Season's Greetings - Newsletter December 2005

Dear All,

Happy Christmas! It's a bit hot here, and all the traditions are completely different, but it's great to be celebrating Jesus' birth with people from all over the world in a giant tin can! I hope that you are all enjoying the mulled wine, mince pies, and manic activity. I guess last minute shopping is pretty much done by now (I hope so anyway), it's kind of weird to think of "normal" Christmas going on back home as usual. Great as usual to get news from home though - and immensely exciting to get post. I read the Village Web [home church magazine] with interest and showed it to an African pastor who works as a translator in the operating theatres on the ship. He was very impressed, though I suspect the idea of a Christingle service was rather lost on him... I missed the St Mary's carol service, the end of term concerts, I am completely frustrated by the lack of mince pies, and the general consensus here is that we'd be very happy to spend Christmas on the Anastasis if it weren't also going on back home without us. But I thank God that in eleven weeks I have made friends with whom I am delighted to be celebrating. This evening there is a Christmas Eve dinner (the main Christmas meal) and though it's not home, it's good nonetheless.

It's been a really busy month, and I'm exhausted, but in a good way. The ship feels like a vague approximation of home now. So many people come to the Anastasis for only two or three weeks (especially in the medical department) that to have been here for nearly 3 months makes me almost an old hand, and I feel secure in some great friendships - we are having fun times. One thing that is hard to get used to on the Anastasis is the lack of personal space, and I was beginning to find it frustrating to have nowhere to go where I knew I would not be interrupted. But the best thing that has happened in the last couple of weeks is that four of us have been temporarily upgraded from our rather space-restricted and spartan 6-bed cabin down in the depths of C-deck into the cabin that usually belongs to the chief officer and his family! (they are currently on 3 month leave of absence). We're staying up near the bridge for 4 weeks whilst necessary repairs are performed in our cabin (seawater was running across the floor during the previous sail, although happily I only moved in after we arrived in Benin). The new cabin has an en suite bathroom, fridge/freezer, TV/VCR, kitchenette and living area with IKEA furnishings and a double sofa-bed (which I get all to myself at night!). Naturally we were delighted and the presence of a couch and TV/VCR makes our cabin a social hub, so we've stocked the cupboards with snacks and drinks with the aim of sharing our enjoyment of the space with as many people as possible. We're suffering for Jesus alright... In many ways Mercy Ships is a very "soft option" for missionary work because in essence we live in an air-conditioned western bubble where we can retreat whenever Africa is just too frustrating, dusty, smelly and, well, African. I am in awe of those who work right amongst communities for many years very much isolated from other westerners. But I'm very grateful for the opportunity to get an insight into cross-cultural missions, and having only just left home for the first time it's good to be in an environment with such good support networks. But I don't want you to think there aren't personal challenges: I am having a wonderful time experimenting with doing my own laundry in a place where there are 4 washing machines between 300 people; and as was sagely predicted by my mother, sharing a cabin with other people is forcing a rather painfully radical turnaround in my standards of tidiness (anyone who's ever been in my room at home will know what I mean).

But Africa continues to be full of surprises. I now feel much much more at ease with local people, and my French is being rapidly resurrected and improved, but I still don't feel as though I understand the culture here in Benin. For instance, we've had a slightly rocky relationship with the translators in theatres; we run very much in the style of a western hospital, and they are immune to the concept of "hurry" regardless of the situation. The long-termers here go on and on about needing to understand local culture and customs to build good relationships, and to be honest I was getting bored of hearing about it. But I gained a much greater appreciation for it when I had first-hand experience of a simple misunderstanding that cultural knowledge immediately cleared up. The translators were causing mild irritation all round in theatres by what seemed like an incredibly patronising habit of saying "well done" every time they saw one of us perform some task. But all became clear when I was reading about Fon (the local language) and realised that the Fon for "hey there" when addressing someone doing any semblance of work literally translates as "well done". One of the translators, Pastor Jean, summed it up neatly the other day: "At the beginning, I don't think we understood each other, but now we are friends, no?". If nothing else I am fast gaining an appreciation for the international Christian church. I had a truly surreal experience the other day in my little sterilising room: docked in Africa; listening to a Dutch Christian music CD; and talking about it in French. I'm still learning to apply the distinction between "wrong" and "different"!

