The seed that was planted...

  Hello one and all!  I have been silent for about 6 months, but now as I prepare to leave Canada and start my next Mercy Ships adventure, I remember those good 'ol blogging sessions.  Time to warm up my blogging voice (my 'bl-oice'). 
  The other day as I sorted through a dusty box of ancient papers, I fell upon the original article that first sparked my interest in Mercy Ships.  In 2007, Brio Magazine published an article about two girls who lived aboard on of the old Mercy Ships (The Caribbean Mercy).  Their tale of life on this hospital vessel intrigued me, and sparked a desire to one day serve with the ship.  I am so glad that I did hold on to this article.  Now I can share it with all of you.   (I hope that this format is somewhat readable to the average person.) 

Enjoy!

 

 

Some video footage...

I was so excited to hear that 60 minutes is once again broadcasting it's 12 minute clip featuring Mercy Ships.  This segment was originally aired in February, and Mercy Ships has received sooooo much publicity through it.  Overnight, the number of crew volunteer applications shot up sky high.  CBC will be re-broadcasting this clip in the August 4th edition of 60 minutes, 7 pm Pacific standard time.  Check it out online if you haven't already done so. http://www.cbsnews.com/video/watch/?id=50141230n

Here is another recent video http://vimeo.com/user11299629/thesurgeryship

I caught the Africa Mercy Virus!

 "So what are your plans now that you are back home?" is the question of the month.  Truth be told, I plan to return to the ship.
  I am enjoying my time at home, catching up with friends and family and telling my story, but I don't believe that my time with Mercy Ships is through.  There is a great need for a long-term dental assistant in the clinic to orient new staff as they come, and provide some stability to the team.  I've experienced the successes and trials, the ups and downs of life on the ship and work in the clinic. I know what to expect.
  After much thinking, praying and discussing, I have decided to return to the Africa Mercy to serve as a long term dental assistant.   I will take an 8-week training course in Texas before joining the dental team.   Then, I will begin my two years with the dental team.  What a wonderful adventure awaits!

 As a volunteer, I make no money with the ship.  I also cover my own living expenses and transportation to and from Africa.  To find out how you can be involved in this adventure, please visit:
  http://mercyships.donorpages.com/MERCYGIFTS/AlicePowell/

Baby Steps

  My departure from my time in Africa came in small, baby steps.  Rather than suddenly leaving my life in Africa during the middle of a field service and immediately being transplanted back into Canadian society, I've been slowly weened off of my Mercy Ships experience.  Sniff, sniff.
  Mid May, the dental clinic saw our last patients.  Then began the pack-up process.  Thanks to our team leader's previous experience, we packed everything up quickly and smoothly, cleaned the clinic, handed over the keys, and transported all of our dental equipment to our container.
  Then came our goodbyes to our extended dental 'family,' our lovely local day-workers.  They were an integral part of our team and we would not be able to do the work that we do without them!  This was a sad time for all.
  I took up a new job in the galley slicing vegetables.  This new job was fun, but totally different to what I was used to.  And new co-workers.
  The ship became ocean-proofed, as we packed away and tied down all our cargo.  We slide-proofed the storage shelves in the galley with bungy cords.  Landrovers suddenly appeared parked and tied down to the top deck.
  Friends continued to leave.  About a week before MV Africa Mercy's departure was a mass-exodus to the airport, complete with a convoy of 12(?) landrovers carrying about 60 departing crew.
  Finally came the day that we pushed off from our moorings and chugged out of the port.  Sent off with much love by a crowd of our  port-worker friends.  Our neighbourhood tugboats and pilot boat bid us "adieu."
  Off at sea!  What a treat.  But where is Conakry?  I miss the shore.  Different view from the windows, different job, and not the same neighbourhood.
  Then came the terrifying day that we landed in Las Palmas, Gran Canaria!  Far off shore, as we approached land, the extensive modern infrastructure became visible.  High-rises everywhere in multi-colour combinations.  Rolling hills reaching up out of sight and into the cloud-cover.  What is this place?  I have been used to downtown Conakry, which is flat.  Many of the buildings there are one or two stories tall.  Some 4 story government buildings line the main streets, with a very occasional apartment building transplanted into the low-lying neighbourhood.  But this colourful, shiny new city seemed like something cartoon-like out of a Katy Perry movie.  (Does that even make sense?)
  As our boat reached it's 'parking spot' in the ship-yard, nearly all the crew could be seen eagerly anticipating their first steps on land.  The gangway lowered, crew meeting, and we were free to go.  We let loose a bunch of crazy sailors on Las Palmas.  I was not so eager to venture out.  Firstly, I was still on shift.  Tomatoes, cucumbers and a knife will be my entertainment, not the shopping malls and beach.  When 7pm came around, I used my freedom of choice to stay in my comfortable communal surroundings, rather than venture into the great unknown.
  Another exodus of crew followed the next day.  The ship was abuzz with tales of kiddies at McDonalds, the liberal Spanish clothing style and shopping.  The land was still not calling my name, but I decided to be brave and trek past the monsterous looming ship-trains, and out of the port.  I wanted to get a good dose of culture shock and decided that the mall would be a grand place to start.  Floor after floor of shops, all lined neatly with sparkly, treasures.  I hadn't been in a western 'mall' for 6 months and this proved a lot for my senses to take in.
  The comfort of the ship awaited as shocked and overwhelmed Alice returned.  Different city, different friends, different job, but still the same home.  I would cling on to the familiar for dear life.
  Now that my date of departure stood a few weeks away, I may as well become familiar with my departure portal.  Through a series of adventures, I glimpsed the airport from the highway, drove in a Landrover to drop off departing crew, and then finally, the day before I was to leave, I joined some friends in picking up another Mercy Ship guest at the arrivals gate.  Whew!  Too close for comfort!  But as i said, I took baby steps.
  June 20th came.  Backpack expertly stuffed, I bid "See you later," to my fellow crew friends.  I exited the gangway for the last time, and I didn't get to swipe out with my badge!  Oh no!  Now I am really leaving my lovely white bubble of familiarity!  Into the Landrover I hop, and off we go!  Farewell Africa Mercy, stay safe till I return!

