Students

Knitting class on the ward consists of three main students who are all Liberian medical dayworkers. By teaching Zoe, Doris and Lucy, my goal is to leave something that will remain here long after I leave.

Lucy is like my Liberian mother. I will write more on her later, because she and my relationship with her is a whole blog entry unto itself. We have developed a great bond and whenever she is working, I make time to see her. She is originally from Nigeria and the mother of four children. She has a nursing degree from Nigeria and is well read and quite educated.

Doris is a comic. She is the mother of a toddler and a little baby girl. I recently met her husband and his boss when they visited the ship. A sharply dressed fellow, her husband smiled from ear to ear when I thanked him for welcoming me to his country. Initially leery of me, she took a while to warm up to, but now we have the greatest laughs.

Zoe is the sensitive one. She is shy, kind, and pensive. Nonetheless, she has a wicked sense of humor, though it is usually Doris who brings that out in her. She is also the most productive of the three and recently completed a beautiful wallet that I helped her make out of some nice deep red wine Rowan Nice yarn. It closes with a snap button.




She told me that others don’t believe that she made it. I ask her if she believes she was able to do it and said no. Still, I said, you did it. She smiles. I ask her when she will use the wallet and just any woman would do she smiled and said, ‘Next Tuesday. I have a really fine skirt to go with it.’

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!

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.

For a better tomorrow

There was a request for monetary donations to the ward for knitting supplies, crochet supplies and craft supplies last week during our community meeting. If you cannot imagine being ‘trapped’ on a ship full time docked in a third world country, imagine being a patient, in a hospital bed, where you may be unable to move around all together due to your condition. The desire for activity, socializing and learning runs deep. Concurrent with the request for supplies for ward activities, I was honored this week when I was told by ward supervisors that I could freely come to the ward to teach knitting whenever I liked.

I went first to see Joanna and then came the flood. Flood of interest, that is.

First there was Joanna, then Dehne, mother of 8 yr old Musa (boy) who received an operation, then came Felicia, whom I met during my first week, and then now Lucy, a Nigerian day worker whom I befriended. None of them knew how to knit. All of them know how to crochet. In fact, only Lucy knew what knitting was. The three others had never seen it done. This was very surprising to me. (My far fetched theory of why they know how to crochet is that since Western Africa was mainly colonized by the French, and crocheting – though not solely French – has some heavy cultivation in France. Somebody want to weigh in?)

Dehne sells mangos, coconuts and plaintains for a living. She has 4 boys. Musa is her youngest, and in 2006, he was in a bad car accident which left a deformity in his right jaw. He is the only child in the ward right now, and I can tell he is very lonely.

Felicia has noma. Noma is a gangrenous, acute infection in the face, common in African nations. It is extremely rapid, due to the hospitable environment of mucous membranes in the mouth.

There are now four ladies knitting in the ward! I was told by one of the nurses that they were up late at night, knitting by the dimmed lights while others slept. I’m known as the ‘little girl’ who comes and teaches. We’re making little knitted clutches (that’s purses, for you men folk), lined with fabric that I foraged from deck 2. A fancy button will hold it shut. Dehne, especially, is excited to learn this so that she can sell knitted items for money.

Because yarn and needles are hard to come by, I cut up some fabric, which is ‘plenty plenty’ (Liberian English) in this country. Felicia gives it a go.





Time drains away in the ward and I can easily spend 2 or 3 hours there at a time without realizing it. I have gotten use to the smells of strong body odor, medicine and bodily fluids. The language barrier is still difficult at times, but it is quite amusing that when I use my Liberian accent, they actually understand me better.

Though I teach them, I feel like I have been at their beck and call. I don’t mind this, but today it rose to near boiling point. I had barely had any time for myself in the last week or so. The last four days especially have very busy during work and off work. I had not left the ship in a week and a walk was desperately needed. Tonight in the ward, Joanna realizes that I had been sitting near Dehne and not with her. She is frustrated and raises her voice with me in front of everyone, asking why I didn’t get her crochet hook as I said I would. I firmly tell her that I cannot get everything she wants right away and that she must wait until tomorrow. Her discontentment hangs on the grimace on her face, and there is slight eye rolling involved. She asks me what I think of her clutch. I tell her it is beautiful and help her fix it a bit.

I need a needle, she says without looking up. I tell her I’ll go get her a new one.

As I get up, I slip on a spot of water and fall hard to my knees. I get up right away, despite the gasps of the nurses. I rush down the corridor, agitated. Slipping made me feel foolish, that little thing that breaks the camels back. Almost.

When I return, I give the needle to Joanna. She says, ‘Thank you.’ There is magic in those two words. Without them, returning tomorrow will be much harder, though I would do it. Gratitude is a luxury anyway when one has decided they will be in servitude of someone else’s purpose and life. Their interests become your primary interests and their wellness comes before yours.

Afterwards, I took a jog and watched the sunset. The wind cooled the sweat off my skin. I thought about my ladies in the ward. They were so thrilled at their first brush with success. Dehne buried her face her hand, giggling, when she was able to knit her first row. Felicia’s crooked smile lifted one corner, when she saw that she could do it as well. And Joanna, though it was hard for her, learned a left handed knitting method, which I taught her due to her skin grafts on her right arm.

Two days ago, Musa prodded for Dehne’s attention, and was kicking her a bit while he laid on the bed and she sat at the edge. Dehne was focused on her knitting. She turned to him, asked him to stop and said, ‘Musa, I learning. I learning for a better tomorrow.’

And that is why I will go back tomorrow, as well.