The Grimace of Victory

The last several weeks have been a marathon. Renee and I have been juggling a relatively heavy hosting schedule. At times it has been exhausting, exasperating, and just plain challenging. But I can genuinely say, I love that my job forces me to have perspective about where my strength and stamina ultimately flow from. If a perfect God can give me grace, then I guess can spare a little for myself, too. ;) I'm planning to share more about my job on board in my next post (which will hopefully not be as delayed as this one!)

Rewind to the Tuesday after our arrival in Douala. The first patients arrived at the HOPE (Hospital Out-Patient Extension) Center, a previously unused section of a local hospital that Mercy Ships renovated last summer. The facility adds 220 beds to the Africa Mercy's 70-some on-board, and that extra space is vital for keeping the surgical schedule ticking at full capacity. It gives patients a place to stay both before and after their surgery, when they need to stay close to the ship for cast changes and physical therapy appointments.

It was during an early visit to the HOPE Center that our team first met Julienne, a 14-year-old girl with an inviting smile. While we were getting a tour around one of the common areas of the building, she quietly entered and sat down on a bench by the back wall, watching our group from a distance. One of the first things we noticed were the colorful purple braids mixed in with the black ones that fell just above her shoulders. They were lovely, and we went over to tell her so, and in no time she opened right up, telling us about her trip from her home outside of Yaounde to Douala.

Julienne under the tent on the dock

Not long after the HOPE Center opened, late September saw the first patients on the dock, awaiting the final step in the patient screening process. Every potential patient that gets treated on board first meets with their would-be surgeon, who makes the final decision on whether to go forward with an operation.

It was during the first week of surgeon screening that I saw Julienne again. She caught my eye and waved excitedly, and I went under the waiting tent to greet her and her friend who was sitting next to her. Both girls had legs that bowed dramatically outwards. It was not as noticeable when they sat down, but standing up they almost formed a perfect "O". At 14, they are just under age cut-off of 16 years for orthopedic surgeries. A couple more years would make it much more difficult for their bones to heal from the change they were about to undergo.

Julienne at the HOPE Center

One week in September, I brought the radio team I was hosting down to see the physical therapy tent, which sits on the dock next to the admissions and screening tents. From where I stood near the entrance, I could see Julienne's "maman" sitting in a chair near the back. A nurse was busy measuring the angle of the curve in Julienne's legs so that they would know by how much they would need to correct them in surgery. But at that particular moment, her maman had turned away from them, and was gazing at a young post-op patient on the bed opposite them. The nurses at that patient's side were using a special saw to carefully remove the child's old cast from his newly straightened legs, and put on a new one.

As Julienne's mom watched them work, I saw a peace-filled smile cross her face. It was a moment that held a thousand years in heaven. This woman, the perfect personification of "be still and know". I wondered to myself what she might have been thinking about.

Julienne (right) with her mom (Center) and surgery buddy, who also had bowed legs

Julienne had come so far to get to this point, but the road ahead would be long and trying. I marveled at maman's strength and courage, which she had clearly passed on to her daughter. I could see it in the way they both smiled lightheartedly, for all appearances without a care in the world, as though they weren't about to surrender Julienne's legs to the foreign doctors they had only just met, to be literally sawed apart and put back together again. Staying at the HOPE Center, they had no doubt heard stories from other patients about the pain and tears that typically accompany the first steps on the "new legs". And yet here they were, anxious and even excited to finally begin the process of transformation.

I don't want to miss a single opportunity to be reminded: the patients are the real heroes on this ship.

Don't worry, I wouldn't go through that whole story without telling you the ending! I'm happy to share that both Julienne and her friend have had their surgery, and are recovering normally. A couple weeks later I saw them while the patients were relaxing outside on Deck 7. They each took a turn making slow steps across the deck with the help of a walker, their mouths pulled into perfectly victorious grimaces for the occasion--those first steps take a lot of determination and stamina!

Julienne going for a walk in the wards

In other news, a group of volunteers took advantage of a Saturday afternoon to do some off-roading in Ngoma, just outside of Douala. We drove until it was green in every direction, and then drove some more. After a year of living in West Africa already, I had never actually driven somewhere just to explore. It was amazing! Check out some pictures below.

The two "chauffers" plotting our course, somewhere in Ngoma

Same road, off in the other direction

And we found a huge pile of dirt, so naturally, up we go...

Buried Treasure

Matthew 13:44 

“The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field."

Most people cringe when I tell them I lived with 14 girls in the same house for part of college. Now I live with 400-something people in one ship. Let's talk about what that's like.

Last night around 10:00pm, I was taking some trash out to the dumpster on the dock. As I walked back towards the ship, that unplanned moment of utter solitude gave me such unexpected joy. I suddenly realized I was grinning ear-to-ear like a crazy person--it felt like I was getting away with something! So instead of going straight back up the gangway and inside, I did another lap around the dock, reveling in the silence, hidden in plain sight. Other nights I purposefully go up to Deck 8 and walk alone, giving my mind some space to wander. Let me tell you, it feels amazing.

