Liberia Update

I'm now well-ensconced in biochemistry, physiology, anatomy, and wandering around Oxford dressed in suitable 15th century academic attire...

But this week I've been regularly distracted from my studies by the news from Liberia. It seems that they have elected Africa's first ever female president in overwhelmingly peaceful, free and fair elections - an exciting answer to the classic African problem of "Big-Man Syndrome". Unfortunately, Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf's defeated opponent, George Weah, seems to be finding the disappointment hard to take. On Friday there were clashes in Monrovia between some of his supporters (who include most of the country's ex-combatants) and UN troops near to the US embassy - definitely part of my "stamping-ground" whilst I was in Monrovia. The Anastasis is currently docked in Liberia, and the crew have not been able to leave the ship since the elections on Tuesday due to the unrest.

It's strange how different it is hearing about these things when you've been somewhere and left something of your heart there. I keep thinking of Hawa and the other children at the orphanage - it is their future that hangs in the balance with the egos of wealthy people who, unlike them, can leave Liberia whenever things get hairy. Please keep the Liberian people in your prayers. I know of many Liberians who are praying earnestly for peace - it's exciting to be joining with them. Lets "kneel before the Father, from whom his whole family in heaven and on earth derives its name" and know that he is "able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine".

There are currently regular updates on Liberia on the BBC Website at http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/africa/default.stm.

Next stop...

Lincoln College, Oxford. To be my home for six years starting 4th October 2005. Isn't it beautiful?!

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Friends still onboard

These days there is a very strange-shaped gap in my life....

Balance

So England is pretty cool - this is how our garden looked when I got home 4 weeks ago! The sun is pleasantly warm here, not oppressive like in Africa.

Is home where the heart is?

At the Alfred & Agnes memorial orphanage in Monrovia, Liberia, teaching tic-tac-toe to the children I had come to love.

Thoughts on leaving Liberia

An excerpt from my journal written on the plane on the overnight flight back from Monrovia - I don't want to forget what I've seen and heard.

I've tried to imprint Liberia in my mind. The lush, tropical vegetation, the wooden market stalls, the bustle, the crazy signs. the bullet holes and broken buildings that are evidence of the violence in recent times. The people who talk at you through vehicle windows selling gum, or "Cold Water!" or dodgy frozen yoghurt. How you want to love them yet can't give "things" and yet are in danger of being too calloused. How the rubbish is in piles, biodegrading underfoot in the streets. The pot holes, the driving. The bizarreness of Christianity everywhere - in mis-spelled taxi slogans, in 30-strong churches called "Evangel World Outreach Ministries Inc.". Hand-painted signs - little wooden stalls selling phonecards or changing money - all with crazy names. "Musu's business centre", "Executive choice finance" And people pushing wheelbarrows playing loud African pop music at a level higher than the speakers can cope with. The extravagant Western adverts for Cable TV and mobile phones, the plethora of UN vehicles. The rain which brings out the UNHCR tarps in the market. The stalls selling clothes that were donated for "the poor people in Africa" and which get snapped up by cash-strapped missionaries. How people think you are hilarious for walking among them - especially if you dress African - but how it obviously honours them. How they joke with you. How the children break your heart. The checkpoints with the razor wire and pale blue painted machine gun emplacements with a guard holding a "stop-go" sign, where a Mercy Ships ID will go a long way. The NGOs back-to-back all the way through Sinkor district. The taxis full of people. The big momma trucks. The people who live in squalor by the river with the animals on the rubbish dump and the people in the Mercedes with tinted windows. The stalls selling Coke and Fanta from red crates. The filling stations. How the taxis are falling apart and you think nothing of riding in one with a shattered windscreen and mouldy seats. How there are no traffic laws and yet it seems to work with only the odd hairy moment. How the women carry fruit on their heads, or Igloos full of plastic bags of water. How the people just throng around you. How it smells - of sewage or of fish or of spices or of acrid fumes as the water truck goes by. How the sweat runs down between your legs. How your skin makes you a ticket for a better future for a Liberian man, and how a pastor might thank you "for leaving your mansion and your millions to come to Africa". How they want to touch your hand and tell you "welcome" or "Be my friend". How the children coyly smile and then beam when you wave. The hand-shake with the click - how grown men do elaborate hand-shake routines familiar from primary school. How they face terrible hardships with realism and say "Thank God" when you ask "how are you?" How you find yourself dropping consonants and speaking faster to be understood. How the market sells canned foods and sauces and cheap toiletries and flour and sugar in sacks. How they know you can never understand real suffering - if you make a trite comment they know it's trite, but how they value your "sacrifice" and hold out hope nonetheless. How your feet get black after a walk outside wearing sandals. How the Liberian National Police stand around looking important but not so reassuring. How a Liberian will try to rip you off - yet you can laugh together when you tell him it's absurd and that you know the score. Who can blame him for trying? How your attempts to hail a taxi and negotiate a fare are everybody's business - and how all change is communal in the face of the white woman with the $20 note. I cannot explain it. It has tried my patience, sapped my energy and won my heart!... Read more!

