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.
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