Crazy or divine

Its official! I have been made a part-time counselor/teacher on the ward. Aside from my full time job as Assistant Purser, I will be spending Wednesday afternoons and Friday mornings on the ward in order to teach knitting and crocheting. I am thrilled about this! Though I was on the ward after my usual eight to five work hours, I often found myself extremely drained. Now that it is built into my work schedule, I know I will find it much more productive to be down there during the hours when I am actually fresh! Also, it is nice to be out of my uniform. Additionally, I love that my work bag consists of knitting needles to give away, yarn, scissors, yarn needles and crochet hooks.



Incidentally, there was a ‘thank you’ party last week for all the part-time ward teachers. I didn’t know what to expect, but upon arrival, I was greeted with cheers and applause. It was wonderful to feel appreciated.



People signed a card for me. I didn't know that many nurses were aware of what I was doing.



When I arrived in Liberia, no one was informed of my intentions to teach knitting. In fact, back at home, I think the idea was received with some amusement towards the idea of knitting in such a hot place as Africa. However, I knew that was the thing that God impressed upon my heart to do here. In looking back at the process of introducing knitting to the ward during my stay, I see how He has just opened door after door. I arrived with very few materials, none of them to really give away, and now I have more than I can handle. First, our managing director’s wife, gave me her stash of knitting needles – over 100 pairs – as well as some yarn that had been tucked away deep in a closet. Then, I ordered some more materials over the internet and had it delivered here. I was worried about the crew mail fees, but through the generosity of my donors, I was able to afford the delivery. Then, more yarn came through friends who have sent it via crew mail. Then, I received permission from the ward supervisors and charge nurses to teach knitting whenever I wanted. As patients started seeing other patients with completed cell phone bags, hair ties and purses, the idea just took off. Every time a Maersk container ship sails into port, I smile to myself. I know that when they open the Mercy Ships container, someone from somewhere will have had some crazy idea to put some yarn in a box and send it to the ward at the m/v Africa Mercy. As of now, there is a huge box of scrap yarn sitting in D ward for use.

But as you can tell, sometimes the craziest ideas are the most divine ones.

Getting unstuck

This blog entry is dedicated to my fellow Los Angelenos and my Californian Governor who have a love for military vehicles and SUVs driven on perfectly paved roads, here is the real reason why they were invented ...

... for rainy days that turn dirt into mud on the roads on the way to a Mercy Ships building site...



And just how many people does it take to get a Land Rover unstuck?

Apparently one Aussie (Karl) and five Liberians!

Some things never change

The yarn stash seems to grow no matter where I am. But at least now I am not stashing it for myself.

Old habits die hard (but the yarn cannot replace Ester who slept in this bed!)

Beautiful

We had a vesico vaginal fistula screening again at the beginning of this month.



VVF patients suffer from fistulas - or punctures, holes, tears- that are in the rectal wall or bladder due to prolonged labor or trauma in the vagina. Often times a woman who is impregnated at an early age before the pelvis has had time to form will suffer from prolonged labor. These women often give birth to stillborn children after having been in prolonged labor for three to ten days. The stress creates these obstetric fistulas.

Because they are constantly leaking urine or feces, they become outcasts in society. They not included in society because they smell, because they are seen as failures in the one thing that will give them validation in their society - to be a mother.

We have about twenty of these VVF ladies in the ward right now. Last Sunday, during ward church service, two of them were sent home because they had been cured. Dressed in a beautiful new gown, Mary stood up, she sang a song of worship and started walking outside of the hospital. Where was she going? She wandered out of the ward doors and then took the hands of a big, smiling moustached white man. She held those hands, so precious in her own. They were the hands that cured her. Dr. Steve grinned from ear to ear, a bit embarrassed, but a glimmer of a tear crept up to his eyes. Mary gave thanks to God for what He did through Dr. Steve.

From the last VVF screening, here are some healed and happy ladies. (And my friends Zoe and Doris, Liberian dayworkers - second from left and third from left - whom I have taught how to knit, and are now teaching the VVF patients)



Tonight, there was a screening of A Walk to Beautiful. The movie focuses on three to four VVF patients in Ethiopia who travel at least six hours by foot to the nearest road, then take at least a 15 hour bus journey to the city of Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. There, they meet women who have also been left by husbands, rejected in their own homes, and shut out from society. They receive physical healing, but also psychological support. (Incidentally, Dr. Steve also worked at this center for 3 years. He is not in the film, but his dog appears briefly!)