News from Liberia - Newsletter May 2005

Dear All,

Zoom! That was April and May... With 4 weeks remaining on the ship now I'm excited about coming home, but also somewhat saddened to say goodbye to Africa and to my friends on the ship. Perhaps it's a little early to tell, but I don't feel like this will be my last trip to Africa

In the operating theatres in March and April since we arrived in Liberia, as well as the maxillo-facial procedures, opthalmic surgeons have performed about 190 eye surgeries (removing cataracts, correcting strabismus/crossed-eyes, and removing eyes that have been damaged beyond repair by trauma). So I have scrubbed, disinfected, put back together, wrapped and sterilised 190 fiddly little eye instrument sets - not the most exciting task ever, but in some ways it is one of the most rewarding parts of my work. One day I walked past the eye theatre just as Dr Russ, a visiting opthalmologist, had finished a surgery. An hour earlier I had watched a middle-aged gentleman totally blind with cataracts slowly led by the arm up the corridor to have his surgery. As Dr Russ removed the drape from the man's eye, and asked him whether he could see anything, the man sat up in astonishment. He looked across the operating theatre and Dr Russ asked him what time it was: he glanced at the clock and said "Ten past ten!". On this occasion the change was instantaneous - the man walked down the gangway later that day and his son will no longer need to lead him around. As I walked away from the operating theatre to carry on with my work in the sterilising room I was re-inspired. It's so hard when everything you do is only a drop in the ocean, but I remembered the verses from Luke describing Jesus' authentic ministry: "The blind receive sight, the lame walk, those who have leprosy are cured, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the good news is preached to the poor." In a small way this ministry is being continued here - and that is an exciting thought!

I've also been enjoying the opportunities to get off the ship and involved with various activities. On Saturdays I've been heading out to a local orphanage. 70 or so kids, orphaned by war, AIDS, or even just abandoned by parents who cannot afford to support them are living under the care of a small but dedicated team of Liberian nationals. Christian Aid provides the food for the orphanage, and so the children appear to be reasonably well-nourished and clothed, but with so many children they get little one-on-one attention and they are starved of human affection. I have been "adopted" by a little girl called Hawa. She is 4 or 5 years old and doesn't really talk. I don't know what horrors she has already witnessed in her short life - the director of the orphanage tells stories of rescuing children from beside the dead bodies of their parents during the war. Anyway, Hawa just wants hugs - lots of hugs. Every week when the team drives up the children are assembled outside the orphanage singing exuberant African Christian choruses in harmony. My favourite has to be "The devil cannot do me nothing, the devil cannot do me nothing. They can put me in the fire, they can take me suma-suma (?), I can run away - hey! The devil cannot do me nothing". We teach them ridiculous action songs in return - Father Abraham has become a great favourite. After they've sung we organise games and activities for them: face-painting, story-time, friendship bracelets, ultimate frisbee, skipping, duck-duck-goose (which changed to duck-duck-tree whilst I wasn't concentrating last time - there aren't any geese in Liberia!). All the team members have been able to build special relationships with some of the children - Hawa sticks to me like glue and I have become adept at organising team games with a five-year old on one hip. I found it very difficult to accept that there was little long-term change that we could make for the children although their need is so great. But we are able to help in small ways. One of my cabin-mates on the ship is a nurse and had been visiting a different orphanage where she'd noticed some tropical ulcers. A grazed leg here can quickly turn into a raging flesh-eating infection with the heat, humidity and poor sanitation. And with 70 rampaging 4-14 year old kids I'm sure you can imagine the potential for grazed knees. So when I returned to "my" orphanage the next week I noticed the same problem - lots of infected cuts and scrapes, including a few serious ulcers. We brought large quantities of simple dressings supplies and taught the leaders and the older children how to clean and dress wounds - that the water must be boiled and cooled, that hands must be washed with soap, to clean away the dirt and grit and to put a simple gauze dressing on the cut. It has to be said that the would-be doctor was in her element as we set up a mini-clinic in the chapel and dressed their wounds. We took photographs of anything that looked more serious than just a scrape and showed them to a real doctor back on the ship - I am returning to the orphanage this afternoon with some more supplies including some antibiotics for a couple of the children. We are also taking a team of puppeteers with us this afternoon and I can't wait to see the childrens' faces! The puppet team will be presenting their varied performance of songs and dramas which tend to leave Africans and Westerners, young and old alike in gales of laughter.

All in all I'm finally feeling pretty much at ease in West Africa - I've mastered the art of hailing a taxi and negotiating a reasonable price (10p per person to get across town), I can conduct myself properly in African church and know to divide the amount I want to give to the church by 4 so that I can put some money in all four of the separate offerings to avoid embarrassment (not forgetting the all-important men vs. women offering competition....), and I'm even getting better at the sense of humour - I've discovered that the best way to turn down a marriage proposal whilst avoiding causing offence is to make the proposer laugh - "Not Today" seems to go down quite well.

