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.’

Chopsticks

Curry. Sesame Oil. Soy Sauce. Green Onions. Red Chilis. Fish Sauce. Noodles. And of course, rice. Getting hungry yet?

Now you know what brings about forty people on this ship together - Asian food!

The first time I had Asian food on the ship (that is, made by a real Asian), I sat in delight, enjoying every morsel of sesame oil and soy sauce flavored rice. Eunok (Korean) shared with us her secret stash of seaweed wrappers enveloping sticky rice, freshly made from a real rice cooker. I savored the taste. I think I must have prayed before and after the meal for that one!

A few weeks ago, we had an Asian pot luck lunch. Guests from off the ship were also invited. What a feast we had! Our crew galley was brimming with excitement. Who has sesame oil? Soy sauce? And don't forget the precious chives. A few crew members spent a few afternoons looking for those around Monrovia! There was also a potato shortage one day, and then the next day, somehow we became Ireland with all them taters. I scored a few for myself.



As the meal was laid out before us, my eyes feasted upon the comforting sights and smells of Asian food. There was green onion pancakes skillfully made by the Ting siblings. Don't forget the spicy egg curry by Leena or the Sri Lankan egg curry by Ananda. Then there was all the Korean food that came with the Cho family - chap chae, bibimbap, bulgogi and of course, kimchee ... made with cassava, no less!

Noh Jun was the slicer and dicer that day. But here, he proudly guards the precious rice cooker.



Before the meal, we prayed out loud in our native tongues. Leena shared a thought with me afterwards: how happy God must've been to hear us, not only thanking Him, but coming together over so many different languages!

And yes, we invited the non Asians. From them we got Norwegian waffles with strawberry jam, brownies, pumpkin pie, and a beautifully carved pineapple. Also, sometimes, they insist on playing the tambourine with plates. Strange, those non Asians :).



I made fried rice and some Japanese curry, with many thanks to my mother, who sent me the pre-made curry. Hey, its not cheating when everyone enjoys it. Give this sister a break!



Our baker is from Hong Kong! He is the only other person on the ship with whom I can converse in Cantonese. He makes his home in Vancouver now.



For Asian lunch, he made Austrian bread. I challenged him on that way, but he insisted the only two Chinese dishes he knows how to make are egg custard and sesame stew (tse mah go). I shrugged and asked him what his problem was. I got a couple bad excuses, none that satisfied my desire for either egg custard or tse mah go! Then again, I suppose we are in a Third World country. In Africa.

But then again (again), I realized that ingenuity and teamwork goes a long way - even if it takes you a while to find those precious chives.

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.)

Bodily functions, bodily excrements

Blood

At 9.30 pm, I'm sitting behind the front desk waiting for the fourteen new arrivals. Fourteen is a big number to embark. I understand the feeling of arriving, feeling dirty, sick, excited, depressed and tired after a long flight. Some people have lost their luggage, some people haven't slept, some people may only have limited English and then some people wonder if they have lost their mind coming to Africa.

The embarkation process involves some paper work, explaining some security measures, overloading them with probably too much information about where they have to be and when and then wrapping that neatly into a precise yet friendly demeanor.

The airport driver is about 30 minutes overdue. I'm in a holding pattern, web surfing, when the blood lab technician rushes up to the reception desk.

"Do you have time now to give some of your blood?" A week into my stay here, I had volunteered to be a blood donor. I have O positive blood, the most common blood type. Just yesterday, they had taken a sample. I didn't expect them to call me so soon.

"When?" I ask.

"Could you come now?" She asks. There is a patient who is losing blood faster than they anticipated.

I'm about to jump over the reception desk counter and start drawing my own blood for her. After all, it is what I came to do, but my supervisor says, "Can this wait? We have fourteen embarkations." What?! I'm surprised at his answer.

The lab tech says. "For thirty minutes to an hour, yes. But no more."

Ok. So at least it isn't life or death so to speak, which was a relief.

The arrivals come. I get flustered because I am embarking fourteen people and trying to train a new coworker and also thinking about the man who is running out of blood downstairs. When it is over, I run down to the lab.

