Weekly Journal: 11th - 17th April

I ventured out of the dock gates to The Hope Centre known locally as Obama City. This is an airy colonial style building with terraces stretching out before the sea. The view is a hive of activity during the day, as the fishing boats leave empty returning heavy laden with rice sacks, firewood and fish, until early evening when the sunset caresses the fishing shanty village with a delicate glow.

Previously, outside The Hope Centre, there were well kept allotments harvesting cassava, potato leaves and other African vegetables. However, recently there is a growing trail of destruction as people camp through the night queuing to visit the Mercy Ships dental practice.  However, inside the compound the Hospitality Area is developing into a little resort with a new mobile shower unit and aircon mobile dormitories for patient care pre and post-surgery. The atmosphere is now truly laidback with a buzz of happiness.

There are many precious moments in each visit there. In particular, there is a wonderful new treasured pikin that graced my African journey this week. She is eight year old Finda. As I walked up the steps to the shaded terrace a little girl ran like a bullet and embraced me with a hug that nearly knocked me off my feet. She exuded joyfulness. The sparkle in her eyes was almost magnetic. For some time afterwards I danced and hugged and tickled the happy little impish spirit. She was awaiting surgery for a cleft lip.

Her journey in life has been quite incredible. Her father left the family when she was born due to the embarrassment of her physical deformity. Remarkably he returned after a year due after pressurised persuasion from the grandparents but he has failed to take an interest in her.  The severity of her lip condition led to an existence filled with sadness and tears from the provocation by the school children and neighbours. Despite this her mother kept a flame of hope alight because she believed Finda would be a child of destiny; smiling she says “she has a great personality and if she acquires an education she will be a pillar of strength for the family.”

A radical transformation occurred as Finda entered The Hope Centre. It was a place where there were other children with physical abnormalities and some even had her condition. All these people were being received by smiling caring Mercy Ships crew. Finda and her mother had never experienced an atmosphere of love and companionship which triggered the little miracle that her mother had desperately hoped for since she was born. The sad little drooping flower raised its petals to the sun blossoming for the first time. The emotional nourishment had an incredible effect on Finda. She bounced around beaming and filling everyone she met with smiles for a day.

In a few days it was time for Finda to board the ship for surgery. Despite the tightness and tenderness of her lip after the surgery her smiles still flowed from morning to night. Her confidence soaring she relaxed into her own agenda. She became fond of a baby on the ward and like a duck to water she regularly placed the baby on her back and tied her into a wrap before gently dancing her around the ward. It was so tender to observe a natural maternal flair.

Soon came the time for her to go. I had been practicing writing her name with her so she would have the confidence to return to school. It was another tough farewell. Several times she ran back down the corridor to hang from my hand giggling. I’ll never forget our last embrace.

Another memorable moment happened at The Hope Centre too.  I decided to pop over to visit Namina and Finda (before her surgery) with our translator, Bassey. Before leaving the ship I had a quick thought to take some children’s books for a story time to engage Namina so we could do activities creating praise for her. When we approached the terrace all the chattering mothers smiled and the children glanced up and saw the books and that was it! I was instantly the Pied Piper. Bassey laughed and said “I’m guessing it’s story time for all. Don’t worry I’ll help.”

So when we walked inside all the children had gathered into a small circle ready for the stories. It’s incredible how good they are when they have a treat in store. The adventures of the fish in the sea began with the twinkling sunshine before the thunder and rolling waves in the storm back to the sunshine. There were lots of little hands stretching upwards wiggling fingers frantically in effort to be the most sparkly.  This was followed by Daniel and the Lions Den. I was quite tickled by their soft African lion roars and their angry men faces. Yes they were all adorable and the mothers had crept in unable to contain their curiosity when they heard the shouts of rolling thunder. Another precious time with these little souls.

It was during these visits that I met my new little treasure, Fanie. He is also eight years old  but with crippled legs. From the moment you meet this little man there is an instant comic charm. He is brimming with confidence, spending his time cracking jokes and chattering with all the mothers. Here is a soul who will definitely achieve remarkable things in his life through his character alone.

When I first met him he was leaning on a stick like a shepherd and grinning. This belies the difficult upbringing he suffered.  Two of his nine siblings succumbed to sickness before his father’s passing. However, he is the youngest so one of his elder brothers helps to look after him whilst his mother works planting groundnuts. His mother relishes in her son’s confidence. It is obvious Fanie holds the key to the close connections in his family. 

