Freedom

Independence Day as celebrated in the US consists mostly of day long barbeques and a night long anticipation of fireworks. Here in Liberia, the Americans got together for a group photo. Can you find me?



Other countries may get together for a group photo all the same, but how many nations comprise of so many different faces, so many different origins? It was a delight to see that we had German-Americans, African Americans, Mexican Americans, and of course a Hong Kong-American. There was even a Liberian-American! Look closely, she's the one with the white bow in her hair. (Still camera shy, that one.)



Independence Day celebrates our freedom as a nation from England. Freedom is a bedrock value of the United States. Our thinking, our mentality, our culture - it is all built on the idea that when one sets foot on our soil, they can pursue that American Dream. My family and I are no stranger to these ideas, and I am grateful for these values.

Later that night on 4th of July, I watched the film Gandhi. Gandhi promoted values of freedom from (again) the British, first in South Africa then in his native India. Through his initiatives, he spoke out against injustice through his steadfast spirit and humility.

Today, I watched Barack Obama give a speech on his intentions during his possible Presidency. The first thing he will do, he said, is plan for our US troops to withdraw from Iraq. Success will be that we see a democratic, self empowered Iraq, to paraphrase him. He would want the Iraqi people to do this for themselves, to have freedom for themselves.

A few weeks ago, Ester and I were standing on the shores of Liberia, about a hundred yard from our group of friends. This strip of beach was yet uninhabited. No huts had been set up, no foreigners laid their towels out to sunbathe. No Lebanese restauranteur had set up shop just yet. It was untouched. A Liberian man floated on his back, a happy expression on his face. There was a round rock nestled comfortably by time into the shore. That moment, I shared my desire with Ester about how I wished the Liberians would take their own country into their hands, instead of allowing other investors, like the Lebanese, to be building restaurants dotted along their coastline. I shared this thought with some others. My Nigerian friend, Lucy, shook her head, 'They will not do it.' I asked why. 'They are waiting for others to do it for them.' The Liberians are economically under someone else's thumb.

If you have watched Gandhi (or better yet, know something about Indian history), you will know that when the British pulled out, huge tensions drew between Hindu Indians and Muslim Indians. And when the US pulls out of Iraq will the same happen between Sunni Muslims and Shiite Muslims?

Freedom is critical to us as human beings, this is true. In the case of two colliding ships, if the ship that bissected the first backs away, the first will sink. You must get the people off the ship first. Are we willing to do the work? I am not sure. For freedom is not just a state of not being inhabited by a foreign country politically or economically, because in the end we are all a slave to something. But freedom is the trust that whatever or whoever we are indebted to, will ultimately not hold us into bondage or forced acts against our will. It is the knowledge that we can create something for ourselves and others - out of our own will, and for the betterment and wellness of our society and world.

Brothers

An anecdote to throw in the memory bin marked 'random':

Standing around waiting in Monrovia's tiny international airport, a Pakistani UN guard walks up to me.

'You are Chinese?' he asked. 'I am Pakistani soldier. You are Chinese. Pakistan and China are brothers in Liberia. I take picture with you?'

'Sure!' I exclaimed.

A fellow soldier took the photograph and grinned widely. After about ten pictures with any combination of us, we waved goodbye.

Concerned

"We've been watching you. Many missionaries come to Hong Kong to help us poor people. They put us in sociological boxes and analyze us. Then they take our pictures to shock the Westerners by our living conditions. Some men get famous because they've been here. But inside the Walled City we usually get rid of them within six months. We find ways to discourage them until they have no heart to continue -- had you been a man we would have had you beaten long ago. We couldn't care less if you have big buildings or small ones. You can be offering free rice, free schools, judo classes or needlework to us. It doesn't matter if you have a daily programme or hymn singing once a week. These things don't touch us because the people who run them have nothing to do with us. What we want to know is if you are concerned with us. Now you have been with us four years we have decided that maybe you mean what you say."

