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.