This week he had surgery on one of his legs. The few days after surgery are swamped with pain as the swollen legs are bandaged in to casts with icepacks to relieve the inflammation. On my visit I was quietly chattering with his mother as he slept and then as I turned to leave he awoke and smiled. Let’s stop for a second. Rewind. All the other children wake in a fits moaning cries from the intense aches and pains in their legs. Yet Fanie awakes with a sweet smile.  This little one will climb Mount Everest!!!!

This week Ce and Roger were struggling to recuperate after their facial tumour removal surgeries. It’s a major surgery with significant blood loss from the face for some time after the end of surgery as well as extensive inflammation. The nurses were becoming slightly concerned that their efforts to encourage movements around the ward were having little effect. Ce in particular lay curled up on his bed often motionless.  Eventually he climbed out of bed and started to take an interest in life again.

This is especially so when the patient life team visited the ward to sing gospel songs. As I walked into the ward I caught Ce dancing in a hip hoppity jumping steps to The Lord is my Shepherd. The rhythm  was enthusiastically set by clapping the beats, and believe me, Africans know how to clap. They certainly don’t need drums to get the rhythms flowing.

Now he was on the mend I decided to organise a surprise treat for him and Roger. I asked various departments to help before returning to The Hope Centre to get my hands on their favourite activity: Draughts. When I walked into the ward with the game tucked under my arm Ce’s face was a picture. First he stared in disbelief and then he grabbed the game with the most mischievous of laughs. I advised him he was to have a tournament with Roger at which he turned and bolted down the corridor to Roger’s ward.  It did cause a dose of confusion in the hospital processes because Ce was due to leave the ship to stay in the Hospitality Area at The Hope Centre however, everyone was stunned by his sudden enthusiasm so it was embraced by all.

The tournament was complex and rapid. However it was Roger who eventually won the winning title to Ce’s momentary dismay however Ce was already organising the next tournament in his head. Bless him.

Some time ago I dared to venture to an African church.  After a short smooth drive on one of the few ‘proper’ roads we drove into the bright orange dust streets of a shanty town in Kissey. Typically all homes are an interesting patchwork of rusted corrugated iron sheets and wood strips or branches with a veranda or terrace imaginatively suggested by water tanks or bold coloured plastic buckets. Then there is the rubbish strewn in piles beside the houses waiting in its rotting state to be burnt.

There is the random odd corner shop with faded worn wooden shutters in blue or cherry red selling an intriguing selection of goods not quite recognisable from the landrover. This terrain is suspicious and reluctant to embrace visitors with a welcome smile. Their poverty is a dense cloud of shame on their lives. A noose around their necks.

A traditional simplistic life, as considered by western perspectives, is not always a life of hopelessness and despair. I’ve discovered and witnessed a contentment and happiness in families living in very basic conditions in Thailand. Here, in Freetown, is desperation wrapped in aggressive hope. The remnants of the war torment their daily thoughts. This is the difference: Poverty driven by war.

Eventually we rocked up (literally, the dust track strewn with rocks) to the local church. A tiny girl toddled up to touch my hand in her stained ripped vest and pants. She was giggling with a bright excited sparkle in her eyes. A touching moment to remember.

The approach to church spoke a thousand words. In this concrete building with no facilities my eyes met a sight I’ll never forget. There is no money. There were a number of rows of plastic chairs and wooden benches with two pillars marking the central aisle. It was hard to see the chairs for the rows of streamers made from string with long colourful twirling balloons tied on. The pillars were adorned with fabric of a flower design, painted by the congregation. The name of the church ‘Word of Life’ was creatively created in old Christmas tinsel of various colours hanging on an old cutain at the front of the church. There could be no better way to lift the spirit in celebration. The contrast to the shanty town it was located in was nothing short of phenomenal.

What was even more amazing is that they used a generator to provide power for the keyboard and microphones. There was never an instance when a word could not be heard or appreciated as it rumbled through the building like an earthquake. I’m not quite sure how many decibels it was but, believe me, I’m sure I may suffer acute deafness if I attended every week. Additionally, the message was also transmitted in a rather thunderous manner ‘ The POWER of the LORD will come to de BODI…!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!’  Let’s say it was an interesting experience. It was wonderful that these people were full of praise but even the extraordinarily flat tones were a struggle to digest.  Yet….I love the people.