-- Ah Ping to Jackie Pullinger in 'Chasing the Dragon'

Jackie Pullinger was twenty when she went to Hong Kong's Walled City to work with the lawless, the drug addicted and the prostitutes. She was not sent by an organization, a program, or a church. She simply felt conviction in her heart to go, put $100HKD in her pocket and set sail on a boat from England. She lived amongst the people and started a youth club by renting out a room with her own finances earned as a music teacher. I'm reading her book Chasing the Dragon and find it extremely inspiring. When I read the aforementioned quote, something stirred in my heart. As I went to bed, I said, 'Dear God, Let me always be known as someone who is concerned. Let me show the concern you have for others to them.'

My friend Israel from Togo came back from a trip home the night thereafter. We got into a conversation about race. Have you observed, he asked, that the Africans on the ship segregate themselves? We are afraid, he said. He went on to explain that especially the African men, they do not want to be seen as interacting with a First World person lest they think the others suspect them of wanting a green card, money or a passage to America, for example. Interracial couples have separated over the fear of what their families would say back in the first world country, he informed me.

I have several African friends on the ship and I have never felt that they wanted a green card, money or America. Although I did notice that the first few times I interacted with them, they were very cautious towards me. After a few times, they were not only warm towards me, but we engaged in real conversations, exchanges of the mind and heart. The African guys come off a bit tough, when they are in a group (but that's true of many men all around the world). But get them alone, and they are quite different in small groups or one to one. I will not forget my graveyard shift German lessons with Kingsford from Ghana. Or when Oscar finally smiled when I gave him, of all things, a chocolate bar. Or Eddie who was delighted to know that I knew him by name. Some may suspect that it is because I am female that they take to me. However, they have never once pursued anything with me, and I am cautious not to give them romantic signals just the same. Why this discrepancy with what Israel was saying then? I asked him and Israel told me, 'This is because they know you are concerned.'

What is concern when it is on our own terms? What about when it is not on my terms, but it just needs to be expressed. No matter what your creed or calling be, I believe that true concern and love comes out best when we allow others to walk into our lives and then we allow them to stay there. We do not forcefully diagnose what they need and then send them off. Instead, we listen, we attend to, and we bless them. In that process, you will find yourself on very even playing ground with another human. I have found myself incredibly surprised and humbled by people who I thought I was trying to help. (And what do they really need help with anyway?)

It is true that I am concerned for marginalized people. As much as I am an American who loves peanut butter and the Super Bowl, I am still a Chinese immigrant. I know what it feels like to not speak English when everyone else is, for example. And with that history, I know what it feels like to be marginalized. (And really, let's face it, I'm not the marginalized martyr here, but I'm just saying I identify with that emotion.)

When we are concerned towards the outcasts, we find in them the cry of anger and bitterness and suffering that is wide awake in this world. It can be anyone from the 'weirdo' in the next cubicle to the impoverished, displaced person in Liberia. If you tend to them, you will not only see something bloom, you will actually see a piece of yourself who feels exactly the same way.

The burden and delight of one stripe

Before Leena left, I had two weeks with her not only as a cabin mate and friend, but also as a coworker! The Purser department oversees the receptionists, and while my boss is away and with Leena leaving, I am taking her job as Assistant Purser. And Purser. Yes, somehow, I'm sort of doing one and a half jobs for a total of seven weeks. And as my brother said, 'Congratulations! You're now a ranked officer!' Yes, get this - all of... one stripe. (Better count that fast, because it will slip right by you, there's just so many of them!)



Now the obvious question, what is a purser? It depends on what kind of vessel you're on. Typically, they're the ones who holds the crew salaries. On a cruise ship, they're like an events organizer. But here, we deal with immigration, crew arrivals and departures and all shipping logistics. There has to be a way for us to all enter this country and the purser department deals with immigration on that. Same with all material goods that are shipped through huge containers, we deal with customs on that too. In fact, one of our containers is in the dock right now. A view from our office:



I don't have to do shift work anymore, which means I am no longer on graveyard. I rather liked graveyard shift - it worked out perfectly for phone calls back home to friends and family. While there are new challenges and responsibilities, the downside is also that... there are new challenges and responsibilities. I've been frustrated with the amount of work that I take home in my mind. I miss the days when I had days off during the week, when I could do my job faithfully in eight hours and then call it a day.