We also find Lisa Marie, another O positive blood donor. We're told we need two units total.



And away I go.



(Oh, I'm wearing my work uniform by the way. I don't go around wearing starched white shirts with naval epaulets on my shoulders all the time.)

And then. It stops. My vein collapses and the flow cuts off. My left arm is always a bit smaller, but they cannot draw from my right, since I only gave the sample yesterday. Lisa Marie is quickly filling up a whole unit. Fortunately, we just got word that they need only one unit and not two.

They draw the needle from my arm. The half filled bag of blood, about two cups, is tossed in the hazardous waste bin. They cannot use it because it has too many coagulants in there, I'm told. I'm sincerely disappointed and hope that they will ask me to do it again.



Sweat

Israel agrees to meet us at the reception desk and take us to try Ghanaian food at 1 p.m. It seems us girls have developed a pattern of adopting a few trustworthy male friends who we – let's face it – bribe in order to escort us to local restaurants. In return, there is a lunch or dinner date for them with six or seven (or more!) fabulous females, and we pay for the meal and gas.

After dodging about four potential accidents, we make a right onto a dirt driveway underneath a Cellcom mobile phone tower. This could be someone's backyard, a church parking log, a restaurant parking lot, or just a plot of dirt. In fact, it is all four things.

The carefully stenciled letters on the low ceilinged, square structure reads "God is King Restaurant." It is dim, there is nothing besides natural lighting for our path, although it is exceptionally dark. Flies swarm about in clusters. There are a group of women standing behind a metal counter with large bowls of stewed meats and sauces in front of them. Israel suggests we sit in the back, though we have to divide up into two tables.

Sweat beads along the small of my back, on my forehead and in my palms. Fans whir in a sluggish hum in the corners, and hot air is being pushed from one part of the room to another, with me in between. There is a gauze-like cotton piece of fabric that hangs in the window. Right after I sit down, the sweat from the undersides of my thighs dampen my shirt. My elbows stick to the plastic place mats, where splatters of chili oil stain my forearms.

Lisa Marie and I are feeling faint from last night's blood letting episode. We focus on tiny things in front of us. Grace, a nurse, looks at me and suggests we move right away and get near a fan.

We order fufu, which is a gelatinous mix of ground cassava root and plaintains. It is drenched in spicy sauce and I cannot take even one bite. We move over quickly to a table that has evacuated. Even with the fan pointed right on top of our heads, I feel like I am breathing in wet, hot air.



As we leave, we see two men roping the four legs of a young goat together in the parking lot. They dig a ditch. Israel tells us its for the blood to drain. They sharpen a long machete on the concrete. And then they strike. Once, twice, three times. The goat's tail wags in circles over and over again. I turn to Ester and say, 'At least you know your lunch was fresh.' She laughs.

Tears

The children at the orphanage put on a show for us Saturday morning. We're allowed to take photos for once, to my delight. The young girls do an elegant dance and sing a song for us. Their voices make me smile, and if their voices don't make you tear up just a bit or your heart more tender, then I don't know what will.



They really have alot of creative initiative. The boys perform a humorous skit.



My favorite little boy grabbed my hand right away after I got there. I found out that he had misspelled his name the first time I met him. It isn't Sovra but Surviva. Here, he imitates carrying water on his head. He's eight, quite mischevious, but also very clever. Before I leave, we draw a picture of a car.



And other things ...

I licked a postage stamp last night. A local postage stamp from Liberia. As soon as I licked it, I felt compunction. Where had it been? What hands had touched it? Even more, what was the glue made of? I didn't think too much of it until I woke up several times during the night, my stomache in knots. I was told by the nurse that I just needed to let it pass. Nothing has passed except for the entire day of stomache cramps during which I've been eating toasted white bread and drinking water and putting on my mother's Chinese vapor rub ointment (which of course I insisted I didn't need at the time). I wish I could vomit or have diarrhea or something. As for now, I pray that I don't keep night vigil, sitting upright with white bread and water as my friend.