Finally, some weeks ago, I ventured to The Country Lodge Hotel.  This has been mentioned previously in the absence of any description of this glorious retreat. I’ll anticipate your assumptions and offer a whole-hearted ‘Yes! It is a paradise in comparison to the daily ship life’.  As you are now well informed about the driving and general status quo of the market streets you will appreciate that the trip to this venue is on a hill top avoiding the intense markets and traffic jam frustrations. 

The roads are almost ‘proper’ that curve gracefully up the hill. With each curve there is a little touch more breeze and lush greenery. The road at the top of the hill is an orange dust track that looks a little ominous to be honest and after the final turn there is a momentary dread at the downward gradient followed swiftly by the relief that we have arrived at the destination. 

The hotel pool is long and wonderfully turquoise laced with sun loungers calling you over to lie for a moment. The pleasant breeze is wonderfully relaxing. However the jewel of this resort is the panoramic view of Freetown and the ocean.  Even more enticing is watching the birds circling the city below.  This is where all the challenges of the past weeks are laid to rest. 

It may seem rather dull in crew terms but to those of you at home, in various countries, I’m having a rather glorious day on a deckchair on Deck 7. Due to the workload and illness this week my daily journal writing has been scuppered so I’m giving it a whirl all in one mammoth typing session. I have to say the sea breeze is wonderful as I’m gazing across the ocean waiting for the next moments of inspiration.  I hope you are all having a splendid day too although, admittedly, maybe not quite as splendid as mine J

Weekly Journal: 4th - 10th April

Diane (Millar) finally hopped down the gangway to the van and whizzed off to the airport.  It was a dull and rather sad evening so I called home for Mother’s Day. Mum was delighted. It’s funny how much you miss someone when you hear their voice.  Anyhow, it’s best to distract yourself when a gem of a friend leaves. Needless to say the tinge of blues rapidly disappeared the following evening when Jackie (Bailey) and I set our minds to writing a poem.

Sharp witted Diane had a fun and trouper character. She notified us, in her bright jolly manner, that farewells were not something she readily embraces and gave us a letter to read the following day. So I was stunned to the core when I read the most beautiful, poetic letter that penned the depth of true friendship.

In response we resisted the urge to gush our heartfelt thoughts. Instead we took a rare opportunity to catch her off guard by composing an Ode to Diane (to get our own back and hopefully give her a bucket of laughs).  This is our poem:

Diane is a beauty at heart,

Though not obvious from the start.

The stealth of a major in impeccable cleaning,

And snorting with an incredible meaning,

Especially hearty bouts in LOST,

Ripping up characters at no cost.

Her humour was dry,

Often jokes went awry.

She took the mundane,

‘sweeting’ and ‘knicks’ brought her fame.

In hilarities that gave us great kicks,

Whilst we stood in line to take her licks.

From this sharp witted soul,

Every show she stole,

With one liners so candidly told.

Her knowledge is so vast in suckling bats,

It dumb-founded us all; we thought they’re flying rats.

Mind you she could take flight with her hair,

Excused by the breezy Freetown air.

She always dressed kitsch never hodge-podge

Especially the chiffon for the Country Lodge.

It was great fun sea bobbing near the shores,

Being fish bait to entice “jaws”.

Though the funniest was beach whaled Al,

At the butt of her laughs despite being her pal.

He was nearly swept away,

Which gave her laughs for a day,

All in good spirit in that friendship way.

Whilst she’s at home, feet in the lap of her lover,

We’re still toiling and sweeting under Deck 3 cover.

Sitting LOST without her here,

Listening to the loo gurgles that we fear,

As a sign ‘the others’ may appear,

Like the TV show we hold so dear.

She is an absolute treasure,

Her value is beyond measure.

She touched the hearts of the Freetown poor,

Blessing them with compassion and so much more.

So we say ‘Bottoms Up’ and ‘Here Here’

To a friend we will always hold dear.