Nowadays, I find my mind muddied with information. I haven't started dreaming about work, but I fear that will happen. The set hours of an eight to five job is not very exciting, but the predictability lends to some conveniences concerning friendships, ship events, and outings. However, at the end of the day my mind is heavy with logistics and information that I find myself exhausted, without energy for the patients. I dislike this reality very much, and hope that it changes as I grow more familiar with the job. My sense of purpose here would be so betrayed if I didn't continue seeing the patients. As much energy as they require, I enjoy them so much. When I sat at reception, I enjoyed waving hello and goodbye to the medical dayworkers as they would leave and come to work. They would chat with me briefly, bring me fruits, nuts and avocados. Now, I am tucked in an office, one of the spaces they are not allowed to enter as dayworkers. Then there are the electronic leashes of being 'on call' via cell phone and beeper, and well, I won't get into it.

With all this, one may wonder why I agreed to take the job in the first place. First there was need for the position to be filled. I'm learning that a need does not present a calling. Still, I knew it was something that I could be good at. Secondly, the extroversion required at reception was wearing me down a bit. And finally, why not? It isn't a major decision in my life in any case.

What I'm hoping to get out of this is that I receive some real life application. I know I can really work too hard at times. Especially in the entertainment business, work and play are without boundaries - they just mesh together. You may be surprised at this, but others don't look at Americans and say, 'Wow, they work so hard! Look at them go! Aren't they great hard working people?' No, they think we're pleasure-less people who spend too much time as computer screen jockeys. The person who works too hard sometimes works in vain, which serves no purpose whatsoever. And since we cannot get back time, I'm happy to prioritize my time more appropriately when I'm not suppose to be working and just work harder while I am working!

So I will take the advice of my boss who said, don't take on what I am not comfortable doing. Additionally, since he's a Brit, he takes regular tea breaks, which is a terrific idea since there's nothing that a ten minute break and a nice 'cuppa' didn't solve.

See you later

"Our relationship was to be almost as intimate as a love-affair; we were to suffer from the same worn nerves; to be irritated by the same delays; but our life together, because it had been more perfectly rounded, seemed afterwards less real. For there is so much left over after a love affair; letters and mutual friends, a cigarette case, a piece of jewellery, a few gramophone records, all the usual places one has seen each other in. But I had nothing left but a few photographs to show that I had ever known these three men; I would never see the towns we passed through together and never run into them in familiar places."

- Journey Without Maps by Graham Greene, of his travels with his companions through Liberia

We took Leena to the airport yesterday for her flight home. I had known as much that relationships here can be often intense and short lived (in fact, those may be the very caveat given in the Intro to Mercy Ships manual). Nonetheless, I never expected to make such close friends. I am better for it, have been blessed by her companionship and sense of humor, her diligence towards cleanliness (which I aspire to) and appreciation of people.

And while Ester went with her to travel through Ghana (whereupon she will leave Leena and return to the ship), I know when Ester leaves in a week I will miss her too. As far as a living companion, I am so grateful to her. We have rarely communicated difficulties in living together, and this is nothing short of a miracle considering our confined space. And as for a friend, she has been candid, gentle and patient with me. I call myself blessed.

Though we never discussed it, I suppose there is a possibility that I may not see them again. Life has a way of happening, coming in between friendships, even with the dominance of technology in our lives, which I know we will lean upon for communication. Yet at the same time, I don't doubt I will see them again. Our world seems to be getting smaller and smaller and Norway and South Africa have always been nice vacation spots.

Like Graham Greene, I have photos to show for their existence and our time together. Yet even that at best is just data in a computer or an image on a piece of paper. However, what is real is the impression of them that exists in me which will grow in me throughout the rest of my life.

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.

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.