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!
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!
posted by Rosie @ 12:22 AM
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