Missing you from the sweet stenches of Ship bathrooms, and the Freetown burning trash air

From us sardined in Deck 3 cabins

Your shipmates

Jackie

&

Claire

X XXXX X

Diane's Farewell Dinner at the Country Lodge, Hill Station. (Left to right: Xenia Lengert, Me, Bob Russell, Jackie Bailey, Diane Millar)

I do hope this brought her many a tear in memories and laughter.

Since my current patients were sent up North without my knowledge I found myself on a mission to find some hard-core medical cases for power stories. These are based on the more extreme medical cases which inspire the potential donators to increase their funds. As it happened some patients had arrived from Guinea who were pre-screened by a missionary couple. I know very little, in fact almost nothing, regarding the couple however admiration and respect are ridiculous understatements of the work they do.

In a nutshell, they find the most prolific acute tumour growth victims; support them in their homes and communities until the arrival of a Mercy Ship. They are not the conservative thinking, leaping in evangelical hallelujahs that one might be tempted to stereotype. Their courage in the life they lead is phenomenal. They have diligently learnt the culture and language of the Guinean people reaching out to the desperately ill and needy through friendship rather than intensive preaching some might consider bible bashing.

I witnessed the extraordinary bond he has with patients when they had been admitted into the hospital. There was a teasing banter between them yet in his gentleness there was the greatest degree of compassion I have ever encountered or, to be honest, even knew existed.

These patients were all very defined, curious, characters. My new patient, Ce, was one of these. He was weathered from a life of daily manual labour and I soon discovered he had many ‘labour’ talents. Firstly, he climbs palm trees to pick bunches of fruit. This is done by tying a rope around his waist and shuffling up the trunk like a monkey. Then he boils the fruit before processing red palm oil. His next talent is clearing swamp land. There are no risks, according to Ce. If there’s a snake or a rat he kills it and takes it home to eat. I imagine this protein meal is a rare treat. Finally, he makes mud bricks for contracting work.

Impressive. All the work requires huge quantities of physical strength.  Despite this he earns very little money. Some days there is not enough money to buy food to cook for dinner so he has a snack from the street. The doctors report that his vital signs show he is extremely fit. In consideration of his age, bearing in mind the average male life expectancy in West Africa is about 30 years, he is classified as a superhero in my evaluations.

He is an endearing soul; although he is often reluctant to admit his own strengths and weaknesses apart from eating. He loves to eat in huge quantities (so I’m told). Rice and any meat are his favourite meals. It will be a tough ride for him after the operation to remove his face tumour (and mend the broken jaw which occurred after he was chewing on a meat bone). His sole comfort will be absent until the mouth swellings reduce. I have also discovered he fancies himself as master Draughts player so I may tempt him to practice for the tournament with me. No doubt he’ll love it when he wins a million times in 10 minutes.

A new day has dawned. I woke up feeling fabulous. I have a new trick. To avoid another middle of the night disturbance I blindfolded myself with my sun bandana and moulded my ear plugs in place. It was pure bliss. This is combined with the fabulous phone call with my sis. She is rounding up superbly with baby Ezra and really not embracing this reality with a cheerful heart and mind.

Little does she know of in the world I’m living in Africa. The majority of the expectant mothers I’ve seen are slight and often thin with an enormous bump. After they give birth, they are not producing adequate quantities or nutrients in their milk to keep the baby healthy. Most babies and children are significantly below their weight and height for their age. This is from malnutrition due to a shortage of food. Of course this leads to many development issues and conditions in the child.

My sister, be happy to be a radiant, voluptuous expectant Mum. We’ll swim and jog again by the sea when the time comes. 

It was generally a marvellous day. I literally bumped into one of my outpatients in the corridor and walked into a beautiful experience. The history is of the mother is that she had been flogged daily by her husband and everyone had rejected her except her mother. This is because her baby had hyper-extended knees so he sat on the backs of his lower legs rather than his bottom. He is the most petite delicate little person. Indeed, inquisitive and deeply soulful in his eyes.

She greeted me with a huge smile and giggle of excitement. She had left her husband, moved in with her mother and even started hairdressing again to start earning some money for food.  It’s a courageous decision considering her husband was the sole provider and had supported her keeping the baby when everyone else was tormenting her to kill the baby in the bush. The excitement was contagious and soon the nurses were fluttering around her and the baby sharing tender moments.