A few final praise and prayer requests:
- Praise God for the amazing people who I have met and who have become friends here - for wise help and advice I've been given, and for everything I've learnt from watching these young men and women as they seek to serve God with their lives.
- Praise God for the fun and opportunities I've had at the orphanage and for the evident joy in the kids' faces when we turn up each week
- Praise God for the work that is being done in the operating theatres and for the many amazing stories of new life.
- Please pray for us for continued physical and emotional energy at the end of the outreach - many people are tired and a bit run-down and I have the beginnings of a cold and have a distinctly dodgy tummy.
- And please pray for me as I prepare to come home that I would have a sense of "closure" (sorry, I've been on a ship full of americans for 8 months) and that good-byes would not be too painful!

I guess that's it for April/May - I'll try to write another quick (ok, long and meandering) email before I leave for home. I hope you are all well. I continue to think of you all often and am really looking forward to catching up with everyone in a few weeks!

Lots of love,
Rosie/Rosalind
xxx... Read more!

Church on ship

This is whilst the air conditioning was off, so we met out on deck to enjoy at least some breeze.


"And all the powers of darkness can't drown out a single word, when all God's people sing out 'Glory, glory, Hallelujah, he reigns!' "

All Hail Liberia Hail - Newsletter April 2005

Dear All,

I feel like I've fallen somewhat out of touch with the world beyond Mercy Ships in the last month or so but now outreach is back underway in Liberia and some degree of normal routine has returned to my life I should be able to catch up on some correspondence. I'm sorry this newsletter is rather belated: March was pretty jam-packed and it has been an intimidating task to bring you up to date on all that has happened since we left Benin - this newsletter has been in various stages of writing for almost a fortnight!

I suppose the first thing to say is that we arrived safely in Liberia and that everyone is fine; that surgeries are going well; and that I continue to have a great time here. Life on the ship is many things but it's certainly not boring. The sail to Liberia proved somewhat eventful. On Monday evening after we sailed some friends and I were watching Pirates of the Caribbean in my cabin to celebrate being at sea, and at 11.30pm as we all sat there watching sleepily there was an overhead page "Fire teams one and two, please get into your suits and report to the generator room". Overhead pages after 10pm mean emergencies - we have never seen our friend Chris (IT manager and fire-team leader) move so fast. 30 seconds later the general fire-alarm went off and all over the ship sleepy crew roused, dressed and reported to muster stations in silence. After 40 minutes or so when the muster was complete the chief officer came to our muster station to explain that it had been a small fire on one of the generators which had remained under control the whole time and was now entirely extinguished. So no harm done, but I think for the whole crew it was a reminder that our safety is in God's hands. Wide-awake after the evening's drama I walked somewhat zombie-like to the Mediterranean lounge where I sat with similarly awake friends - these "adventures" certainly build a sense of community. The next day was somewhat more relaxing. I got up late and at lunch-time I sat out on deck (there was no air-conditioning again due to the damage to the generator from the fire) and saw literally hundreds of dolphins playing in the surf from the bow wave. In the evening some friends and I went up to the highest accessible deck on the ship to be out of the way of the lights and watched the stars - hundreds upon thousands of them from horizon to horizon, and the Milky Way clearly visible too. The rest of the sail continued to be eventful - a further fire (even smaller this time); bunkering for fuel oil off Abidjan, Cote d'Ivoire; more dolphins, good times with friends.

So it was with a sense of excitement and relief that we approached the port of Monrovia - to be my home until June. Liberia was founded by freed slaves who returned from America in the early nineteenth century. It's national motto is "The love of liberty brought us here", and yet the Liberian people have experienced more suffering and oppression than I would have thought possible for anyone to endure: they have not had a stable government for 25 years and the country was in a state of civil war for 14 years until 2003. There were several stretches of months of street-to-street violence in Monrovia itself - people were unable to leave their homes even to find food, and as you walk through the streets today it is hard to believe that only 18 months ago the city was in uproar as the rebels demanded that the despot president Charles Taylor step down. Now the city is getting back on it's feet in an African kind of a way - the markets are vibrant and there is a constant flow of taxis and white UN vehicles on the roads. But the scars of war are all around:as you cross the bridge in the centre of the town every lamp-post is riddled with holes; I cannot imagine what it must have been like to be here when the air was so thick with bullets.

