And while it is quiet, living on a ship is not without its distinct sounds and smells. As far as sounds go, the ventilation is on constantly, so one feels like they are in an airplane. All. The. Time. I have been sleeping during the day, and during the day is when others work. They do not account for those poor souls who work graveyard shift. There has been a sound that I can only equate to gnomes (Liberian gnomes?) dragging metal chains through the metal walls and various air conditioning passage-ways of my cabin. It is a utterly deafening.
The crackling of walkie talkie radios go on and off throughout the day from our duty officers, deck hands, etc. The chatter of patients, nurses, doctors, as well as the ringing of phones fill the air. The ship is always busy, and someone is always awake.
The smells. I live on Deck 3. Half of it is cabins. And on the other side of some heavy metal doors is the hospital and all its wards. This side of Deck 3 has a distinct smell that I can only categorize as a mixture of urine, body odor, medicine, blood and illness. It is similar to rotten eggs, perhaps with a tinge of old wet towel as well. Somehow the doctors and nurses manage, and I must as well, if I am at all to continue visiting patients, which I will.
On the dock and sometimes at the reception area where I work, the flood of ocean smells waft around. This is not, 'Ah! The bliss of ocean air.' It is more like, the leftover smell of garbage that has washed out from shore, mixed with stale water that smells as though it has been boiled underneath this African sun. My colleague had an air freshener out during her shift this afternoon. Rather practical, I would say!
And despite all these quirks that some may find intolerable, there are 400 people on this boat serving in any capacity they can. Volunteering their lives anywhere from 2 weeks to a lifetime. We do have some creature comforts. For example, my roommate gives manicures in order to pay for her crew fees. We have movie nights (Finding Nemo, this Saturday). The guys love watching football (that's soccer to us North Americans) in the lounge and we have a very modest gym on Deck 2. Finally, because they have taken over the world, they might as well take us over too. Proof - the Starbucks on the Africa Mercy as generously manned by Comfort (from Ghana) and Ujin (from Korea).
They make some mean raspberry mochas for the price of - wait for it - a dollar. (Insert jealous gasps from caffeine addicted readers.) Most agree that somehow our Starbucks is better than the quality of that back home. We don't ask how, we just drink. Happily.
And then there are the random things we do. Like playing life-sized board games and sharing our culture. We had a Scottish Celidgh on the dock the other night which is like square dancing. Our host is a Scotsman, of course, and he played his bag pipes for us, along with an African on drums.
It is all great fun, but it is coupled with hard work on the side. Everything is very unique, as I've found that anything can be when you add, "... on a hospital ship docked in Monrovia, Liberia, West Africa" !
Patient update: Regarding Ceceilia, she has gone home. Her parents picked her up. While we did not get to say goodbye, I feel good about it. She was in a good situation with two surviving parents, siblings, and education in place. Hopefully I will see her during her Post-Op visit!
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