putting a name to a number

We are safely arrived at the Canary Islands in Spain! After a tearful goodbye to Conakry and five days of somewhat rocky but beautiful sailing, we finally spotted land today. The skyscrapers were definitely a change of scenery from miles and miles of ocean. It's a bit cooler here and the shipyard looks quite a bit different than the Conakry port. It's much more touristy, there's a lot less trash, and I'm amazed with how many foutes (white people) there are here! :)

I have one last (well maybe not the last..) story to tell from Guinea before we left. A few days before departure, my friend Kristina saw a man giving pedicures off the street near the fish market we were walking through. She was intrigued and determined to get her toe nails done. So later that afternoon we went back to the same place, only to find the man gone. A lady with a baby came up and with the little English she spoke, said that she would find him for us.

While we waited, the woman invited us to sit down in the shade and I asked if I could hold her cute baby. Not a problem. I was touched with how she invited us strangers in and were so willing to help us without knowing us at all. Two men finally showed up, seated us on a table, and starting cleaning our filthly feet. I shamefully kept apologizing for the dirt, but the boy wiping them off just smiled and said, "It's no problem." He looked oddly familar, but I couldn't remember where I had seen him. I then noticed a Bible laying on the table, which I haven't seen in Conakry outside of church.

He asked if I was from Mercy Ships, and then asked, "So you're a Christian, right?"

"Why yes, I am."

He then proceeded to tell me that his name was John, he was from Liberia, 18 years old, and had come to Guinea because of the war. Once he came to Guinea, he started attending the church Amour de Dieu in Conakry. There it was! It clicked. The very first week I was here I went to Amour de Dieu, and this boy came up to me and introduced himself. He told me he had some medical problem and that he desperately needed help. I sadly had to tell him (like many others) that all the surgeries were filled. However, while I was getting my toes done, John told me that he had his hernia surgery this past March on the Africa Mercy and was healing very well. He showed me his Mercy Ships release papers that were inside his Bible. I was so happy. A total of 2,873 surgeries have been performed during the outreach in Guinea, but what a difference it makes to actually know someone whose life was transformed through your work. I was struck with how through just a simple, and kind of silly idea of getting our toes done... I was able to remeet someone directly effected by Mercy Ships. John is now healthy, doing good business, and trusting in the Lord. Praise Jesus!



This is the sweet lady that helped us and let me hold her baby.



John and I, post pedicure :)



thankful

Friday was the day workers' last day and we sail to Spain in one week. Where has the time gone?! As I think of my time in Guinea winding down, I get extremely emotional. And to be completely honest, I'm not ready to leave. One quote I heard recently said that the heart is most full and genuine at the times of meeting and goodbye. Although this week has been filled with tough goodbyes, tears, and loss of words, I have realized that it is all a result of the blessings I've been showered with over the past five months. The reason why it's hard to leave is because of the wonderful things I've experienced: the faithful friends I've met here, the amazing trips in and around Guinea, living and working in an extremly unique environment, being in the beautiful continent of Africa, and having my eyes continually opened to the Lord's goodness. So thank you Lord, for everything you give me:

My job would be much less exciting if it weren't for my galley team. They make work not so much like work, and I'm pretty sure I work with some of the most fun and patient people on earth.



Abdul (Guinea), Kristina (USA), Aaron (New Zealand), Teresa (Nigeria), and myself.

 


   

The Food Services department! (aka the best department on the ship)



 I am so thankful for the kids of Guinea. I have so much love for them, their senses of humor, their smiles, their adorable independence, and their joy. I will dearly miss the children here... from kids at the orphanage and deaf school, to patients from the ship, to little kids on the street yelling "Foute, foute!" (white person, white person!), I will miss them all.  

I'm thankful for African worship. I've been to several African churches here, but nothing quite compared to the "day worker thank you event" on the ship this past Friday. The worship was so amazingly alive. So much dancing, loud singing, and praising the Lord. Definitely going to miss this.

 Sometimes it's easy to talk about the more exciting areas of my life here and leave out the simple, everyday things. But my dear friend, Lisa from Switzerland, has been such an encouragement, mentor, and friend over the past five months. She's the type of person that puts chocolates on your bed, happily gives you a back massage, and listens to every word you say when you talk. She's patient, hilarious, and such a faithful friend. She's a recent Christian, and her joy and love for Jesus and others is so inspiring. So so so thankful for Lisa.