Shortly afterwards I was spending time with Namina writing her name. She is still not friends with Dr Todd who valiantly attends to her daily dressing changes. Her communication largely consists of ‘I’ll flog you!” so I’m working on her attitude with many translated explanations that infact Dr Todd is making her face beautiful. She replies that she doesn’t believe it for now. One can only keep trying and time will heal her anger.

Midwifery article drafted and photo selections made with great bursts of hilarity. Unfortunately, in using a brown leather baby doll for the childbirth demonstrations many of the shots have a painstaking resemblance to ermmmmm something naughty. I think Debella referred to the photos as graphically medical so not fit for a public audience!  I need to choose final photos tomorrow morning to complete my article.

Somehow this evening, I managed to persuade a Russian seaman to teach me Russian so he can practice his English. Lessons may start next week. This really is a crazy ship life.

Bob the super lightening dentist and Mieke my Brussels room mate are leaving this week. Sad. Sad. Sad. It’s nearing the time to fix November dates for the Brussels cancelled flight reunion.

I wrote my first full patient story with reports it was good but needed to describe the patient’s personality in slightly more depth (he was 1 years old and only in hospital for two days). I’m on track and Texas considers my writing to be generally wonderful. I think you all deserve to drink to that! Cheers! (Mr G.O.D. you can definitely treat yourself to bubbles).

Infact, the truth of the matter is that I had an inspirational experience whilst writing the story. I’ve found a spot on deck 7 which has wooden patio tables in the shade on the starboard side. The view is overlooking the Freetown hills. I sat for a while watching eagles soaring high above the city eyeing their prey before suddenly swooping down to grasp their victims. The effortless soaring is elegant and graceful with gentle waves in a soporific rhythm. As I gaze across the landscape there is a peacefulness and beauty disguising the destruction and desperation lurking in the streets.

Finally, I caught the African sickness bug. It’s not the worst case but had to stay in my cabin for a couple days which was far from joyous. To top it all the Captains announced a water shortage so only showers are to be taken if absolutely necessary (I’m not entirely sure he understands that women and men will interpret this differently.  This escalated within 48 hours to another severity level. No showers. Luckily for me I had just taken my under 2 minute shower before the announcement to cut the water supply off was made. Additionally the laundry room remained closed and only plastic crockery and paper plates were used for mealtimes. I was on a mission to find a shower at some point during the weekend.

On Saturday, it was mind over matter. Tummy trouble was persistently lingering so I decided to take some optimistic and positive action.  Out came the flower hairbands carefully arranged on top of my bandana and a wonderful lick of waterproof mascara and eyeliner. Yes! We are not living in a village in the bush but in a city and some of the women wear cosmetics. Definitely a minority in the east side but still there are some. The plan was to venture out in a taxi to the craft market for one hour and should there be a sign of rocket tummy then I could jump in a cab back to the ship.

Splendid day! I met a new local friend, Martha, who works in the eye clinic. Xenia, Martha and I visited the indoor craft market. There were few people there and it was quiet and rather beautiful away from the intense dirt and heat of the umbrella street markets. I decided to look for an item of clothing incase the laundry room remained closed for the next week. Martha is a wonderful negotiator. She stands her ground from the start. I think she would make a great lawyer. After a number of ridiculous items flung over my head and clothes I managed to find a lovely two-piece with shells attached that jingle as you walk.

Next we went to a bistro.  It had some form of a toilet so I wasn’t too worried. We walked in through an inconspicuous door into a shady courtyard. Chicken and plantains served for lunch. African beats in the background with the local well to do business men chattering about politics. This is definitely one of the few gems of the city.

A surprise visit to the tailor was a treat to round up the afternoon trip. Not before an introduction to the fabric market.  This was a deep orange dusty and rather rocky alley full of faded colourful umbrella stores hiding the fabric warehouse shops. The selection is not as diverse as the craft market but a quarter of the price. Orange African print cotton is the fine material for my first African dress. Finally, we popped to the tailor who works in a sky blue hut smaller than a garden shed. Somehow they managed to fit three old fashioned sewing machines on tables in there. I was most impressed. The prices are jaw droppingly cheap. Let’s hope the finished article will be stunning too.