In one scene, a group of women are sitting around knitting. In fact, all of them are swaddled in colorful, garter stitched patchwork blankets. Several of the nurses turned to me during the film and smiled. My roommate Ellen yelled, 'Hey Michelle, have you been there?' To me, it was a small sign that I am in the right place right now. And that kind of 'knowing' is a relief in life, no matter how big or small that what I thought I would be doing here, is what I am really suppose to be doing. And let's not forget, after all, we are 'knitted' in our mothers' wombs!

Not For Sale

An article in a local newspaper was published a couple weeks ago stating that Mercy Ships was buying kidneys illegally stolen from victims of brutal killings. This, of course, couldn't be further from the truth. There have been victims lately who have slain and had their kidneys stolen, but most of this is for Satanic or tribal cult activity, and not for Mercy Ships operations!

On the day the article was published, our Liberian dayworkers were quite dismayed. Cecelia expressed her sadness and anger towards her own people -- that a Liberian would incriminate an organization that has come to offer free aide to her country without any obligation attached, was beyond her. All day long, I saw her head hung low as she worked to clean the ship dutifully. In a country where literacy is so low, heresay becomes gospel. For those who trust in the government, there is almost too much trust in the printed word and the trust is naive. It seems that others who have no power, decide to stir up trouble just to gain some.

Nonetheless, the article did a fair amount of damage. In the past week, some crew have been the object of insults as they passed by in Mercy Ships vehicles. Others have been the object of light mocking on the streets. Some crew members have been approached with offers of kidney sales. For example, a week ago, a child approached one of our Eye Team members with the proposition of selling a kidney from his uncle. Unbeknownst to the child, there was a police officer in line to have his eyes checked. After being turned down by our team, the officer followed this child back to his home whereupon his uncle produced retarded child and offered up this child's kidneys. This uncle was arrested, but I don't know the results of his jurisdiction.

Today, the Minister of Health of Liberia made a special visit to the ship. We called all the crew members together. He thanked us for our service, acknowledging that we are here to do free services, of our free will, paying our own way by our own money or others, and that we work hard to do it. And all this, he said, was 'a manifestation of our Christian witness.' He expressed that alot of people are interested in destruction versus healing. That as a nation comes out of war, some people simply do not want to change. (And isn't it true that destruction is always easier anyway? There is always a false sense of power when we are destroying something). In a sort of funny way, his Deputy also got up and apologized and thanked us, and said that some Liberians are 'out of whack.' Approximately five reporters were there and they took a quick tour of the hospital to verify that, yes, indeed we healing patients in the wards.

Cecelia was cleaning the stairs today again. I said hello to her, asked her how she was doing. She told me she was so happy that the minister came today. I give glory to God, she said, and she hopes that Liberia would understand that these are all nothing but petty lies.

Basic Stitch

Hawa shows me her knitting.

'Is it right?' she asks. 'Its wrong. I will loosen it.'

I look at it. It is the third time she has tried the rib stitch, and as I look at it, I realize there will be a fourth time. I sigh inwardly. Somehow I get the patience to teach her again. I have gone over this many times already and each time she tells me she understands, but the results say something different.

It isn't rocket science. And I'm not saying this because I know how to knit. I am trying to teach her that the stitch needs to alternate. You put the yarn to the front, then to the back, then to the front, then to the back. So on. So forth.

The next day whenever I return, I see front, back, front, back, front, front, back, back. She doesn't see how this is wrong.

What am I doing wrong? We are both asking ourselves this.

She's patient in learning as much as I try to be in teaching.

But today I sat there, teaching her in yet another way, so that she can learn the same thing. This is the second thing I've shown her. The first thing I showed her, I taught her about seven times. At the seventh time, at some point it clicked. It had nothing to do with repetition, mastery or even understanding, I don't think. Just somewhere along the way, she got it.

Several times, when I say, No, that's wrong. She just begins to guess. That shows me that she's not absorbing what I'm teaching her.

I'm learning that when we teach something, we have to use what the person already knows. I suppose that's why Jesus spoke in parables to the fishermen and farmers. But what if the person doesn't know much? What rubric do you go by? I'm uncertain.