Culinary Musings...

  I have a retraction to make from my last post.  I get 2.5 hours of break per shift, not 1.5.  Today I found out that I definitely do have to work hard in the galley.  I spent most of the morning in the dish pit, lugging heavy machinery from one sink to the next.  I am going to get me some muscles yet.  What objects of torture these machines must be for the poor vegetables, I can only imagine!  Laying out on a cold, metal surface, they sit shivering in terror as they scan their alien surroundings.  They glance up just in time to see the razor-sharp metal knife come crashing down on their friend.  Is it not enough to eat them, without first peeling their skin off, dismembering them chunk by chunk, mashing them and dunking them in scalding oil?  Come on, have a little compassion.  Vegetables have feelings too!  I can definitely say that contrary to Mercy Ship's mission statement, I am not bringing hope and healing to the tomatoes of Guinea.  I am slaughtering them!

  My first work-related injury came today.  I found out the reason why God gave us finger-nails.  I found myself lugging clean dishes back to their respective homes and in the process of attempting to nest one super solid metal cauldron inside of another, I managed to squash the side of my left thumb between their brims.  OUUUCH!  I didn't make any noise, but jumped around, clutching my thumb.  (Don't worry food safety people, I took the correct measures to clean up my hand and protect it and the food from each other.)  I found myself once again back with the tomatoes.  My competitive streak began to show, as I secretly tried to fill my pan with chopped tomatoes faster than my co-worker next to me.  Hmmm, maybe that wasn't such a good idea.  I felt the knife come down and ping off my thumb.  The finger-nail completely protected me, and I didn't even slice through the glove, but I can see what a close call that could have been.  Slow down Alice! Mom, just to warn you, I may not come home with all of my digits still intact.  Just saying.
  Galley is not all work, we play too.  I learned a new sport.  Kitchen curling!  First, the slosh of soapy water is released onto the tile surface and begins to flow down towards it's target.  Next, the broomsman follows behind vigorously scrubbing the floor, moving the water along, and welcoming the dirt that has joined in along the way.  Finally, the squeegy-men follow with a broom-sized squeegies, picking up the slack that the broomsman has left.  In the end the goal is accomplished.  I'm not too sure that there is a scoring system for this activity.  But in the curler's off season, this job would be excellent practice!

So, I decided to switch careers...

  The Mercy Ships dental clinic in Conakry is no more.  Throughout the past weeks, we have seen our last patients of the field service, packed up the whole office, cleaned the building, and packed our dental container.  Yesterday we had a goodbye lunch with our day-workers which officially closed the dental chapter of this mission.

  Today, at 8 am, I began my new career working in the galley.  We work 11 hour days (but 1.5 hours of break spread throughout the day), but we only work 2 days on two days off and every other weekend.  So we've got a sweet deal.  I sliced cucumbers and diced tomatoes.  Then I made a graham cracker crust for our vanilla pudding.  A group of us new galley recruits worked on our dessert so lovingly, spreading the whipped cream on top just so.  I placed one completed pan on the trolley, ready to go.  Moments later, I here "Hey!"  And there was my pan of banana pudding all over the floor.  Good thing we made 10 other pans of it.  Unfortunately the floor had just been cleaned, so that had to be redone.  Oops!
  My first day in the galley and I nearly had a heart attack!  There I was, minding my own business, putting the finishing touches on the banana pudding, when I hear a blood-curdling shriek coming from over by the deep fryers.  My eyes took a moment to find where the noise was coming from, then I saw my co-worker clutching her head, arched way back, almost writhing.  "EMERGENCY!" my brain yelled.  "She has been scalded by hot oil, and she's going to get 10th degree burns!" (If there was such a thing.)  It reminded me of a scene from "Dante's Peak" (Pierce Broznan) when the family is floating in the boat, through the lake of sulphuric acid.  The grandmother jumps out of the boat to push it to shore, and in the process, begins to be eaten by the acid.  That scene of agony had quite an impact on me, and I almost thought that I was re-watching it.
  The truth is, my coworker was not burning.  She was not even in pain.  She had just been doused with a bucket of cold water (an age-old galley tradition for people on their last day).  She was merely in shock.  Then the next thing I knew, she came sprinting up the hall, with a hose, to spray her friend.  Whew!  OK, no emergency after all.
  My new galley crew are awesome to work with.  The work is not hard, in fact it is relaxing.  It is a looooooong day though, and it is difficult to finish.  I am totally surprised that I even mustered the energy to tell you all about it.  Tomorrow I do it all over again.  I think I'll sleep well tonight.