Me, Orla and Jenny



Sunday is pure bliss. I am feeling full of life and top of the world. No more African illness for me. After seven attempts to get a taxi I finally managed to convince one to take us up the hill. We were on our way, my girl Melinda + Cabin friend, to the Country Lodge Hotel to meet my local friend Jenny and her little girl. Initially I doubted we would arrive there with the taxi crawling at 20mph but after an hour, for what is usually a 25minute drive, we did arrive in one piece. It was a fun time. Meeting up with local friends feels like living life rather than bizarre ship experiences which is impossible to relate to normal living on any wavelength (please contain your thoughts about the definition of normal. Believe me, living on a hospital ship is another world away from normal).



Melinda & Orla

Interestingly, we had a mind tingling discussion about life in Freetown. Beyond the shanty towns it’s a very expensive place to live despite the rarity of decent properties and infrastructure. It is simple. Everything is imported therefore a higher price tag is slapped on top of all the taxes. Fruit, especially mangoes that are in abundance all year round have highly inflated prices which vary according to the colour of your skin. The prices are graded according to the depth of brown pigment in your skin. All frustrating but accepted as a way of life here.

As for the driving: Well, that is a law unto itself. No-one has driving lessons or licenses. There are no traffic lights and only three roundabouts in the entire city. There are no road markings as most roads are dust tracks. So, the rule of the road is to pip your horn to indicate you are there and you may be doing something. For deliveries, a lorry stops and blocks the road at any time of day. If there is a five mile traffic jam so be it.

Also there are market stalls across most edge of road spaces and thousands of people. There are few shops in the city so the markets are where everybody has to shop for daily essentials as well as other goods. Can you imagine driving literally through a market street? There are no pavements and open drains so it is a highly skilled task to jump from the roadside into the market stalls amongst a throng of jostling impatient people in gas mark 8  heat…oh, and let’s not forget wading through the trash on the floor.  It is beyond crazy. However there are some relatively wider roads with the odd pavement outside the city centre which is a little more sane although there are few shops on these roads.

Sunday chill watching Fracture (an Anthony Hopkins special) with the girls (Xenia and Jackie). Grab your pillow, settle on my bunk with a stash of sweets. Lovely.  I’m ready for sleeps.

Weekly Journal: March 28th - 3rd April

Reflecting on the day I’ve found slowly the work schedule is falling into place. A routine beyond the ship meetings and mealtimes will be delightful.  A local doctor, true child of Mercy Ships (not quite born but definitely raised on the ship),  Sandra Lako popped over from the Aberdeen clinic to chatter about her background and how she came across my little treasured gem Namina. Her background is simply presented yet extraordinary in context. After being raised in the bubble ship life (everyone is wonderfully doting on the children and school life is creative and fun) she lived in The Netherlands to go to medical college before eventually coming back to Africa to set-up from scratch a new clinic in Aberdeen.

Believe me. This is no mean feat in Sierra Leone. Freetown was savaged during the war. There has been little development during the post war decades and now everything thrives on the fractured landscape and shattered economy. I can hear a grunt and groan from those readers pondering on the topic of the global economy crunch.  To enlighten you, just enough to pause for thought, there is a radically different concept and reality to a global credit crunch impacting an already flailing and fragmented developing country dragging itself through the post war years than a developed country feeling the pinch. The difference is desperation vs slight discontentment.

Back to the agenda for the day. I took, well actually, I snook, if indeed snook is the past tense of sneak, a little toy car to my boy Ibrahim. He is the quiet soul that everyone overlooks yet there will be an incredibly bright journey in his life. Great things are in store for him. He’s remarkably smart, perceptive and observant. A very serious little chap. That was until I pressed the toy car into his hand. He had the widest cheshire cat grin you could ever imagine. It took me aback as I really didn’t believe he was capable of anything more than a brief smile. Gold dust.

 Despite a rather optimistic day my little bow legged treasure Mariama was in a sorrow disposition. The effect of surgery on both legs is giving her great waves of pain. She was listless in between episodes of aching moans in her crying. I quietly gave her a little bamboo angel in her hand to distract and calm her. This worked in distracting her however only for her to shred the gold from the angel. So I stood and stroked her hair. I was helpless and she was angry that I couldn’t take her away from the pain.  I know in a few days, when the pain dulls, she will bounce back. Still it is tough to watch. Her life is tough enough. Does she really have to suffer this much to change it? Well her fighting spirit at least gives her the determination as well as the bruises on her Grandmother’s arms. Tomorrow my goal, amidst trying to juggle writing three articles, is to find her some shoes for school. I’ll see if Melinda is ready to take a stroll into the oven market streets.