Arriving in Monrovia was an overwhelming experience: it seemed that the ship's arrival was symbolic of the new hope in Liberia. The local churches had organised a huge arrival ceremony with the national army band, a full gospel choir, an excellent inter-tribal troupe of tradtional dancers called "Crusaders for Peace" who extended a traditional welcome gift of Kola nuts. The president's representative, the UN and US ambassadors, the leader of the Liberian Council of Churches and more archbishops than you could shake a stick at all spoke to welcome the ship and to express their excitement. We felt glad that they were so obviously glad to see us but I was worried that their expectation of what we could do was unrealistic. But it wasn't really the time for pragmatism - they were determined to throw us a party. A local soloist sang an extremely catchy number "War is Over - come on everybody let's praise God!" and the usually reserved crowd of Anastasis crew danced on the decks. Everything in Liberia rides on this fragile peace: elections are scheduled for October and with over 50 candidates choosing the right man is a daunting prospect for the Liberian people.

During the break between the end of surgery in Benin and restarting in Liberia was a good time for me to take stock and refocus. I had plenty of time to sit out on the deck and read my bible, write in my journal and come up with some personal goals for the outreach. Amongst them was a determination to investionships off the ship - taking opportunities to get involved with local churches and to really get a feel for Liberia. So every weekend a friend and I have gone to a little methodist church in the centre of town. It was the first indigenous (not ex-slave) Methodist church in Liberia and it's been great to get to know them. Services are long - over 2.5 hours, but the preaching has been good and it is overall an uplifting experience. It is the only church I've been to in West Africa which uses any traditional liturgy - it can be surreal: one minute we're reciting the Apostle's Creed or listening to the Eucharistic Prayer and I could be at church at home or in OLEM, the next minute my neighbours have grabbed my hands and we are singing the charming little ditty "Hold somebody, tell them that you love them, raise your arms together and praise the Lord. Brother, Jesus loves you and I love you too" (you need to imagine the enthusiastic African praise style and preferably a sort of Caribbean reggae beat...). I think my all-time favourite image of this church though is the senior pastor, a young man called Daniel, dressed in full cassock, surplice and purple stole, dancing (and I mean dancing) in front of the altar as he praises God with abandon. Last weekend my friend Katie and I led the Sunday School - 50 children between the ages of 0 and 14 - quite a handful! We decided we'd start at the beginning and taught about sin and forgiveness: it was great to see the kids who usually learn entirely by rote engaging with role play and drama - we faced a bit of a language barrier (Liberian English is deceptively named...) so drama was the way forward with these kids. We had them acting out the story of the Prodigal Son, which they enjoyed immensely. I looked at the older teenagers and realised that they do not remember a time when their country was not at war. I went to a local orphanage where we organised games and songs for children traumatised by the war - who knows what they saw, how it was that they lost their parents. It was undoubtedly a well-spent afternoon but it was hard to know whether we made any difference. But I know that knowledge of a God who loves them and who will accept and forgive them whatever they do is more valuable than all the money and toys and comfort of all the children in the West. I just hope that we can witness to him.

A handful of praise and prayer requests as I attempt to terminate this out-of-control newsletter...

- praise God for the warm welcome we received, especially for the way the local churches have done everything in their power to make things go smoothly for us
- praise God for the glorious gift of air-conditioning - finally restored to us a fortnight ago and never again to be taken for granted!
- pray for the Liberian people - that peace would remain, and for free and fair elections resulting in the selection of a godly leader for this country.
- pray for continued good relationships for Katie and myself with the methodist church - that we would be an encouragement to them to persevere; for their senior pastor Daniel and his wife Viola that they would lead the church in truth and integrity
- pray for me for perseverance and enthusiasm in my work even on Monday mornings... (the novelty of cleaning and sterilising wears off from time to time)
- and pray that as I start preparing to come home God would drum some of the lessons I've learnt securely enough into my brain that they would make a lasting impact on how I live when I return.

Congratulations - you made it through - only a couple more newsletters to go before I come home and can tell you about everything in the flesh you may all have to just tell me when I go on for toooo long about it: that was definitely the abridged version of the last 6 weeks!

Have a great week,
lots of love,
Rosie... Read more!

Sailing!

The reflection of the bow in the crystal clear water early in the morning.

Rosie's Ramblings - Newsletter March 2005

Dear All,

We have a sailing date to leave for Liberia! After four challenging and rewarding months in Benin, it looks like the generators and engines will be ready in time to sail at 2pm GMT on Monday. In the last few weeks there have been some very frustrating moments when it has seemed like nothing worked at all, but now things are looking up and I'm immensely looking forward to heading to Liberia. We should arrive in the port of Monrovia midmorning on Friday 11th. Thank you all for your prayers, God is faithful.

I'm a bit unsure what to tell you all about the month of February. Seeing the completion of the projects in Benin has been very exciting. I've attached the final outreach report to this email so that you can have the "official" account of what we've been doing Benin. I know that I have been a very small cog in a very large machine, but it's great to look back on what's been achieved whilst we've been here. I never cease to be impressed by the amazing people I get to live and work with every day. Currently it's official ship holiday for 4 days before we head to Liberia, but I thought I'd give you a taste of a typical day on outreach.