Exploration Knows No Bounds

  My neighbourhood strolls invigorate the senses.  So many layers of detail to notice.  Along a familiar route, I routinely notice the pedestrian goats out for some exercise, the little half-dressed toddlers yelling "Fote, fote" ("white person, white person") as we pass, roadside cooking in huge metal cauldrons, and a collage of vendors set up on the sidewalk.  Rarely do I notice the fence behind this layer, neither do I notice what is past the fence.  A few weeks ago, along a very familiar route, such an event occurred.  It was early evening and all of the vendors had packed up for the night.  As I walked along the sidewalk through the sparse activity, I noticed for the first time, the tops of grave markers rising up from behind the fence.  I had a sudden curiosity to visit this cemetery one day, to see yet another facet to Conakry.  Thankfully my friend Andrea (who enjoys quirky adventures just as much as I do) jumped at the opportunity of exploration.  Not knowing if the locals approve of random cemetery visits, we decided that it would be best to take our walk earlier in the morning to avoid as little human contact outside the cemetery as possible.

   No such luck.  8:30 on a Saturday morning and the neighbourhood is already a commotion of woman washing their clothes, children playing in the street, and all the road-side vendors open for business.  We walked up non-chalantly to the gate which was slightly ajar, and stepped through.   No one human in site, but the open work shed alludes to the presence of the caretaker.  I take in the scene before me.  The cemetery spreads out before us like a patchwork quilt, shrub-lined gravel paths criss-crossing grave markers of all shapes and sizes.  Randomly placed baobab trees sprout out from the ground, stretching high, reaching out their leafy branches into a lush and canopy.  The sun that has found an opening in this green roof, streams down to cast a warm glow on the stone monument below.  The gravel paths have been cleared of all the dried leaves and there is not an empty water bag to be seen.

  In a far corner, a dozen or more vultures gather for an outing.  Padding about on the crunchy carpet of leaves, or standing guard on the monuments, these massive birds seem to enjoy a group atmosphere.  One lone vulture stares down from high above in the baobab branch.  Deciding group socializing can be beneficial, he hops off and takes flight.  His impressive wingspan is exposed as he soars down and lands on the tip of a  cross.

   We begin our inspection of row on row.  Unlike home, very few tombstone inscriptions bear the names or dates of the deceased.  Although we did find a detailed epitaph of a Frenchman who died in Conakry in 2010, the majority of tombstones seem to remain anonymous.  After years exposed to the elements, the weathered monuments sit streaked with grime and fine layers of moss.  Beheaded crosses lay on the ground propped up against the respective graves, like ancient ruins.  Other monuments tilt at an awkward angle, pushed up from underneath by the extensive baobab root system.  

  The monotony of gravel was suddenly interspersed with every imaginable colour.  Yards of fabric (lain out on the path by a busy laundress) try to sun themselves in the few penetrating sun beams.  We carefully calculate our footsteps to avoid soiling her the freshly washed linens.  As our attention has been drawn towards the ground, we began to notice little red bugs all around us, also negotiating their way over individual pebbles.  I can't help but feel phantom tickles as if they had ascended my leg.  

  We head to the base of a spectacular baobab.  Roots emerging out of the soil snaking across the ground to converge into folds of the magnificent trunk.  Studded with prickly thorns as if it did not wish to be touched, this tree climbers dream is off limits.

   Our first human contact, a colourfully dressed, cheery little man has followed us into the graveyard and now joins us at the base of the tree.  He makes a hand gesture to motion for food.  Unfortunately we didn't carry any food or money with us.  Only a little disappointed at our lack of charity he heads out on his merry way.

  Moments later, we spot a second man, somewhat dishevelled in a black and burgundy outfit, peering at us from behind a distant hedge.  His stern face and furrowed brow give a hint that we may not be as welcomed here as we had thought.  We continue our exploration further into the cemetery, ready to call it a day if we receive a personal reprimand from this caretaker.  Following closer, strait faced, he approaches us and questions, "C'est fini?"  I begin to complement the nature of his lovely cemetery.  My hand motions mimic the vast network of branches floating over us.  I take a photo to demonstrate my enthusiasm.  His face remains straight and rigid, he does not even arch his brow.  "C'est fini?" he repeats.  I once again attempt to butter him with complements as I explain how I am enjoying the fruit of his labour.  Same face.  "C'est fini?"  By this point we sense that we were being told that it is time for us to leave.  We make our way back up the path with caretaker in tow.  As we exit through the gate we bid farewell, "Merci monsieur, au revoir."  The little man pays no more attention to us, but padlocks the cemetery gate and returns to his post at the entrance, arms crossed and face as straight as ever.





 

Tippyatou

  Tippyatou lies curled up, paws tucked into chest, chin resting on top of paws, bathing in the warm glow of a lone street light.  Her home, the pavement sidewalk in front of an inconspicuous office building is quiet tonight.
  Just hours earlier, cars sat wedged together along the roadside - like tetis blocks.  Water bag sellers and coffee carts rolled by.  Coffee thick with sugar oozes from cup to cup.  A constant stream of taxis pulling in and out from the curb fitting just one more character into their already jam-packed ride.  Amidst the commotion, Tippyatou seeks reprieve from the hot sun underneath a car.    A semi-peeled orange, sucked dry of it's juice lands on the ground just feet from Tippyatou's face.  Jackpot.  Another meal.