Photographer Marco just left the ship to fly twenty hours to his next assignment. There are many people that are here one week and gone the next. In the blink of an eye the crew changes , seemingly. However, I’m already discovering that there will be some treasured sparks amongst the general crowd. Marco was strangely one of those. There were fleeting moments of intrigue that could lead on to a good old banter or curiously meaningful conversation but before you know it the plan had changed and the moments are gone. I know we will be friends though. It is just a knowing as with Ally, Diane, Jackie and Melinda. Those are friendships that are immensely fun, full of depth and effortless. Goodbye Marco for this week in the meantime I’ll be chattering with Ally via email and penning my farewell thoughts to Diane for her imminent departure on Sunday.

Following patient stories remains hectic although the new communication processes are beginning to bring some value.  We’re now receiving calls in the comms office from excited nurses advising patients are being prepared for discharge. We’re able to capture the end of the treatment story and the beginning of their new life.  These times are filled with confusion. Relief the surgeries and patient care treatments have relished success, an aching sadness as the friendship draws to a close and pure elation that their lives are enhanced with a successful future. For many, it’s a ticket out of the depths of poverty, especially for the children.

Mariama Feika is indeed one of these cases. She is my treasured girl. The bandages have been removed so only light dressings supporting the knees remain. Tomorrow, as the cockerel crows she will leave on a long journey to her home in the North (which is geographically to the East).

 I only discovered her imminent departure yesterday so on her last day I had a mission to fulfil. Her grandmother ‘Mama’ told me Mariama has no shoes for school. Her flimsy sandals are not supporting her feet which are needed to help keep her legs corrected after surgery.

 So, I finally found my local day volunteer friend Arthur and asked him to come shoe shopping at the local street markets. Arthur was thrilled. He could be a leader and protector as well as providing a valuable role in helping the little girl go back to school. So we had a pleasant stroll to the markets until I had to jump into a market trader’s stall on the floor clinging desperately onto his arm to break my fall. A mind-blowing enormous military lorry rumbled by intent on driving over anything in it’s path. There are no pavements so when the vehicles speed or are extra wide in the narrow streets you have to jump into any space nearby.  There is no punishment for hit and run. It’s a regular occurrence accepted as daily life.

Fortunately for me, the stall was a shoe stall. The reference to a ‘stall’ in this scenario is a blanket on the pavement. However, despite the random selection of second hand shoes I found the perfect pair of white Velcro pink flowered sandals.  I will never forget my little feisty girl’s reaction when I asked her to look in my bag; puzzled disbelief, followed by astonishment, and then the breath-taking smile. It is an explosive happiness. She knows these shoes symbolise a future that will leave the misery she has endured for so long. This is quite frankly heaven on earth.

My cabin mates are engaged in a rather curious discussion about African aromas. The Freetown aroma is a strong stench of heavy lead smog combined with old trash in a gas mark eight oven. Splendid as a trigger to faint although the intense oven heat tends to create a zombie consciousness so mindlessly repel any urges to wretch.  

After yet another addictive session of LOST with the usual animated jokes, storyline predictions and sweetie treats, it’s time to sleep.

Today, I was advised that many of my patients have returned to the North rather than staying a few days at the patient care unit in The Hope Centre.  It is hard to swallow knowing there were no farewells except for my Mariama. Fortunately I have most of the interviews near completion.

In the morning I popped into Outpatients clinic in the ship hospital. This is becoming a daily occurrence to confirm the dates my patients return for post op treatment. As it happened Namina was due for her first post op dressing changes. She had received three dressing changes in the Operating Room (OR) under anaesthetic so this was the first time without medication. 

Her little hand slid into mine and she hid her face in my trousers in a wave of shyness. Her mother, Wara, smiled but there was heavy apprehension in the air. I was about to discover the reason…

Dressing changes for noma wounds test a pain threshold more than most other wounds. Namina has endured two years of dressing changes since she was three years old. Each time is associated with traumatic memories. Additionally, on this occasion, she was in an alien environment with new nurses. Inevitably, fright took a firm grip of her.