On a Thursday morning my alarm clock goes off at 6.30am so that I have time to prepare for the day and have a leisurely breakfast. In practice, I get up at 7.27am, pull on the nearest clothes and grab a bread roll from the dining room whilst avoiding eye contact with the other 350 bleary eyed Anastasis crew who are rushing to get something to eat before the food is put away at 7.30. Back in the safety of my cabin I make myself presentable ready to start work at 8am. In the operating theatres all is hustle and bustle whilst everyone arrives and starts to get set up for the first cases. But before the first patient arrives, Ans Rozema, the theatre supervisor calls us together to pray for God's protection over all the people we will see that day, and that the work would glorify God. Then it's back to work - Thursday is cleaning day and so the first task I'll start is to wash down the walls, ceilings, floors and surfaces with bleach solution - all good clean fun! Then the clean anaesthesia supplies from yesterday need to be put away, and meanwhile I will undoubtedly forget that we used up the last packet of sterile towels yesterday, so it will only be a matter of time before one of the nurses arrives in a panic looking for a sterile towel - oops! Mid-morning before the first cases end there is often a lull - a good chance to watch 15 minutes of surgery if there's something interesting going on. If Lord Ian McColl, professor of surgery at Guys Hospital is onboard he'll be sure to give me a tutorial in some aspect of whatever it is he happens to be doing: the embryology of a thyroglossal cyst, or the anatomy of the facial nerve.

After the first cases finish I see one of my favourite things - the patients being wheeled down the corridor from theatres to recovery past the door to the sterilising room. Perhaps one of the highlights of this outreach for me was seeing a mother's expression as the recovery room nurse gently pulled back the blanket from her child's face to reveal a perfect cleft lip repair. The mother knew that her child would no longer have to face the rejection that stems from being different in a culture which believes that illness or deformity is a judgement from angry spirits. I clean up the mess from the surgery - washing the instruments, dealing with the contaminated waste, rinsing out the laundry, cleaning the bloody saliva off the anaesthesia equipment. It's not particularly pleasant, but remembering what I'm a part of makes it hugely rewarding. Lunch-time arrives and I take my food outside onto the deck and sit down with my close friends who work all over the ship - we share what's been going on in theatres, the laboratory, the ward, the IT department, the school. There is a great feeling of "we're all in it together" - everyone wants to know what's happening to the patients on the ward whose surgery is made possible because the computers are running and the ship kids are kept occupied.

The afternoon surgeries continue until about 5.30pm - we come back after a quick supper and sterilise what is needed for the next day - the rest can be left until the morning. From 6 until 7.30 I teach some of the ship kids piano lessons; it's fun to see their enthusiasm as they learn and I feel like I'm doing something positive for the community. Then at 7.30pm it's time for the weekly community meeting - administrative announcements, a time for prayer, songs to praise God and encourage each other, and a sermon by a visiting speaker. Last night it was a communion service. I looked around and thought how exciting it is that I am "one body" with these people from all over the world. I was thought about the verses from Isaiah 53: "We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to his own way; and the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all". I don't know what I was expecting to find when I came to Africa - I think I might have subconsciously thought that "missionaries" would somehow be holier than everyone else. It's not true. On the ship you can gossip, argue, hurt people or get hurt, just like anywhere else, because we have all gone astray. But I know that the price for all of us is paid by Jesus and it's great to be together as a community where we can celebrate that fact. After community meeting we relocate to the Mediterranean lounge to eat chocolate, play cards, dissect the sermon, and chat late into the night! To bed when someone's common sense gets the better of them.

Everyone on the ship really values your prayers - it's great to think of all the people all over the world who are praying for us. Here are a few things that I know would be great to pray about.
- praise God for all that he has done whilst we've been here in Benin, for the lives that have been changed
- praise God that the generator parts arrived and that we have air-conditioning back, and continue to pray for the technical and engineering crew as they make the ship ready to sail.
- pray for me that I would eagerly seek to know God better and that I would be able to find time and space to be alone with him especially during the opportunity presented before outreach starts in Liberia
- pray for the advance team (Dave, Eric, Alex, Marie and Veronique) in Liberia as they make final arrangements for the ship's arrival and that we would be able to have a happy reunion with them next Friday

It's wonderful to hear news from home - I gather England has been very cold and snowy which seems strange when here it is 35 degrees and 85% humidity. I am aiming to reply to as many emails as I possibly can before we arrive in Liberia! My thoughts are often with you all!

With love and prayers,
Rosie/Rosalind (I think I might have to stop this schizophrenic email-signing...)... Read more!

Zimidjan

A great way of getting around... if you like the feeling of impending doom.

More News from Benin - Newsletter January 2005

Dear All,

Well. It's been quite a month, and I confess that I'm still unsure whether it's all been one of those utterly bizarre dreams that you have just before waking up...