The ladies in the ward have big aspirations with knitting. 'We want to make sweaters for the dry season! Hats for the rainy season! Hair ties! Yes!' Yet, I cannot hand them a pattern and go. If I were at home, I could do that, and count on them at least knowing how to do basic math and read. But most of my patients can't read or do basic math. With that, I feel like I can only do some basic things with them.

Still, I see that they are just pleased with a basic stitch. They've made the most interesting things - fold over clutches, hand bands, hair ties. They just enjoy having a purpose, even if it is very small. And as for me, I am happy to teach them. With each woman, it turns into a conversation about something else - their lives, my life, politics, men, babies, God, everything. With Hawa, it has turned into a conversation about perfection, and paying attention.

'You are not reading the stitches, Hawa,' I said. 'You must read it or else it will not be perfect.'

Her big brown eyes are cast to her lap. Her hands folded. Her teeth are clenched and her high cheekbones protude from her face. I hand her her knitting. She takes it, determined. Whispering, I see her smile and say, 'By the grace of God, help me. I will learn this.'

Eight

Today is a very 'prosperous' day for the Chinese! It is the eighth day of the eighth month in two thousand and eight. And of course eight is a very lucky number in our culture because phonetically it sounds like the word for wealth or prosperity. And to celebrate this, someone decided to throw a huge and awesome international party in Beijing called the Olympics.

The performances of the opening ceremonies so beautifully showcased our Chinese culture. I am so proud to be Chinese, especially today, when amongst three hundred and fifty people I am one of only two Chinese people by heritage and birth. I got tears in my eyes and so much pride in my heart as I watched the opening ceremonies. The hard work and meaning put into everything just reminded me of the rich tradition that I come from. And of course, I was the only person who jumped up and down when Hong Kong came out.

You cannot and should not miss it!

I decided to run out and try and fly my Chinese kite (given to me by the Chinese Embassy in Liberia).



It has been so much fun to watch an international event in an international environment. We had representatives from many of the Olympic countries here on board. The biggest cheers went out to Liberia (current Mercy Ships outreach) and to Benin (Mercy Ships outreach 2009).

I only have two questions:
-- What were the random bagpipes that kept playing in the background?
-- What in the world is the Mandarin alphabet that the countries were coming out in the order of? Huh?

Hey China!

'Zhe zhe!' Kossie yells at me. He's speaking Chinese and wants to learn more.

Kossie had two severly clubbed feet. His legs were like arches and he has been 'walking' around like that for ten years now. He went through two major operations to have that straightened out. And straightened out they are, as Kossie is presently always seen in a wheelchair, his two legs sticking straight out from underneath him. But the thing people notice most about him is that infectious smile.



I've befriended his mother Hawa, a school teacher from Sierra Leone, their country. She loves to knit. They will be here for 3 months while he heals.



Whenever he sees me, he yells, 'China! Hey China!' I've taught him some Chinese phrases in Mandarin and in Cantonese. His accent is very good!

He knows how to say, 'Thank you', 'I don't want any more' and 'Hello.'

The other day he wanted to learn how to say, 'I want my slippers.' I think he stumped me on that one as far as Mandarin was concerned.



He's also learning how to use a digital camera. Fingers off the lense, please!

Laminate

Passing through the ship's deck offices, amongst the deckies busy at work painting, welding and hammering, one of the deckie dayworkers stops me.

Smiling, he has a white piece of paper in his hand -- a grid of sorts, with writing on it. He hands it to me. 'Please,' he says, handing it to me. I'm not sure what he wants. He's making this shape with his hands -- a box, no, a rectangle, no... Then finally, he gets the word, 'Please, laminate.' Ah!

'Laminate for me?' he asks.

Is it for business, I ask him. His face falls. No, he says. He knows they are not to ask for anything personal to be laminated. I look at the sheet. It is his son's report card from the Jamaica Road Kinder-Care Center.



'Oh, I'll do it for you!' I tell him. Just one of those tiny bright spots in a day. A moment of clarity amongst many muddied instances of what seems to be hopelessness in this country. A gentle reminder that parents of any color or creed just love being proud of their kids. In short, it was just what I needed as I enter into the second half of this journey. As apathy tries to push itself into my heart.

One of the best parts of this story? The dad/dayworker's name is Billy Elliott!