  I first met Tippyatou just days before Tippy Powell left this earth on January 18th, 2013.  Similar colour to Tippy, she is a typical brown street mutt as seen everywhere in Conakry.  She first caught my attention as she was crippled.  Her hind left leg permanently bent straight back and her front right leg lame, unable to take any weight, she hobbled around on her two decent legs.  Shockingly pathetic looking.  Not much meat on her, her ribs distinctly visible.  I could tell that she had been nursing a litter recently.  She has a growth about the size of a fist sticking out of her rear - possibly a tumour, or as a friend suggested, a prolapsed uterus.  My heart went out to her and I wanted to take her back to the ship to have one of our expert surgeons operate on her leg.  I left her with a sad heart in the street that night.


 As my tales of the crippled dog flowed to my coworkers and other crew mates, I soon realized that many have also noticed this same mutt.  I returned on multiple occasions to this same street corner and realized that this is her home.  Sleeping under the cars during the day and bathing in the street lamp at night.  I decided that rather than call her "the crippled dog," I should give her a name.  Naturally I favoured the name Tippy.  The "atou" was added for African effect.

 
 Surely she must die soon.  How can she survive?  How can she support her puppies?


  One day, after the major traffic had left the streets but before the sun went down, I set out on a walk and came across Tippyatou scavenging through the trash, finding bits and pieces to nibble.  She washed her meal down with a drink from the roadside puddle.  Even though she does a pretty good job of surviving on her own, she likely has friends that give her food out of pity.  Still alive since the first time I noticed her 3 months ago, she must be ingesting enough nutrients for her needs.  (After all, lying about all day doesn't require the largest amount of energy.)

  Tippyatou's story does not end here.  As she continues to live, I will keep all of you updated on my new friend.  Just in case you were wondering, no, I have never touched her.  Even thought I spent $170 X 3 for my beloved rabies shots, I still would prefer not to venture near that territory.  Tippyatou will remain at a safe distance.  I do not want to forever mar my loving image of dogs.

                                                               
                                                   R.I.P. Tippy

On the other side of the window...

     In a quaint little medical compound on the edge of downtown Conakry, lies the Mercy Ships dental clinic.  Directly adjacent to this compound is a school for deaf children - about 200 of them.  Each morning at 10:00, my attention is drawn away from the mouths of the dental patients in our ground-floor dental clinic, to the other side of the window, where the wee ones come out to play.  Dozens of gingham-dressed little girls and khaki suited boys flood the courtyard between their school, and the medical compound.  Crumpled-up paper balls are furiously tossed at the newly restored basket-ball hoop, up-and-coming break-dance sensations practice in sync to an in-audible beat.  An older girl wearing a rainbow shirt under her blue-gingham gown and her shorter friend (whose skirt is too short to be Conakry-appropriate), ogle daily through the glass panes as we go about our work of drilling, filling and pulling.  They tap at the window and flirt shamelessly with the male dental staff.  Amidst the hoopla of juvenile energy, the friendships and the rivalries, barely a sound is muttered.  Instead, hands are waving furiously as conversations occur through sign-language.  Aside from enthusiastic hollers, this is the quietest playground I've ever seen.  "How odd," I muse "that a children's school would be built next to a medical compound where the wails of women in labour and currently the shrieks of nervous dental patients can be heard.  We don't want to traumatize the children."  And then the obvious hits me:  This school is brilliantly placed.  The children cannot hear!   No opportunity to be scarred for life from the noises next door.  

    On Friday mornings, an extra element of interest is added to the courtyard as a number of crew from the ship come to play with the children during their break.  My friend Papanie makes a regular habit of tapping on the glass and flashing a smile as he turns the jump rope with the kids.  I fondly muse back to my childhood - brightly coloured plastic nylon ropes flowing under my feet as I jump in time to the plastic's rhythm.  How I would like to venture out to the courtyard and play with the kids and the other Mercy-shippers; but alas this weekly play session only takes place on Friday mornings while I work.

    Good Friday has come and I have the day off of work.  I decide to take advantage of my only opportunity to visit the school next door.  I eagerly place my name on the sign-up list and await the jump-rope fun.  In order to maximize our patient treatment, a couple of the dentists and translators are working next door in the clinic regardless of the holiday.  Their extra effort is commendable; however, I will not feel guilty about playing while they work.

    I walk past the classrooms where little genius's battle with Jenga blocks and simple friendship bracelets flow from cardboard looms.  To the courtyard, jump ropes in hand we flock, familiar gingham and khaki bundles of energy escorting the way.

    I take in the surroundings on this side of the window.  Painted concrete walls of buildings reaching up to the sky on all sides, broken bits of pottery on ground.  Fearless girls have shed their flip flops in return for the control of bare feet.  They are ready to play.  Bring on the ropes!

    They argue over whose turns it is to jump.  Vigorously tapping each others shoulders for attention, they scold each other with hand motions.  One boy catches my eye, motions at his angry friend, makes the international gesture for "he's crazy" and shrugs with a smile.  Even I can understand this communication.  I chuckle with a grin but decide not to mimic this sign in case the meaning is actually offensive.