2005 started excellently with a New Year's Eve ball on the ship. It was great to have an excuse to dress up - definitely some bonding-time for the girls in our cabin as we pooled our wardrobes, accessories and make-up in an attempt to make 4 passable "evening dress" outfits. And the ballroom dancing was certainly entertaining, as anyone who's ever seen me "dance" will know. At midnight the Brits introduced everybody else to "Auld Lang Syne" - which met with widespread amusement. Sparklers on the dock and even a few fireworks bought in Cotonou that afternoon made for a great end to a special evening.

The whole ship was on holiday between Christmas and New Year, so I had an exciting opportunity to travel upcountry in Benin. Prior to colonisation, Benin (or Dahomey, as it was then called) was one of the richest, most powerful and most stable kingdoms in West Africa. The famous elite female "Amazon" warriors were part of a large army which conquered a vast area of West Africa, and the kingdom remained under the rule of a single dynasty for hundreds of years. The palaces of the kings at Abomey (200 miles north of Cotonou, where the ship is docked) are a UNESCO world heritage site and we felt a trip to Benin would not be complete without a visit. So four of us set out by train from Cotonou to make the journey. The train was quite an experience. We decided we'd splash out and pay for whole seats - so the ticket cost us about £1.50 each... And the whole episode was an wonderfully "Michael Palin" style adventure. The train gradually took us out of the sprawling and ungainly city of Cotonou into the surprisingly lush scrubland of the West African countryside. We stopped at market towns every half an hour or so, where furious buying and selling would commence through the train windows and vendors would walk down the train with pineapples and bananas or bags of frozen yoghurt (tempting, but not recommended for consumption unless you have the immune system of a... west african). We arrived in the bustling market town of Bohicon and travelled by zimidjan (motorcycle taxi) to Abomey. In the afternoon we visited the palaces, which were not the luxurious affairs I was expecting (think farm outbuildings with dirt floors) but nonetheless were full of interesting artefacts and our guide enlightened us on the culture and religion of traditional Benin. Certainly interesting, also distinctly murderous... After a great time laughing and chatting late into the night over a traditional Beninois meal with good friends we got some rest and the next day we headed for home - another adventure (this time by taxi) but I won't relate it here.

We got back to work on the 2nd of January and all was pretty much smooth sailing - a couple more months remaining in Benin and I felt like I more-or-less knew the ropes. Our friendship group had solidified into a fairly close-knit group and I realised one Saturday as we went out for dinner to celebrate a friend's birthday how fortunate I am to have fallen in with these fun, interesting and godly people. I'm the youngest in my group of friends and they all look out for me a bit, which is very nice. The next Monday everything was rather blown up in the air, however, when my friend Bethany (the ship lab technician) ran a routine blood test before I donated some blood. To cut a long and complicated story rather shorter - I had to return to the UK for further tests because she uncovered a rather bizarre but worrying result. So I packed up and made tearful farewells before catching the next flight home on Wednesday night, hoping to return to the ship at a later date but utterly unsure what was going on. I arrived home to some rather worried parents, and of course it was wonderful to see them and to be back home. In the event, after some more blood tests it seems that nothing whatsoever is wrong with me! The test on the ship seems to have been a very bizarre anomaly (though it was repeated several times) and more sophisticated and thorough testing in the UK has reassured everybody that it's all been a bit of a storm in a teacup. I returned to the ship this Wednesday after what has been an emotional rollercoaster of a fortnight! In many ways a ship full of medically minded Christians was perhaps the ideal place for me to be when this happened: talking and praying with my friends here is something that I have found immensely valuable. I've discovered that perhaps I wasn't trusting God with my health, my future and my career as much as I thought I was - it's terribly easy to say and much harder to do. I haven't really worked out what I think God was up to and I suppose I may never do that, but yesterday I found a prayer in Isaiah 38 that pretty much sums up how I feel about it:

"But what can I say? He has spoken to me, and he himself has done this. I will walk humbly all my years because of this anguish of my soul. Lord, by such things men live; and my spirit finds life in them too. You restored me to health and let me live. Surely it was for my benefit that I suffered such anguish. In your love you kept me from the pit of destruction; you have put all my sins behind your back."

Unfortunately, Hezekiah, the King of Israel who prayed that prayer after God healed him, then went rather drastically downhill and courted destruction by seeking to impress the Babylonians and failing to trust God. Please pray that I would make the time to think and pray about all this and that God would enable me to "walk humbly all my years".

Anyway, back on the ship it feels in many ways as though I never left. I've slotted back into my job in the operating theatres and it's very good to be back. I can't believe that we only have a few more weeks in Benin - I am very excited to see what there is in store next, and as an added bonus we are spending a week in Ghana in between for a short break before launching into outreach again in Liberia. It will be sad to leave Benin - especially to say goodbye to some of the patients who have been with us "for the long-haul" having major reconstructive surgery, but it's so great to think of the new life that they have ahead of them.