I've attached the official Mercy Ships Christmas montage - the main picture is of the deck department's Christmas decorations! Immanuel is an amazing child whose surgery I was excited to be able to watch. Dr Tertius Venter, a plastic surgeon from South Africa, performed a relatively simple procedure to enable him to walk again. When he was 3 weeks old, Immanuel had been very sick and a nurse had inserted an intravenous line into his foot, presumably to give him some fluids. But in the absence of proper sterile equipment, the IV had become infected and had produced horrendous scarring, which had contracted and caused Immanuel's foot to be pinned up to his shin. Dr Tertius released the contracture in about 30 minutes of surgery, and Immanuel is less than a year old and will never remember the surgery that will change the course of his life completely. I was excited to be present when Immanuel's dressing was changed 10 days later - I held him whilst they sedated him and removed the cast to see that the skin graft was healing well.

Christmas carols are decidedly inferior without an organ, and singing "In the Bleak Midwinter" has to go down as the most bizarre experiences of my time here, but the truth of the carols is the same wherever you are:

"Once in Royal David's City,
stood a lowly cattle shed,
Where a mother laid her baby,
in a manger for his bed.
Mary was that mother mild,
Jesus Christ her little child."

That child really was Immanuel, God with Us. I've witnessed him changing lives here in Benin, my hope and prayer is that you experience his same power and peace in your lives this weekend and always.

With all my love,
Rosie/Rosalind
xxx... Read more!

News from Benin - Newsletter November 2004

Dear All,

Well believe it or not (I don't) we've been in Benin for nearly a month now. I'm sorry if I haven't managed to email personally, I have been trying to be vaguely systematic about replying to emails but there has been system breakdown on a few occasions. Don't give up yet - I may one day become a decent correspondent. Thanks for news from home - it was great to hear how people are doing at university/on other gap years, and I'm so glad that the Fresh Start weekend in the benefice went well. Thanks for passing my previous email around too, I keep forgetting people from the address list which is rather inexcusable.

The beginning of the outreach has certainly been an exciting time. Thank you to everyone who (as requested) prayed that we'd make an impact in Benin - we sure did! As the ship steered into the port unfortunately we had starter motor problems at the worst possible moment and the reverse gear stopped working... so we bumped into the dock, leaving a dock-shaped hole in the bow. Very fortunately, no one was hurt and probably by an act of God we didn't also hit a nearby ship which would have been truly disastrous. Repairs are underway and between Benin and Liberia we will probably head to dry dock in Ghana. Please pray for the engineering department who have to work flat out to keep the Anastasis in service.

The medical screening in a stadium in Cotonou was as expected a pretty overwhelming experience. 5000 people turned up to queue in the heat. On the first day I was praying with those who had been turned away for eye surgery. If you look at the crowds of people and think of them as a faceless crowd, it is possible to get on with "the job" and deal with the event, but of course you cannot extend love to them. But if you realise that each face represents a story and a family and personal hopes and fears your heart gets rapidly ripped to shreds. The only possible way to cope is to focus on one person at a time - learn what you can of their story, do what you can for them, try to communicate God's care, and then move on.

The second day I worked inside escorting patients for whom there was a possibility of surgical intervention between stations - they all needed to have medical histories taken, have basic blood tests, see the surgeon who would make a final decision as to whether we could perform an operation on the ship for them, and then if they could be helped, surgery had to be scheduled and the precious appointment card given. The atmosphere was much more relaxed and there were opportunities to hand out buttered bread rolls and water to the waiting patients, and to play with the children. A team of students from the ship put on a puppet show in Fon (the tribal language) for the children, and there was face-painting and music. Here, inside with the people for whom there was a good chance, it was truly exciting to be part of what was going on. It was still only a drop in the ocean, and I feel deep frustration at the fact that with more people, better resources, more time, more publicity - many more people could have been helped. But many surgeries were scheduled, and working in the operating theatres I have seen the patients on their trolleys rolling down the corridor from theatre to recovery and each time my spirits rise. From the crowd of individuals each with their own story - at least some of the stories have happy endings.

As short-term crew we were warned of coming in and trying to "fix things" in Africa. The old adage: "Give a man a fish, and you feed him for a day, teach him to fish and you feed him for life" is constantly in the back of my mind - added to the fact that if you just dole out "things" you make people dependent on you and unwilling to be creative - far better to empower them to solve their own problems. But this is a much more difficult problem to solve, especially as a newcomer to the culture, with only 4 months to spend in Benin and then 4 months in Liberia. The advice we have been given is to pour energy into relationships with people. Almost every day here there seem to be minor (and sometimes relatively major) calamities, and almost every day there are incredibly rewarding experiences that fuel my faith and keep me going. It's impossible to tell you everything that's happening here - I will have a lot of stories to tell when I get home, but I'll just share a couple of little titbits from the last few weeks.