She writhed, screamed, cried with great despair. The doctor needed her to be still to cleanse, assess and re-apply dressings to the wound.  So I took hold of her flailing arms, tucked her little elbows beside her body and gripped firmly.  Her mother held her head in place.  This protected her face from being damaged. As we followed the doctor’s instructions he remained composed and gently attended to the wound.

Namina was wild with fury. It was an explosive mix of fear of new surroundings, memories of previous dressing changes, being restrained (completely unforgiving for most five year olds) and pain. She rocked, writhed and screamed to continually fight to be released. So every now and again we would give her some time to calm down before continuing with the procedure. Altogether it took an hour and a half.

It was a challenging experience. Namina is my little friend so I had to resist the strong temptation to take her into my arms and calm her fears and instead do the practical tasks to help her face heal. It was an emotional test. If I had a top hat I would tip it with a bow to the work doctors and nurses perform in medical clinics. It is a test of endurance that many of us never have an insight to or opportunity to experience.

Upon Pierre’s request I wrote an email to a Minister requesting a meeting with the President of Guinea.  I enjoy writing my presidential letters.  Pierre (a fabulously French Frenchman) embraces the formal English phrases with an abundance of excitement and enthusiasm. We share a passion to achieve a masterpiece in the letters we write. Each time when we read through there is an appreciative nod followed by ‘Ahhh! Perfect!’

 Two patient stories submitted. I’m on a roll.

The only florist in town....(this photo will delight my Mum)...

The shanty town fishing village outside the dock gates...

My Treasured Pikins

My Treasured Pikins

I would like to introduce you to my new friendships emerging as I collate their life stories. These are my pikins:

Musa

 

Musa (Moosa) is eight years old.  As a little girl she spent her days playing in the bush. One day a stick fell from a tree catching her eye. There is no medical care available so over time the swelling and inflammation increased forming a tumour behind her eye.

She has no friends. She is an outcast. The severity of the bullying she suffered is evident. When she arrived her eyes were downcast and she was deeply withdrawn. That was until she came on board the ship in the care of Mercy Ships.

 I discovered her life dream is to go to school after her eye is healed so I’m teaching her how to write her name in rainbow colours. Since practicing her writing her smile is emerging slowly in her shyness.  I am stunned by her capacity to learn. After holding the crayon with her to write her name she started writing the letters herself immediately.  She had never had crayons or pencils neither been to school before. Needless to say I’m so proud of her. She has been sent home until the cat scan is fixed.

Mariama

Mariama is four years old with a severe ‘bow legs’ condition. She was abandoned when she was a baby. Fortunately, her grandmother took the challenge to raise her. Times have no doubt been tough for them both.

Her grandmother is a big mama with a bright, extroverted persona injecting laughter and fun in all her conversations. She is a Muslim. Despite this she sent Mariama to a Christian school. In their incredible bond they each embrace a different religion. Mariama has a passion for dancing and sometimes singing to gospel songs. Her African moves and grooves are exceptional especially when she shakes her bootie!

The other day she ran length of the ward, threw herself at my legs, tightly wrapping herself around me and told me she loved me. These moments are so precious.

Namina

Namina is five years old. She had been on the brink of death when she was brought to a doctor who had grown up the ship. She has Noma. This is a condition where the flesh is destroyed by bacteria. There is a 90% mortality rate. Against all the odds Namina survived despite her cheek being eaten away. Over the past two years the wound has healed leaving a hole the size of a fifty pence piece. Life has been very difficult for her. She has no friends and struggled to cope with daily torments. She was so withdrawn she had deeply recoiled into herself. On the first few weeks on the ship there was no eye contact, reactions to any stimuli, expressions to her surroundings or interactions with others. It has been a slow process to initiate communication with her. She is now my friend although she’s annoyed she’s not allowed to go to my cabin where I live. This little girl is a fighter.

Her mother, Wara, has led an extraordinary life. She has walked through many storms. When Namina went into surgery on the ship I went to sit with Wara who was desperately downcast. Her inner turmoil was evident in her eyes. I wondered if this was one struggle beyond her capacity to cope. A few days later, when she was sure Namina was recovering well, she revealed she had reached a point of no return and thought the best option would be for her to end her life. Her determination to live was restored by a few supporting friendships on the ship.