This month more than ever your prayers and support have meant a huge amount to me. It was so good to be at the ten-forty service with everyone in Chrishall, and to meet up with people for coffee, or to talk on the telephone without the satellite delay. If you didn't know I was in the UK - apologies - I was trying to keep a relatively low profile particularly before I knew that everything was ok, but nonetheless thank you for emails, thoughts and prayers! I would really value continuing prayer this month:

- for the end of the outreach in Benin, that everything that needs to be done gets done, and that everyone would have the energy to keep going.
- for continued safety from dirty needlestick injuries at work
- for the engineering and deck departments as they gear up to get this fifty year old ship into action again for the sails to Ghana and Liberia
- and for the advance team in Liberia as they make final preparations for the ships arrival, that they would continue to be kept safe and would have a sense of peace as they know that God is in control.

There we are - another epic email - I'm going to have to work on conciseness... I suppose I will end with the now-traditional promise to do better at correspondence this month! Take care of England for me,

With lots of love,
Rosie/Rosalind
xxx... Read more!

Some pictures of Benin

Out and about in Cotonou - this guy was cute and he knew it!





A young woman takes pineapples to market from the stilt village of Ganvie, 10 miles upriver from Cotonou.

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!

Screening

A moment of light relief, playing some music for the waiting crowds. Christi (violinist) has become a good friend.










Some of the thousands who came in search of medical treatment.

Land Ahoy - Newsletter October 2004

Dear All,

I've just come inside after spending a while out on the deck - on the horizon we can see a hazy light which we think is the city of Lome, capital of Togo. This is some concrete evidence that we are very nearly in Benin! If you've looked at the website or spoken to my parents, or if I've been unusually efficient and emailed you separately since the last time I sent out a mass mailing, then you'll have realised that this journey has been somewhat fraught! For a start, when I arrived in Bremerhaven the ship boiler didn't work (amongst other things, this meant no hot water for showers) and as a result we couldn't leave Bremerhaven until 3 days late. Then on the way to Tenerife we had the roughest weather conditions anyone could remember and I got quite seasick. And when we thought we were within striking distance of Tenerife the engine stopped working and we drifted in the Atlantic ocean for 12 hours (fortunately the rough seas had abated by now) whilst there was frantic activity in the engine room, and then we sailed into Tenerife about 4 days late. I have never been happier to arrive anywhere! It is possible to paint a rather grim picture of life aboard the Anastasis - this afternoon the autoclave (the primary bit of kit I use in my work) shed about 10 gallons of water all over the (just sterilised) floor of the room where I work. When I expressed some frustration to my supervisor she (a veteran of 17 years with Mercy Ships) said: "This sort of thing is entirely normal: welcome to the Anastasis".

However telling you about the cockroaches (yes, really) and cabin fever would be to paint a very distorted picture. The truth is that the Anastasis seems to be a vibrant and loving community which has made me feel entirely welcome. There is a certain camaraderie in the face of adversity when you haven't had a hot shower for four days, and I have made friends aplenty and had a wonderful time. After arriving in Tenerife things seemed to go much more smoothly. Much of the crew has been working hard all summer on the fund-raising and procurement tour in Europe, and so the week in Tenerife was a chance for them to catch their breath before diving into the outreach phase in Africa. It also provided a wonderful chance for me to make friends, relax, and get used to ship life before work gets hectic when operating starts in a few days time. In Tenerife we explored the city of Santa Cruz where the ship was docked. The city is not particularly attractive from the sea, but as you walk through the streets it is vibrant and there are lots of wide plazas and pleasant shopping streets with mature trees and places to sit. We frequented in particular two establishments: the most amazing icecream parlour called "Romano's", and "Viva Maria's" a smoothie bar which sold freshly made fruit smoothies in any flavour imaginable and delicious triple-decker sandwiches for lunch. Other activities included leisurely afternoons on the beach, snorkelling in the semi-tropical waters, exploring the coast road around the island, and stocking up on Western creature comforts to see us through 7 months without Dairy Milk or Marmite.

The sail from Tenerife to Benin has been as different to the previous one as I could have imagined. Morning after morning I have sat out on the bow and seen another stunning sunrise, always different but always striking. On Sunday we watched the Passion of the Christ in the afternoon, which was a truly humbling and harrowing experience, but to sit out on the bow for the medical prayer and praise meeting the next morning to see the pastel-blue sea like glass, and the thin cloud forming an orange haze as we sailed due east whilst the sun rose was a potent reminder that our God did not just die and stay dead, but that he was the omnipotent creator of our beautiful universe and death had no hold on him. And if that weren't enough, the dolphins came out to join us and played in the bow wave for a few minutes whilst we sang. There have been regular visits from the dolphins, today I saw a pod of whales, there are hundreds upon hundreds of flying fish (strange, strange creatures) and whilst I haven't seen them apparently there have been large turtles too.