This afternoon I walked down the corridor from my cabin to the operating theatre (about 10m...) past the CT scanner room. The CT technician, Coral, is a friend of mine, so I popped my head around the door to see what was up. Coral, a translator, and a patient were sitting on the bed of the scanner, eating and chatting. The patient had a large and disfiguring facial tumour, but after a few weeks on the Anastasis that ceases to be a terribly remarkable occurence. I joined in their conversation for a few moments. It was all very simple: Coral had scanned the patient's head a few days previously, and because our scanner is old and rather dilapidated, this was took several hours. They'd become friends, and the Nigerian patient called "Friday" had come back that afternoon to be admitted onto the ward, bearing a gift of a large loaf of Nigerian brioche for Coral. I walked in and we chatted briefly - it was only afterwards that it struck me that for Friday his disfigurement probably makes such casual encounters debilitating experiences in normal life, yet here Coral had been able to show love and acceptance to him - I really hope that this showed him something of God's love and acceptance for him too.

The most personally rewarding thing I've done on the ship so far was to "adopt a patient". It's a simple scheme whereby a crewmember is assigned a patient on the ward to befriend. My adopted patient, Ayekodjinan, is an elderly lady who lives near the port. She is from the older generation which doesn't speak French, and I speak only one word of Fon (Hello/How are you = A-fon-gangeea) so our communication was somewhat limited and I sat on the end of her bed feeling like a bit of a melon but hoping that I would be able to demonstrate some committment and friendship to her by visiting every day during her short stay onboard. I was immensely relieved to discover something we could do together - Africans of all ages love to do colourings! So I got a translator to ask whether she wanted to do a colouring with me, and she agreed. But when I had brought the picture and crayons, she looked suddenly upset and I couldn't work out what was wrong. Fortunately for me a more experienced Mercy Shipper appeared and told me to show Ayekodjinan how to hold the crayon. As I did so her face lit up, and we coloured happily for hours. I was incredulous as I realised that in her 69 years of life no one had ever shown Ayekodjinan how to hold a crayon. And though of course it will make little difference to her life now, the fact that I was able to facilitate the delight that she evidently felt at doing a simple colouring was immensely rewarding. She had successful surgery and was discharged two weeks ago. Last Thursday one of the translators told me that there was a gift for me on the dock. My initial reaction was one of trepidation - I'm averaging about 2 or 3 offers of marriage a week at the moment, but I had little choice except to go and see what the fuss was about. But to my relief it was Ayekodjinan. I shocked to realise that she had carried an immense bunch of bananas (about 150) on her head to the dockside for me. Though for her it represented a huge financial sacrifice that I felt very uncomfortable with, to refuse them would have been deeply offensive, so I explained that I was very grateful and that there had been no need for her to bring me a gift but that I was so glad she had been able to receive surgery on board. It took two men to carry them to outside my cabin, where they are currently ripening... I'm having a banana party on Friday night for all my friends...

I know this has been a bit of an epic email - we're getting there. There is so much to tell and I've only scratched the surface. I will write more soon. I am so aware of and grateful for people praying at home so I hope you don't mind some prayer points to finish with:

Please do thank God for
- the many friends he has enabled me to make here, especially for Myra (a 25 year old Dutch nurse) and for Alison (a scrub nurse from New Zealand). The ship is now feeling a little like "home" in the broadest sense of the word!
- the ship's safe arrival in Benin, the establishment of a safe water supply to the ship, and the fact that the technical side of the ship (engines, generators, sewage treatment, air-conditioning etc) all seems to be working simultaneously (a bit of a novelty aboard the Anastasis)
- the calm and orderly screening where many people were able to be seen
- the many successful surgeries that have already taken place

And please pray
- for God's continuing protection for me and all the crew - especially from malaria and from needle-stick injuries in my work.
- for his guidance for the surgeons in making treatment plans and performing the operations
- that all of the work of the ship would be done with God's glory in mind and that many would come to know Jesus.

I think of everyone back home often - I miss Anglicanism, BBC 1, mathematics, and toilets that work all day every day... That's a bit sad, isn't it. I miss you all too of course, and I hereby pledge that this month I will try harder with personal emails. Do send little titbits of news - even 3 line emails really brighten my days. Look after England (and Chile/New Zealand) for me,

with much love,
Rosie/Rosalind
xxx... Read more!