How to fish

Synonymous to the old saying, 'Give a man a fish, feed him for a day. Teach a man how to fish, feed him for a lifetime', I like to say, 'Give someone a scarf, keep them warm for a winter. Teach someone to knit, teach them to keep others warm for a lifetime.'

I can't seem to pass through the ward without another person asking me how to knit. And since there's only one of me and so many finite hours in a day, I thought I'd train up a few new knitters from our crew.

Jane from Ireland showed up as did Laura from Idaho. Hawa, mother of ten year old patient, Kossie, also came up and sat with us. She really enjoys knitting and is glad to have something to keep her busy. She's going to be here for sometime while Kossie's legs heal. He had major surgery for very clubbed feet. She will be here for 3 months total.

In knitting, first there is doubt. Then there is success, if only in the completion of one stitch. But thankfully, no matter what, there is always fellowship:



The vesicovaginal fistula patients (more affectionately dubbed VVF ladies) are coming on August 4! I look forward to training up some more knitters for these women who have long overdue affection that I hope they will experience here on the ship.

Friend

I am sitting in the ward, knitting with Joanna, passing the time. Friend has moved over to the bed next to her. He casually lays on his side. Like Joanna, he had a skin graft from his thigh to cover a large area on his back. The wound on his thigh is intensely pink and fleshy, although over time, the black is coming back and he is healing.

'Tell me a story, Friend.' I said, as our needles clicked away.

Through his gap tooth smile, he tells me about a boy and a tribal chief. The tribal chief wife and the boy are making sleep together (having an affair). The tribal chief tricks the boy's wife into making sleep with him. Soon, everyone is exposed. Who is wrong in this situation? His eyes are beaming. Its a riddle, I'm guessing.

'Everyone?' I asked.

'No! Tribal chief is wrong. He is head of tribe. He should make no trouble!' Friend insisted. 'Tomorrow, I tell you one more story.'

The next day, I return. Before Friend launches into another morality tale, I ask him about the origins of his name, Tamba Friend.

'Tamba my birth name. When my people saw the growth on my back, they disown me in the bush. The white people came and take me. They name me Friend. So now I am Tamba Friend.' He smiled that smile of his, spreading across his face, his teeth so white and so square.



'Who were the white people?' I asked. The Swedish, he answered. He explained that they raised him into his teens. Then, they had to return to Sweden. Some time passed, and they lost touch. By some miracle, they got back in touch with Friend, after other Swedish missionaries sent them photos of Friend's back, the deformity by which he is known.

Then the war came and everything broke down.

The Swedish missionaries returned after the war and found Friend. Since then, they had lost touch after that last visit.

'Do you know the nurse, Kristina? She is Swedish!' I said. I share Friend's story with Kristina, who is delighted that her country-people helped Friend. She connects with him, and as big as this world is, it also seems to be small - she knows the missionaries! She took photos of Friend and returned to Sweden with them.

Tonight, I went to see Friend. He was doing an art project with the other patients.

'Friend, let's dance,' I suggested. He does this shimmy. It involves bouncing your heel, snapping your fingers. A sway to the left, to the right.

'No, only outside! Only upstairs, outside! Not here.' He grinned and laughed at my dance.

'Okay,' I agreed. 'Then I will come back and go outside with you.'

'Then we will dance.' He smiled again. That smile of his.

The rainy season is starting. We had our first major thunder and lightning storm last night which consisted of 3 hours of torrential downpour. Somebody might as well just have turned on a huge water hose and dumped it on Monrovia. The wind and rain reduced visibility to great degree, to the point that it was nearly impossible to see 10 feet in front of you. I watched it all from behind the reception desk as the day workers from the ship went home, trash bags over their bodies. The prepared ones had come to work with large umbrellas. They all rode home in cramped taxis or busses. I grew very concerned as I watched them leave, but Daniel, one of my Liberian day worker friends, assured me that this is common. Rainy season has to come at some point. He waved me and my worried look away with his hand and a shy smile, walking into the rain which battered against his umbrella.

When the bulk of rainy season hits in June and July, our freedoms will be more limited. There are many teams that leave the ship on a daily basis to do their work – agricultural teams, water and sanitation teams, dental teams, and palliative care to name a few. Those who work on the ship, make the effort to leave the ship when possible. When the rain hits, I imagine it will be a bit harder for us. Still there is work to be done and I rest assured, that the ‘outside world’ has a way of coming to me, even if I the weather doesn’t permit.

For example, the hospital wards will still be in full swing, no matter what. And apparently with a bit of creativity and a jump rope, you can entertain 11 year olds with a jump roping competition. Ester does this with bravado. Oh my ... the things that come with being a nurse on the Africa Mercy.



Alfred is happily seized by Keri and Ester. We don’t always tie up the club foot patients. Only the younger ones. (Yes, that’s a joke.)