As you can see there has been plenty of time for rest and relaxation - I have now almost completed all the "new crew orientation" activities (it's quite a formidable process), and whilst homesickness does strike from time to time I am very very excited about the next few weeks and months. In the operating theatres we have bleached and bleached to get everything sterile for the first surgeries; the scrub nurses and supervisors are a great team to work with and I think we're all looking forward to seeing a few patients - surgery starts on the 11th of November. We are scheduled to arrive in Benin at 7am tomorrow morning, so I guess by the time most of you read this I'll be there, and then the first day is mostly taken up with the official welcome from the Beninoise government. This weekend everyone is working frantically to get things set up because we are in fact arriving in Benin 3 days late, and then the screenings are on Monday and Tuesday. At the moment it looks like I will be escorting patients from station to station on Tuesday and possibly working for half the day on Monday at the prayer station, but it's likely that I'll have to stay on the ship for at least half a day in order to get all the instruments sterile. From what everyone says, screening is an draining experience and one day or one and a half will be plenty. The need in Benin is vast: we expect to be inundated with people, many of whom will have to be turned away. "The harvest is plentiful but the workers are few. Ask the Lord of the harvest, therefore, to send out workers into his harvest field". I know that I must focus on extending love and care to as many people as I can, but that ultimately we are only human and cannot help everyone. Please do pray for strength for all the crew in facing the screening days.

In the last few days I've learnt a lot more about the vision of the Anastasis' leadership for our outreach in Benin and then in Liberia and i can honestly say it's very very exciting. There are many godly men and women here and they are not afraid of thinking big. I'm running out of room to describe everything that I've experienced - do email back questions or whatever if I've missed anything you'd like to know and I'll try to explain more: I have absorbed a rather overwhelming amount of information in the last 4 weeks!

I miss all of you very much: I suddenly realised on sailing from Tenerife that I'd just missed the point of no return, and that I really was here until June. Thank you to everyone who's emailed me or signed the guestbook on my website, and thank you for your prayers - it means a vast amount to me to know that people back home remember that I exist! Please thank God for helping me to settle in here - I've learnt many many names, made some good friends already and anticipate getting to know many more people, and there is a great support network in place for the crew. I hope to get involved in the music here - I am already teaching piano to a terrifyingly enthusiastic nine-year-old boy. I also have scheming plans afoot to introduce the charismatics here to the beauties of the anglican liturgy and to the great hymns, but I might put those ambitions aside for a few months in the name of unity in Christ! The style is different to StAG, different to the Benefice, very different to OLEM, but I'm getting used to it and learning to appreciate it. I'm very much looking forward to African church - might try to get along on Sunday but I suspect it might have to wait for the next weekend. Please pray that I would have lots of energy to work hard in the theatres as surgeries start, and that the ship would have a profound impact for Christ in Benin as we show love to the people here.

Final point: I've discovered the ship satellite phone system - I can receive incoming calls from the UK outside working hours (ie evenings and weekends) and it would be wonderful to hear from you if you have a dull moment. It does cost the same as calling Florida, but that is not always extortionate so do consider giving me a ring to tell me your news: the ship phone number is: 00 1 954 5384258.

All my very best wishes, I think of you all often.
Lots of love and God bless,
Rosalind
xxx... Read more!

The Mercy Ship Anastasis

The beautiful big white ship. She used to be a cruise liner, sailing from Trieste to Hong Kong. Now she carries very different passengers!

My Cabin - basic but comfortable :)

Setting Sail

Dear All,

Well, the big day (Saturday) looms and I'm beginning to feel like I might one day be organised enough to set off into the wide blue yonder. For those of you who don't know, I'm at the beginning of my Gap Year with the Christian charity Mercy Ships. On Saturday I'm flying to Bremen in Germany, and then catching a train to Bremerhaven, where I'm meeting the Mercy Ship Anastasis. Then on Monday we set sail, first for Tenerife for a bit of rest and relaxation (I hope!) and then on to Cotonou, Benin, in West Africa. We arrive in Benin on the 1st November and when we get there I'll be working as a steriliser in the operating theatre. This seems to be code for dogsbody, but I'm really looking forward to being able to observe some operations and generally see what's going on! The screenings to schedule for surgeries are on the 8th and 9th November and the first surgeries are on the 11th. We're staying in Benin until the end of February, and then sailing on to Liberia, where we will stay until mid-June.

Finally, I would really value your prayers over the next few months: I am feeling very excited but also apprehensive. Please pray that I would quickly settle in and make friends, that I would be able to work hard in God's service, and that the outreach will go really well - that many people would learn of God's love for them as we try to demonstrate it practically. I know that I cannot possibly manage this year in my own strength, so please pray that I continually look to God for his provision and that the whole experience would be one that enables me to know him better.

With love and all best wishes,
Rosie
xxx