I almost titled this post "I had a tender moment with the dumpster" before I thought better of it.

When we leave home, it looks like this

And when we come back (and it happens to be sunset), it looks like this

For an introvert on a ship where there is always something going on and somebody ready to extend the invitation, taking advantage of these moments of solitude can feel like finding buried treasure in a field--I say I would give anything for them, but in reality I'm not always prepared to "miss out" on whatever else is going on in order to have them. Even when I know that the treasure is there, buried just under the surface, I sometimes choose to walk past the field and on to the next thing.

Even though it's only one verse long, there is a reason Jesus told this story. If there were no choice involved, if choosing to lose in order to gain was a quick and easy decision, then there would be no parable! But it's a difficult decision, and people go both ways all the time. It's one thing to know the better option. It's another thing to pursue that better option, consistently, every day, no matter the cost.

Some days the need for solitude is more evident...
...when I realize I haven't had a commitment-free night all week
...when I can't hear my friends talking over the other several-hundred people in the dining room at lunch time
...when I sort of feel like banging my forehead against the wall because another person was kind enough to ask me how I'm doing and I didn't return the question because we were walking in opposite directions down the hallway and there wouldn't be time to listen to their answer, but I hope they don't think I don't care (can I get an amen from the other introverts out there?? GUH)

Ironically, at an all-crew meeting last week, which is held in a big room called the International Lounge, the topic for the night was... community! They asked us to break up into small groups and think about what community means. Lo and behold, the answer was that there are many answers. Here are just a few:

• Community means giving and accepting grace.
• Community means valuing each other, no matter their age, rank, or position on the ship.
• Community means letting Jesus' love flow through us by doing the job nobody else wants.
• Community means worshiping with the work of our hands.
• Community means looking past differences towards a common goal.
• Community means loving out of God's strength and not our own.
• Community means being vulnerable.

And just then something became clear to me in a new way: I know that solitude is necessary, and wanting solitude from time to time means I'm normal and not crazy. But even so, there is another side to this coin. Solitude is a treasure to be sought after, but it's not the only treasure. It's not an end in itself, but a means to the end. That meeting was a good reminder that the kingdom of heaven--the treasure--is also hidden in one another. For me, solitude provides balance so that I can fully invest in the people around me and uncover this treasure, the image of God in each person on this ship.

It's totally possible for introverts to thrive on this ship, but there is a certain amount of strategy involved. It's vital for me to know myself well enough to recognize when I'm spent and just need a "tender moment with the dumpster" to get my head on straight again.

Equally vital is having friends who understand when I just need to sit in my cabin and shave pills off of my socks and sweaters for a while before I'm ready to re-join the world (if you've never done that, you gotta try it). Good to have friends who trust me enough to sit side-by-side and not say anything at all for a little bit, because sharing that space is enough. Good to have friends who will invite me to eat lunch one-on-one because it's been a crazy few days (thanks, Emilie!). Good to have friends who will see that I'm reading but pause for a moment to convey, one way or another, "I'm going to leave you alone, but I see you and I love you." I don't know if I'm making sense. To them these things may feel small, but to me they are very powerful.

Our perch for the night, at 3000m

I climbed a mountain in early September. The aptly-named Mount Cameroon. Our little group started at 1000 meters in a city called Buea (boo-ay-uh), and kept climbing high enough that the winter-weight jacket I rented at the tourism office came in very handy.

By the time we reached our overnight lodging at around 3000 meters, my legs were spent, and there was nothing I wanted more than to sit down, stretch my muscles, and eat heaps and heaps of rice. My wildest dreams for that moment came true when our ridiculously strong porters--Zacchaeus, Nelson ("Like Nelson Mandela," he added when he introduced himself), and Matheus--cooked up a big pot of rice, chicken, and sauce, and put a steaming plate right in my lap.

Dinner by the fire (It was chilly! Hot food was a welcome treat)

We had planned to reach the summit early on Sunday, but in the end we didn't end up climbing all the way up. For me that was a minor footnote to an incredible adventure. In 24 hours, we had walked through breathtaking jungle scenery, broke through the treeline (and the clouds), looked down on the shoreline of Douala beautifully illuminated in the night, gazed up at a sky bursting with stars, and watched a silent lighting storm at 4:30am ("God is welding," said Emerson). I wouldn't change a thing about that perfect weekend.