This picture doesn't quite do it's justice, but I'm thankful for daily life here in Guinea.  I'm going to miss being able to walk to church, the market, or the local hospital to visit. Or taking taxis anywhere in Conakry for less than a dollar. This photo was taken on a trip to Niger Market through the rain (thus the shower cap...:))

This past week I was invited to three different friends' houses here in Guinea. I am so grateful for the dear friends I've made and that they could show me more about life here, especially the day workers that worked in or around the galley. Here's Edward, Morlaye, Florence, and Abdul.. all who live in Conakry. Will miss all of them dearly.



And lastly, I'm thankful for Mercy Ships and the huge number of crew, day workers, patients it has effected and touched over the years.

Alpha.

A couple weeks ago some church plans fell through on a Sunday morning. Instead, two of my friends and I went to the ward church service down in the hospital onboard. Although almost all the patients come from a Muslim background, and though most of them just sit there and don't participate, they have the most curious, interested looks on their faces. As I was sitting there, I was thinking that most of them were trying to figure out WHAT would enable someone to volunteer to do something like Mercy Ships?! I was almost ammused by their expressions, especially the older ones. :) I think it's wonderful that the ship provides church services to point them in the right direction spiritually, and to answer that very question for them.

In the hospital bed in front of me, sat a smiling boy with two massive tumors. One was the size of a football on the side of his neck, and the other on his back was even bigger. I couldn't stop looking at him. I could see he had quite a bit of energy despite the extra load he was carrying. He could barely keep his eyes on the preacher and singers and kept sneakily kicking around a balloon at his feet. Although I didn't talk to him, afterwards I felt moved that I needed to befriend another patient as soon as possible.

When I filled out the befriend a patient form, I requested a Sousou child, the one of three tribal languages I can speak at least a tiny bit. A couple days later I got a note on my door with my patient's name, Alpha Camara. I went down to the ward to meet him, and sure enough, there was the boy I had watched during that ward service just a few days before.

I sat down next to him and immediately grabbed my hand and smiled his huge smile. I asked the translator to explain that I was his friend and will visit him as much as I can. I also met his father, who faithfully traveled far with his son for both the screening and surgery date nine months later. He slept on a mattress under Alpha's hospital bed the whole time Alpha was onboard. He spoke French, so I was able communicate with them both a bit more than expected, which I'm very grateful for.

Alpha is an extremely kind boy, mostly through gestures. One night I went to retrieve all the dirty hospital dishes after a long day of work. Although he didn't know that I was tired, hot, and frustrated, he saw me come into his ward, smiled, and helped me collect the rest and pick up a mess I had made. One afternoon during patient time outside on deck seven, several nurses wanted to get their picture with him (he is pretty popular,) but Alpha would always look behind at me when they would walk him away and gesture for me to come with. I would wink and tell him to go on. After every evening visit he would walk me out of the ward and say goodbye at the stairs.

When I went down last week to visit Alpha, his bed was empty and made up. The nurse told me that he was either at the Hope Center or already on his way home. My heart sunk. It is a bittersweet feeling when patients leave because your time with them is gone, but it also means they are healed and their lives will be completely turned around as they return home. That brings such joy to my heart. Alpha's return to his village will be drastically different from his departure, probably with smiles and looks of disbelief, instead of distain and little faith of his tumors being gone. The Lord is so good! Even though it hurts me that I might not see Alpha again on this earth and that I never got to hug him goodbye, my hope is that he will remember that the Lord Jesus Christ is the one that made it possible for him to be healed. If he doesn't remember me, I hope he at least remembers his Creator who had this all planned out before the beginning of time.



Alpha, me, and my friend Lea, with her patient.



Wonkifong.

The seven of us headed out of the Conakry port at six in the morning and after some negotiation, piled into a minivan taxi and gave the driver the name of where we were meeting Estel. A long standing missionary in Guinea, Estel runs Babies without Milk, an organization that provides formula milk for baby orphans in and around Conakry. She sells jewelry and snacks in the ship shop onboard to help afford the formula, and that's how we came in contact with her. We got to her apartment and met her and the baby boy laying down in the living room. She explained how this little boy was lactose intolerant, and couldn't handle the formula milk. She had arranged for another mother to feed him, so we dropped him off to this woman on the way to Wonkifong. Estel is a wonderful woman. Full of the spirit, fluent in Sousou, and willing to take seven girls to spend the night in a remote village... I think enough is said.