    One particularly keen little athlete (with a smile too big for his face), attempts to inconspicuously squeeze to the front of the group.  His all-observant peers will not stand for this breach in order, and the hands fly in reprimand as he is escorted to the back of the line.

    The expert jumpers of the courtyard now take the stage.  Two girls jump in unison, simultaneously circling each-other within the rope's spinning circumference.  Against this display of athleticism, my own lack of coordination sticks out like a sore thumb.  Who ever thought that it would be so difficult to follow the lead of a friend and turn a rope?  Around and around my arm turned, but alas, keeping a continuous rhythm was not coming easily.  The beat of feet constantly halted by eager junior jumpers getting caught up in the rope.  I watched my friend's facial expressions for a hint of when he would swing the rope, but I couldn't detect the prompt I was looking for.  I inevitably would either swing too early or too late.  After a bit of frustration in the matter, I had a brilliant thought - why not use my words to communicate?  My other crew mates and I  are completely capable of verbal communication, so why am I relying on facial gestures to stay in sync rather than using  words?  As I had been relating to the kids with only my hands, I had forgotten that speech is a method of communication available to me.

    Turning a jump rope is just like riding a bike.  You pick it back up very quickly, no matter how rusty your skills.  Soon enough, with the help of words, we were swinging the rope in unison.  As the rope soared upwards to the clear blue sky and then dove back downwards to an unwelcoming concrete, it reached out and grabbed a souvenir.  Jealous that it didn't get to learn in school, the rope has retrieved from the ground a tattered piece of paper, notes from yesterday's lesson scrawled across it.  Unmotivated by the lesson, the rope releases the paper, and it soars lightly back down to the ground, only to be trampled underfoot.

   The junior students have returned to their classes, and the older kids now emerge.  I see a familiar face. My rainbow shirted friend from the clinic window has come to join the jump rope frenzy.  Her smaller friend with the Conakry-inappropriate skirt isn't insight.  As I catch rainbow-girl's gaze, I motion towards the dental clinic window and then point to myself and mimic myself assisting the dentist.  Her eyes lit up in recognition we laughed.

    Now it is my turn to scurry up to the streaky window and surprise my work-mates.  I peer in and catch the gaze of a patient looking right back at me in surprise from her dental chair.  No longer distractedly looking passed the patient to the children outside, I now view her face to face.  My tap on the glass takes my coworker by surprise.  He gives a smile and waves.  I return to my rope-turning - just like one of the little girls, minus the gingham dress.

Audience particpation

So, my brain is a blank slate when it comes to blog writing.  I know that this seems silly when I am in Africa surrounded by all kinds of wonderful new things, but at the moment I don't know what you guys want to hear about.  So it would be much appreciated if you would leave a comment with suggestions of what you would like to read on this blog.  (This also includes my junior readers A.G. and J.G.)  I believe that you can comment without having a gmail account.   Thanks.  Maybe this will solve my writer's block...

Retraction of "Long Term Syndrome"

I hereby wish to retract the following statement:

"For this reason, many of the long-term crew members - whether consciously or sub-consciously have somewhat shut themselves off from the short-term crew.  They self-preserve by grouping together - sharing life with those who will be in their life for a longer period."

It has been brought to my atttention that this indeed is a gross generalization.  The above statement should not have been attributed to long-term crew as a whole.  When I wrote the above entry, I was thinking of only a few specific individuals.  True, there may be many crew members that I do not socialize with, but that has nothing to do with whether or not they are long term.  Many of my friends who have been with the ship for an extended period of time are just as happy to hang out with a newbie as a Mercy Ship veteran.

I think the point of my previous blog post was to say that I am not sure how much emotional energy I am willing to invest.  I feel tempted to become a hermit.  (Note: I am NOT saying that long term crew are hermits.  Only me.)

Ok, now to get off this machine and go be social...

Long-term syndrome

   Though I am not technically classified as long-term crew, I am beginning to understand the agony and frustration that the long-termers go through.

   Only here for 3 months so far, I have already experiences the pain of goodbyes to many dear friends.  Living in this floating village, friendships are formed much quicker than at home as you live in the same community 24/7.

  Yesterday I said "see you later" to yet another dear friend.  We had both arrived on the ship in the same week, and had shared the ups and downs of adjusting to ship life leading up to Christmas.  As we said goodbye to countless other friends in the past few weeks- a new hole was left in our hearts with every friend that left.  Last night, it was her turn to say goodbye.

  Quite an emotionally trying ordeal to constantly face.  For this reason, many of the long-term crew members - whether consciously or sub-consciously have somewhat shut themselves off from the short-term crew.  They self-preserve by grouping together - sharing life with those who will be in their life for a longer period.  This mentality is understandable but a shame.  It does make sense to invest your emotional energy into friends that will be by your side for a long time, but it can be lonely to limit your interaction so much.  I guess the fewer close friends you have, the fewer heart-wrenching goodbyes to be said.

  This is a totally unique environment with it's own unique dilemmas.

