with crazed lunatic gestures from the mere thought of entering such an environment, (in case you’re not on top form I’m referring to the toilet).  

Settling into the conference I sat at the back ready to yawn or doze at the first opportunity. Well, honestly, a church leaders conference is not the most motivating of topics to cover (Texas requested an article). As I listened I became drawn into the content. This was no ordinary church talk. The expectation was a crazed bible bashing yet the approach and tones of the speaker was engaging; in fact astoundingly sane and with a profound meaning.

After absorbing the content I found myself respecting their approach with great hope. The speaker was Chris Ampadu, an African man with a successful business background. He taught the Samaritan Strategy. (Readers at this point, please, stop your wave of complacency). The message is simple. The church needs to learn to offer unconditional love to local communities. Unconditional love translates to helping and doing things to support the communities e.g. children’s crèches, filling potholes in the road, picking up litter.  These are basic infrastructures, facilities and services in developed countries that are provided as a requirement.

In Sierra Leone, barely any basic facilities are present. The reason the teaching is profound is because it is a new concept against the grain of the current African mindset. It teaches the benefits of time management, work and development trough love. If all the churches initiated small basic projects to help their communities the nation would be on the brink of transformation. Change needs to start somewhere so instead of people praying in church on Sunday and doing nothing. The people of the church can lead the way through example. The most crucial point was that it was highlighted that no preaching should occur when doing work to help the communities. The communities will be free to investigate the reason the church is helping them if they choose to. Now that’s really quite remarkable!

Namina Returns Home

‘The’ day arrived. There was no warning. A phone call. Just a phone call to advise she was being discharged. My mind was racing. This was not meant to happen at this time. There had been no planning or preparation. This was one of the challenging moments that you’ve received hundred warnings about yet when it happens you have no idea it’s happening.

The world was flashing by as I rushed to Outpatients. Gasping for breath and reeling in this sudden departure I noted immediately that Namina was in fine form. She was creating usual havoc by spinning around on the nurses stools with legs flailing kicking everything and everyone in sight. The room was filled with noisy chatter and the somewhat constant 'Namina!' in various tones and accents.

Then Dan the Nurse appeared. The disco music flared up and he gestured to Namina to take to the dancefloor in the crowded waiting area. She performed to the crowd with confidence and relished every moment of the attention. Her now chunkier body with an eyeraising big belly rocked and writhed with admirable rhythm, especially for a recently traumatised little girl.

This was the moment the final dressing was removed to reveal her healed face in all its glory. The minimal scarring was impressive despite her drooping eye. Namina was also suitably impressed, holding up the mirror to admire her enhanced face. "Namina, you look fine", "oh yes! So fine!", "Aha! Beautiful girl"....and so the adoring compliments came flooding in whilst Namina sat grumpily pouting in secret appreciation on the chair. Sometimes she really is impossible!

It was time for her departure back to the Hope Centre for a night before going home. Retrieving media footage only increased the pressure and stress of this situation. As we reached the dockside Namina began to run across the dock. So I yelled and yelled and insisted she came back to join us.

This was far from the calm loving departures of other treasured pikins.

After a successful photo shoot involving Namina climbing into a Mercy Ships truck I was made aware I had seconds to bide my farewells. Panic hung heavily in the air. Wara gripped my hands, stared deep into eyes and whispered "Clara! I go home?" She was overcome by anxiety and struggled to say more but the words clung to her throat. I focused on those deeply fearful eyes. All the life challenges to survive at home were hauntingly clear. There was nothing more to do than a brief hug. Then I walked, waved and continued walking without looking back.

Imagine an ice cold bucket of water thrown over your head. Out of nowhere the tidal wave of sadness drenched my heart and so the sobbing began.  Hopelessness prevailed.

Rains

This is the first week the rains have started. Only at night but the trash problem is now at an excruciating level. Divers go down twice daily into the heavily polluted water to remove rubbish getting caught in the inlets for the cooling system. The undercurrents are extremely powerful. If any of the divers let go of the safety rope they would be pounded against the barnacled rusting dock wall. Visibility is very low so each and every journey is is a life risking venture.