We stayed in Wonkifong, a village an hour and a half from Conakry. The family that hosted us were dear friends of Estel's and treated us us like royalty. When we first entered their house (which was surprisingly large), Estel whispered to us, "I wonder where they borrowed this furniture from." We brought what we could: a sack of rice, powdered milk and bread, but it was nothing compared to their generosity. We were greeted with huge smiles and immediately seated and offered rice and sauce. Throughout that afternoon, we were constantly being seated, offered water, fresh coconuts, smashed avacado with bread, and plenty of rice and sauce. After every mini meal, a girl in the family would wash the ten or so spoons the family had and the bowls we had used. They gave up their two beds for us, and I assumed everyone else slept on the floor. They drew all the water from the well, and even bought bagged Coyah water because they knew we wouldn't drink the well water. And that didn't bother them at all. We spent our time learning Sousou greetings and having people laugh at our attempt, getting our hair braided, learning out to dye batiques, laughing, watching a a chicken be butchered for dinner, playing with kids with endless amounts of energy, and basquing in the simplistic, beautiful lifestyle.

These kids. We seemed to have a parade of kids wherever we went, and none of us were sure which belonged to the family we were staying with. But all of them reached straight into my heart. As the day went on, I realized how language wasn't as huge of a barrier as I had thought. The kids were bright, and through motions and sounds, we communicated and had a whole lot of fun. They were so full of joy and love and absolutely loved having us there. I felt more attached to them because I got to spend more than a few hours with them, unlike other times I get to know the kids here in Guinea. This one little boy in particular absolutely stole my heart. This boy, whose name I don't remember (sad, I know), somehow managed to recall my difficult to remember/un-Sousou name the next morning when I walked out of the house. We all took a walk through the village, and he held my hand the whole way and kept talking to me in Sousou. He taught me to count to ten in Sousou, and then I taught him in English and French. Despite the massive language barrier, we still managed to communicate, laugh, and create a friendship.

That next morning when the time came to hug goodbye, a wave of sadness overtook me. As I looked out the back window of the car and saw all the children sprinting after the car until the last one gave up, I said to myself, "I will never see these people again. Never." Probably an extremely negative way to look at the situation, but for some reason I couldn't think of not seeing them again.

However, looking back on the trip, I realized how extremely blessed I am to be here. To be in Guinea. To be with such loving and absolutely genuine people. Their love seems to never end-- if that means devoting 100% of their weekend to hosting guests, so be it. I thought about what priorities I have in my life and how much more there is to life besides going to college, getting a degree, and becoming successful in the world. Estel and her husband lived in Wonkifong for twenty years, raised their three children there, and became Sousou. They wore Sousou clothes, ate Sousou food, and became fluent in the Sousou language. What an incredible sacrifice, it seems. But as Estel says, it's not a sacrifice. She absolutely loves that the people in Wonkifong claim her, her husband, and kids as fellow Sousou family and wouldn't trade that for anything. I've been thinking about that statement over the past week, and I now think I understand what she means. When you listen and follow God's plan, no matter how impossible it seems, He will give you the strength and everything you need to follow his will. He won't give you something you can't handle. He promises it. How incredible, relieving, and satisfying is that? So, join me, slow down, and listen. Listen intently for God's voice. And who knows, you might be amazed with what He tells you.

This is the lactose intolerant boy that Estel is taking care of.

The adorable goofball in the blue on the right is the boy I was talking about.

That morning was my friend Stefanie's birthday, so we had balloons. :) 

These friends of the family came by that evening. I asked the one on the right how
she ties her head wrap,  so she just put it right on me.

As I went to the car to get some water, a young lady asked me if I wanted my hair braided!
I had secretly been hoping I would all evening, so I hopped on it. 

That morning all the boys took a swim in the river.

Watching dinner being made and talking in the backyard.

Learning a hand game from some girls. The only words I could make out in the song were Fanta and Coca.

This is Estel, showing us the toilet.

Playing ball with the kids.

The family's kitchen in their backyard.

The kids getting water from the well at dusk.

the week in photos

On Sunday I went to church with one of my co-workers, Patience. Here she is with her three sweet kids.

My afternoon snack. Mangos are everywhere and absolutely delicious.

I had the privilege of observing a few surgeries this week!  Here I am looking like a smurf.

Out to dinner with some of the best friends.

We surprised Lisa with a birthday pool party!  (Lisa's on the right) So grateful for these wonderful friends. 

Another birthday, this time for my bunkmate and friend, Ashley. 

Some boys after a school day. I snapped this picture out of the Mercy Ships car.

Glenn, Emily, and Jenny, We got a tour of the engine room!

Tomorrow is Palm Sunday! Here's Fred carrying some palm branches down to Deck 2.

The engine control room. 

An extremely familiar sight: tomatoes and cucumbers. And my co-worker, Kristina. :)  

My friend, co-worker, and French teacher, Tom. 

A Conakry sunset, off the ship.