The Amazing Race: Conakry Edition

  I may have been disappointed to find out this past year that I am not eligible to participate in "The Amazing Race" (as seen on television) because I am not an American citizen, but here in Conakry, there are no ethnicity barriers.  I jumped at the chance to participate in this much-loved competition, and along with two other bouncy, spirited friends (Chrissy and Marije), formed team "All for one and one for all!"
  Bright and early on Saturday morning, the three musketeers were ready for the battle, facing 15 of the fiercest armies of the Africa Mercy.  The horn blared at the starting line, and we were off - sprinting until we got around the corner from the Africa Mercy dock compound.   No longer within sight of the onlookers, our pace slowed and we were left in the dust by many teams.  We didn't realize it at the time, but each team was given their clues in different orders to try to avoid a bottle neck at one station.  Armed with a cellphone, and a translator at the other end of the line, we found ourselves an unofficial taxi driver and our translator negotiated a price transportation for the whole race (5 hours).  Welcome to the team taxi-driver Tulamond.

Clue # 1

Go to the beach next to Obama Bar and find crew member/day worker in bright yellow cap

Challenge:  

Enter a traditional wood canoe and paddle to the buoy and back to receive the next clue

   Well, easier said than done.  This canoe was very tippy (oh, Tippy) and had no stability.  From the moment we were pushed off into the waves, we constantly had to use every muscle in our bodies to keep the canoe steady and upright.  Also not helping the balancing act was the unequal steering power.  With two people paddling on one side, and another person on the other side, the paddle power was not equally distributed, and I spent most of the journey with my oar acting as a rudder to counter the direction that we were moving.  We briefly experimented with the idea that the third person could alternate strokes on either side of the canoe, but that disturbed the balance of the canoe too much.  We prayed that we wouldn't die, and sang as we oared.  Fishing boats passed by to see quite a spectacle of 3 white girls barely keeping their canoe upright, while nearly in the middle of boat traffic going in and out of the bay.  We never flipped.  So glad.  Throughout the day, some less fortunate teams did flip into the latrine of the sea that is the coastal waters.

Clue # 2

Go to Imperial market and find crew member/day worker in bright yellow cap

Challenge:

Learn to shine shoes from a local lad.  Take your newly learned skill and polish three people's shoes for 500 guinea francs each.  Bring the money back to the yellow-capped man.  Then count all of the beans in the jar.

  I like shining shoes.  There are many shoe shiners in Guinea, so there must be a large clientele, but finding shoes to shine proved to be a difficult task.  We were able to shine our taxi driver's shoes and he payed us the whole 1500 francs needed for 3 shoe shines.  Hehe.  Bean counting - tedious, but this is my specialty.  Chrissy and I counted out piles of 10, while Marije combined these into 100's and kept a running tally.  We had to shield our tally from Fred's team who hung around for their turn just a little too close.  I do not remember the final number that we came up with, but when the man in the yellow hat saw our written number, he placed a check-mark beside it and handed us our next clue.  Hopped into the car and off we went.

Clue # 3

Go back to Obama bar and and find the crew member/day worker in bright yellow cap inside the restaurant

Challenge:

Walk on the rocks out to the lighthouse (low tide) and spend 8 minutes drawing a picture of your team in front of the lighthouse.  The best picture wins a prize.

  Ok, so this challenge wasn't really about speed, because you had to take 8 minutes to complete the drawing.  We could only move so fast on the uneven, algae-coated, barnacle-encrusted rocks, cause we didn't feel like twisting our ankles quite so early on in this race.

After trecking on the sea-floor in the baking sun, we grabbed cokes at Obama bar, and picked up one for Tulamond to keep him happy and hydrated.  Onto the next adventure.

Clue # 4

Go to Niger Market and find the crew member/day worker in bright yellow cap (wandering target)

  Well, there was no challenge to be handed out, as finding this guy was an extreme challenge in itself.  The main food section of Niger market is centered around a large storehouse-type of building overflowing with produce, people, meat, and seamstresses on the mezzanine level up above.  Outside, snake single file between the vendors selling foodstuffs of all sort under faded umbrellas.  Crowds, noises, aromas - not for the faint of heart or claustrophobic.  I think I see a yellow hat!  I budge my way between two vendors and run full-speed towards a yellow-hated guy fixing a motor bike.  "Mercy Ships?" I sheepishly mumble.  The men around him stare at us as if we have lost a few marbles.  This is not our guy.  Back inside.  After about half an hour of searching high and low and all around, I was about ready to give up.  It seemed nearly impossible to find this person, and I didn't want Tulamond to get impatient.  Back outside, walking around the perimeter.  A man in a maroon shirt, yellow hat, and orange "JanSport" backpack on his front walks up just behind me.  I turn to look, and doubt that this could be him as his cap wasn't bright enough.  But I tried anyway, "Mercy Ships?"  The man had a straight face, what was he thinking?  His face burst into a huge grin "Congratulations" he said, and handed us our next clue.  We leaped for joy and gave him a hug of excitement.  He must have been following us for a while.  Off to the next destination!

 Ate snacks from our backpack.   Gave Tulamond an apple to stay happy.

Clue # 5

Go to the Mercy Ships Dental Clinic and find the crew member/day worker in bright yellow cap

Challenge:

Two creatures will be released from a box, and you must get these creatures back inside the box.  Wear yellow utility gloves as protective equipment, and wear a latex glove on your head to attract the creatures.