Looking down at Douala (top) and Buea (bottom)

Back down we go

My friend Dominik also deserves a shout out here. He was the one that reached out to invite me on this amazing hiking trip. And if you didn't know, Dominik was also the person who first encouraged me to apply for Mercy Ships back in 2016! I've known him since 2015, when I was working with Wycliffe Benin. After leaving Benin, he worked with Mercy Ships for two years, and has been the Chief Electrician for the past year, which is pretty impressive, even if he'd never admit it himself. ;)

Despite his talents and experience, he walks in humility, preferring to elevate others through encouragement and mentorship rather than draw attention to himself. Everyone that knows him (which at this point is basically everyone on board!) has enormous respect for Dominik. He is patient, but also quick to pray, and I feel blessed to call him a friend.

Luckily, my time on board overlapped for a couple months with the end of his service with Mercy Ships, so we had time to catch up on the ship, which was such a blessing! This Monday, he said goodbye to the ship and went home to Switzerland. The community was sad to see him go, but we're also so happy that he gets to be closer to his family and loved ones again. :)

Water break on Mt. Cameroon (L to R--Dominik, Mattheus, Zacchaeus)
(please note the size of Zacchaeus' backpack. Like seriously, I could fit mySELF in there!!)

Speaking of Buea, please keep that area in your prayers. Barely a week after we went on that trip, the English-speaking Northwest and Southwest regions of Cameroon (where Mt. Cameroon is located) went off-limits to crew due to increasing protests. That situation is ongoing, and the unrest is taking its toll on those communities, and the country as a whole.

Here are a couple articles (1) (2) that might be a good place to start if you want to read more about what's going on.

Welcome to Cameroon!

If you followed the blog I wrote in Benin, you might remember that I love to give my posts their own personal soundtrack. Just click play ^ and keep scrolling!

(This video won't play for me in Cameroon, but I'm trusting it will work on your end)

For this update I'm really excited to just share some experiences of the past month through photos and a couple stories.

Guys, August was packed. I mean, it feels like the ship is always buzzing with activity. During the days leading up to the sail, it only buzzed harder, working in unison for assure a smooth departure. Our wonderful I.S. department (what most people would call I.T.) were kind enough to velcro my computer to my desk, in case of unexpected "turbulence" (this is obviously not their first rodeo)... Cupboards and contents were secured, seasick medication was passed out like candy, and who knew that hoisting all the Toyota Land Cruisers up onto deck 8 would be such a graceful process? They used a container to bring each one up to the top one by one, then opened up the end and drove the car out before sending it back down for the next one. The process had me totally captivated, and I snapped lots of pictures!

Before we knew it, it was time to say adios to our little island home. Any crew who weren't hard at work making the ship "go" were gathered at the railings, waiting. After weeks of being stationary, it was exciting to look down and see the water churning vigorously below us as we slowly pulled away from the dock and out to sea...

The Port of Las Palmas shrank back and the blue water swelled, and the world suddenly felt way smaller and a whole lot bigger at the same time. Smaller because, for the next two weeks, we were confined to a metal box just 152 meters long and 23 meters wide. And bigger because, well, just look at it...

It's perfectly possible to live happily for two weeks without leaving the ship, so long as your happiness is not too closely tied to your ability to walk in straight lines. Even using all my concentration, I never really managed that feat...

Ask a crew member what they loved about their sail, and they'll tell you all about about being rocked to sleep in their bed like a baby, a routine fire drill that ended in a dolphin sighting, throwing a dance party in Reception, and sipping their morning coffee from a hammock out on Deck 7. On Sundays, we carried guitars and drums out onto the bow for worship. And for many, including me, it was our first time crossing the equator, so they got everyone together in midship to celebrate!

The night before arrival, I was standing out on Deck 7 watching the birds--Wait, birds? It sounds silly, but sailing so far off the coast, we hadn't seen any birds for at least the past week! Suddenly there were so many at once, and it was the confirmation we'd been waiting for. Cameroon is close!

The following day was gray and soggy and perfect.

We went from a whale sighting at breakfast (I missed them! Harrumph.) to being so tantalizingly close to the port that, just short of actually seeing it (blame the fog), we were surrounded by other ships who were also waiting to go in. As we entered the mouth of the Wouri River, where the Port of Douala is situated, a little boat called the Pilot came alongside the Africa Mercy to guide us in.

Above the sound of the motors, there was music. Crew members had toted their instruments and amps outside on deck 7 to play worship songs while others sang. But there was more music coming from the shore. It was still so, so faint, but we looked ahead and could see a particular section of the dock where a crowd of people was going completely bonkers. Welp, that must be us! We slowly got closer, until finally we passed the dock space and swung around to approach with our port side facing land. A waterfall of people standing on decks 7 and 8 moved from starboard to port side to keep sight of their companions on the dock, waving hands and flags and anything else they could as we got closer...

And closer...

And voilà! Welcome to Cameroon!

Here's the link to that Benin blog I mentioned, for anyone that's interested

Finally, go here for a blog post I have thoroughly enjoyed reading multiple times. The author has a hilarious sense of humour about ship life!