The dental clinic is part of a closed off courtyard and that suited this challenge quite well.  The creatures released were two chickens.  Birdies!!!   We dove upon them and they scattered.  Squawk!  One bird at a time.  I tried to run directly at it, but it was too fast and unpredictable.  Ok, new tactic.  We tried to approach it from three different directions.  It still got away, running around the courtyard.  Squawk!  Sounded a little scarred this time.  Next, Marije and I chased it over to the shrubs along the path.  Into the hedge it went.  Marije on one side, I on the other.  We had it trapped.  It tried to dodge it's way through the foliage, but I caught him.  Squaaaaaaaaaawk!  I'd never picked up a chicken, but it was quite enjoyable.  Since leaving Canada 2 months ago, I havn't been able to touch any animal as we have been warned that they are wild and not friendly.  I so miss picking up Tippy and hauling her around, so getting a hold of that bird was wonderful.  Animals yay!!!!  Who cares if it is a chicken, I need a pet.  Squaaaaaaawk!  Placing this squeaking animal in it's box, I have flashbacks of catching and containing Toby...  Marije caught the second bird, although I was super eager to catch myself another friend.  (Looks like all the practice catching Toby payed off!)  I did feel sorry for the poor guys.  During the day, they would be realeased and caught 15 times.  Squawk!  Animal cruelty.  They were bought for they soul purpose of playing in the amazing race, and afterwards, they likely would become dinner.  Oh well, if I had been chased around all day by giants, I might be relieved to end up as dinner.

Clue # 6

Go to the Hope Center and find a crew member/day worker in bright yellow cap

Challenge:  

Peel yam, sweet potato, and plantain, and mash using traditional wooden mortar and pestle to make an African dish.  Eat.

  This was relatively self-explanatory.  Picked up Chrissy's day-worker friend from the Hope Centre and had him tag along for the ride (a translator in person is even better than translator by phone.)  Fred's team arrived again.  Quick!  We must away!

Clue # 7

Go to Leader Price food store and fine the crew member/day worker in bright yellow cap

Challenge: 

Write a song/rap expressing your experiences and feelings about the race so far.  Must be two minutes long.  Will be video-taped.

  We have to use our brains?  I think they may have been scrambled as I squawked after my foul friends.  We listed off ideas and key things we had done so far - then Chrissy took over and begun to spout off lines that rhymed, no matter if they made sense.  Time to go to camera.  Only just over one minute of rap and then we were stuck repeating our song, and talking to the camera about random details so as to acquire our two minutes of footage.  This clip will be shown at some point as part of an Amazing Race montage, and I am not looking forward to it.

Clue # 8

Go to the gardens near the People's Palace, to the playground and find the crew member/day worker in bright yellow cap

Oh no!  Fred's team is in the cab right behind us!  At the park gate, both of our teams jump out of our cars and across the park, searching behind swings and slides for our yellow-capped man.  "Alice!"  Marije hollers "he's over here!"  I change my direction and sprint as fast as I can to join with the rest of them.  Fred and one of his teammates have already reached the man, but Courtney, his third teammate is running in the pack with us girls.  "Hurry!"  I squeal, "If we all get to the yellow hat before Courtney, then we will get the challenge first!  Four girls, all determined to reach the target first.  It felt like a slow-motion Chariots of Fire scene as we expended every last morsel of energy we had left in us.  But to no avail.  Courtney reached the yellow-hat man one step ahead of us.  Fred's team got to take on the challenge first, putting them in front of us.  Nooooooo!!!!!

Marije was not happy.

Challenge:  

Play a match of soccer against a team of three young boys until you score three points

  By the time we got to this challenge, most teams had already come and gone.  The boys had played hard, and were now quite tired.  Scoring three goals against their team was not at all difficult, and we were up and running in no time.

Clue # 9

Go to the Hope Center and find the crew member/day worker in bright yellow cap.  Make sure to pick up the supplies that you will need: matches, paper and wood.

Challenge:

Using your supplies, build a fire big enough and hot enough to burn through the string (stretched over the designated fire pit).

  Marije was right on it.  She is a pro fire builder I guess.  Kindling, paper, wood.  Chrissy couldn't get the match lit.  The kids from the Hope Center gathered around to offer support to light our match.  The flame began as a flicker, and grew bigger.  More paper and wood.  I was concerned we'd smother the fire, but it grew till it burnt through the string.  Melody, one of our fierce opponents had just arrived with her team.  Unaware up until now that she needed to bring fire supplies, she wasted no time in attempting to steal a flame from our blaze.  Marije would not let our victory be used to our opponent's advantage, and began wildly stomping at the blaze until it had been completely suffocated.  Ha!  No fire for you Melody!  Back into the car which Tulamond had readied with engine running and doors opened.

Clue # 10

Go to the patient meeting area

Challenge:  Drink two cups of the mixture containing: sardines, balsamic vinagar, peanut butter, garlic, tuna, and milk

  I had said from the start of our Amazing Race planning that if there was to be a food/drink challenge, that I would like to be excluded.  Both Marije and Chrissy took one for the team and each downed a cup of that foul beverage.  They managed to keep the contents of their stomach within their stomachs - but some teams were not so lucky.

Last Clue: 

Congratulations, you are almost there, the finish line is at the Riviera Hotel.

Our date with Tulamond was drawing to an end.  We counted out his money, and began cheering his name, and thanking him for being such a fine driver (although we almost hit something once or twice.  At the Riviera, we hopped out, paid, said our goodbyes, and ran to through the lobby and out to the pool where the other finished teams gathered.  There was no finish line per se, but we were welcomed just the same.  We finished 9th out of 15 teams.  We had so much fun just the same.  What a great way to tour Conakry!

The pool was available for us to cool off, but I was soon off back to the ship to say goodbyes to more friends leaving.

P.S. - I do not know who won the lighthouse-drawing contest or rap contest.


I will never be in the "Amazing Race", but I survived the Amazing Race Conakry!

Walk, don't run...

  It was Friday, and I had an unusual amount of energy, as we had just finished a very short work week.  I found Courtney lacing up her shoe laces, about to join a group to play ultimate frisbee.  Something odd had come over me, and the idea of frisbee actually sounded appealing to me.  I decided to take advantage of this new-found enthusiamsm.  I would play frisbee too.   Ok the frisbee didn't happen.  It was cancelled cause most people were still on holidays.  But a few of us who did show up decided to go for a run.  Wasn't sure how I would fare, as the leader of the pack was a marathon runner.  Was concerned about the possibility of hurting my knees.  Started out ok - I managed to keep up.  It really wasn't very hot at all.  About 4 km into it, my knees were screaming.  Ended up walking the rest of the way back, and luckily, Courtney is a physical therapist, and can give me exercises to help strengthen different leg muscles.  That evening, my knees were screaming with every step I took.  Walking is now fine, but going down stairs is too much impact.  Still hurt.

So-long Sarah, come on in Courtney...

A goodbye - with Marije, Naomi, Fred, myself, Sarah, Juan and Chrissy

  December 29th was a momentous day in the Mercy Ship life on Alice.   My bunk-mate Sarah, had been my bunkmate from the beginning.  Coming back to the ship for a second time, she arrived on the same flight as Marije and I and immediately became a mother figure to us (although only 33).  She knew her way around the ship, and she helped integrate us into ship life.  She was always there for the home-sick tears.   But on December 29th, she has to return to her mother country.  So sad.  That was my first real good-bye experience here on the ship, as Sarah was the first close friend to leave.  This is a reality of Mercy Ship life.  People are constantly coming and going, so you constantly form new friendships, and say goodbyes.  Marije is here for the rest of the field service, just like me, but so many friends leave before then.  It's never-ending heartbreak!
  Sarah had not even finished moving all her bags out of the cabin, when hospitality came to make up the bed for Courtney, my new bunkmate who would arrive that same evening.  Such quick turnaround.  I felt like my heart was being ripped out and stomped on.  As it turns out, Courtney is a lovely girl as well.  I feel like we've met before, even though she's from Virginia.  It sounds odd, but I want to say she reminds me of Heather Davies, even though I've only met Heather a handful of times in my life, and I just remember that she liked natural medicine.  Somehow my brain made that connection.
  Anyways, I was traumatised for a few days, walking around like a sulking zombie, feeling like my mother had been taken away.  I also has a cold that progressed from my head to my sinuses to my nose to my throat.  At the time of writing this entry, my cold is all gone, except for a lingering cough that wakes me up for about 30 minutes in the middle of the night.  Last night I somehow kicked all of my blankets off of my bunk onto the floor.  Up floated the comforter, followed by my water bottle to quelch the tickle in my lung.  Courtney can be my new mother!

... And now it is Christmas day - I think?

   So, it was Christmas - apparently.   Yes there were many decorations.  The food was overwhelming - which was the goal that chef Ken has in mind.   Christmas brunch - one buffet line for breakfast (omelette station, heaps of grated hashbrowns, thick salty bacon - plus the usual cereal - but who wants cereal when there is so much else to eat) and then a Christmas lunch buffet line (leg of lamb, garlic mashed potato, green bean casserole, salads and more).  Finally, across the center of the cafeteria was 40 feet of table piled high with fruits, cheeses and pastries.  "I wanted to make Christmas like back home - where you can eat all day" mused Ken.

I think I am a little too enthusiastic.  Imitating the Lisa-as-a-child-smile

    I retreated to my cabin where I had a solitary mini Christmas with myself and opened a few gifts that mom had me pack along in my luggage.  At the time of cramming my life into my backpack, these extra objects were a nuissance - taking up valuable space, but on Christmas morning, I did appreciate opening a few things.  Sounds funny, but by far the highlight of Christmas surprises was the card that Lisa had made for me - one of my breakwater photos blown up and printed.  Seems so simple, but I love Victoria.  I also have become entangled in a pile of embroidery thread for making friendship bracelets - I think mom thought that somehow I would be bored.  Back in primary school, I made soooo many of these bracelets, that the patterns are permanently ingrained in my brain.  I have begun making bracelets for friends as they leave, and I have quite enjoyed picking up this old obsession.

Dear Al, we miss you ... and so does Dallas Road and the breakwater.  Love Lisa

   In the afternoon, a group of us strolled through town to a bar on the beach and had a Christmas drink.  Coke is good on any continent.  Hear, I paid less attention to my friends, and the waves breaking upon the garbage covered shore, and spent a solid 20 minutes playing paparazzi to an orange lizard.
   Christmas dinner was leftovers from lunch - and we stuffed ourselves once again.

The trash on the beach...

So Christmas made it's mark - came and went.  Felt out of place, shouldn't I be somewhere else?  And I realize, everyone here feels the exact same way.  We did Christmas differently this year and it will be memorable, simply because it was 'the Christmas that wasn't.'