What an auspicious beginning...

"Welcome home!" the phrase rings through my ears continuously.  I have returned to my home away from home, the Africa Mercy.  Same 'house' and family, new neighbourhood.  This time I find myself in the port of Pointe Noire, Republic of Congo.  I hadn't been on board more than a few hours when I had already found myself a security posting for the upcoming presidential visit.  I have friends in high places and this gets me into a whole lot of fun! All this dental stuff I've been talking about, it is just a cover-up.  My main reason on the ship is undercover security.  Whoops, I guess I shouldn't have said that...

 I've always wanted to play security dress-up.  I almost lost my chance due to a wardrobe mishap, but thanks to  few safety pins I was soon on my way.  Most of the ship was off limits to the general crew, and I was among the few lucky ones who were able to access the action.  The president and his entourage arrived amidst marching bands and
paparazzi, high security prepped days in advance.  I was stationed at the door next to Starbucks on the port side - my orders: do not let any crew enter the area or any of the guests leave.  I must keep people in their places.  Really, who am I kidding?  I can't keep a straight face!  Enter my bubble and crack a goofy face and my attempt at a stern exterior crumbles.  But the perception of toughness is what counts here, never mind the reality.  Stand tall, shoulders back, chin up, snatch a meatball from the tray as it hovers past...  Great fun.  My only glimpse of the president came as he ascended the gangway.  Unfortunately special security postings don't afford special guest appearances, but c'est la vie.  I felt like I was part of the royal security team despite the fact that I was not given maritime security epilets to wear or a radio to hold.

  Now that my duty was completed and the president had safely exited the ship, it was time to enter my dental world.
  Adrenaline still pumping through my veins from my time spent in Impfondo, North Congo combined with non-stop reunions and social catch-up made for quite a restless weekend.  My brain had obviously not received the memo that I was now aboard the Africa Mercy and I would no longer be woken up at 6 am from the roosters, cats and crickets outside my window.  I survived my first few ship days on a minimally acceptable amount of shut-eye.  Monday morning rolled around, and my brain had made a unanimous decision for the rest of my body that this would be the morning that it would allow for an extended reprieve of sleep.


Knock, knock, knock!

"Ah! Why is someone knocking at our door?  My alarm clock has not yet rung so obviously it is still early morning and someone is making a racket!"

 Knock, knock, knock!  Pause.  Knock, knock, knock!

"Arg!  How rude!  Doesn't that person realize some of us are trying to sleep?"
I rolled over and pulled my pillow over my head.  About 30 second later...

Ring, ring!  

"Seriously people, give us a break!"  

Ring, ring!

"Oh.  Maybe the knock on the door and the phone ring are related?"

Ring, ring!

"Why are my other cabin-mates not answering the phone?"

  I stumble down my ladder, down the hall towards the phone, and just then, the noise stops abruptly leaving a faint ring in my ears.  I turn my head to the right and I am startled to see all empty beds, my cabin vacant. 
  I sharply inhale a startled breath as my eyes grow wide and I rush to my alarm clock.  It is 8:38am and indeed not before 6:30.
"Nooooooooooooo!"  This seems almost too predictable of a scenario to happen to me.  I can't believe it.  I slept in on my first day of work, how epic!  I almost couldn't have planned a better mistake.  Within minutes I had donned a uniform, ate breakfast (my welcome cookies), and dashed up to the gangway, out of breath.
"Oh, Alice, are you not going to the dental clinic today?  They've already left." Greets my security guard.  Of course.  Classic move Al. 
  So far, I had been on wonderful terms with my dental team, and I was not concerned of a backlash of lecturing, but I did owe it to them to try to find my way to the clinic.  Luckily for me, the Hope Center (Mercy Ship's off ship patient care) is located beside the dental clinic and Mercy Ship's  Landrovers shuttle back and forth between that location and the ship many times a day.  I ran around sheepishly telling my story of hilarity hoping to find a M.S. driver headed out that way.  Simultaneously I wished to be stranded on the ship for the day and catch up on a few extra zzzz's.  As it happened, a ride did show up, and I got my first daylight glimpse of Pointe Noire as we wove our way through the maze of streets.
 

  At the clinic a few of the team members whom
I had never met were oblivious to my absence, some had been concerned for my safety when I had not shown up or answered my door or phone, and still some friends had accurately concluded that my tardiness was due to a fatigue/alarm clock issue.   In any case, here I stood - back in the middle of "the toughest job you will ever learn to love."  The suffering and relief, shame and validation, fear and comfort.  "Here I am, send me..."

The illusive winter followed me to east Texas

(Wednesday Feb 12th, 2014)

  So I am beginning to realise that if my goal is to become more Canadian, I might as well stay here in Texas.  At the moment, Texas is competing to be it's own Canadian city.

  Coldness.  Ice.  Dare I say snow?  Giddy to see the white stuff, I venture outside to experience the cold that evaded my winter thus far.  (I experienced one snow day in Victoria this year.  Only about 1/2 inch actually stuck to the ground.)  Well Texas is making a good effort to compete. 

  




  A dusting of snow has settled on the forest floor.  It meanders over the curvature of pine cones.  Patches of crunchy frostiness cover the grass.  Persistent cycles of freeze - warm - drip - freeze - warm - drip have shaped unreal icicles.   They dangle from the eves-troughs like tinsel on a tree.  A few decorative pansies that bring vibrant colour to the landscape have frozen solid - pigmentation sealed in a shellac of ice.  

How has Texas trained me to become more Canadian?

• As long as the east Texas weather remains icy, I can acclimatize to a cold winter location (as opposed to sub-tropical Victoria).  As a Canadian, I am expected to have an impermeable skin that does not feel the cold.   I need to work on that...

• Grade school french classes have decomposed in my brain.  Here in the great state of Texas I have discovered 'duolingo' french lessons and I am embracing my bilingual heritage.

   

• I have a severe lack of winter sports skill.   I lack the talent of balance.  Skating, skiing, snowboarding all require the ability to stand on the white stuff for longer than 5 seconds.   As I grew up in Victoria where snow is mostly a myth, I did not have the luxury of a permanent frozen pond in my backyard.  My house was not situated on the side of a ski hill.  The snow and ice didn't come to Victoria to play with me, so I didn't bother seeking them out.   Thus the winter sport skills didn't develop.   If this Texas winter weather keeps up, we could see some ice accumulation.  The 'parking rinks' will provide a much needed location to cultivate balance and find my winter feet. 

Yes, I think by the time the month is up, I should be a true Canadian bilingual winter Olympian.   Perhaps I should take up 'skeleton'?  We have the perfect track right outside our door.  Let's just hope the cars keep away...

I am Canadian!!!

 Two weeks ago,  I flew out of Canada my plane touched down in Texas, USA.  (A strange, foreign land.)  How did I know that I had landed in America?  

• As we wait to exit the plane cabin, a voice can be heard above the bustle of passenger movement.  With sincere gratitude a man honours his plane neighbour of the past 3.5 hours, “Well thank you kind sir for your service to our country.” For whatever reason, I have never heard this sentiment spoken between strangers in a public venue in Canada, unless it is to a veteran on Rememberance Day.  

• Waiting for my connecting flight in the Dallas Fort Worth airport, I appear to be a ‘homeless’ traveler as my flight has not yet been assigned a boarding gate.  Any stretch of wall will do.   I hunker down next to my bags for a few hours with a subway sandwich, ready to people-watch.  And people-listen. 

  My ears perk up as the intercom comes alive with some foreign dialect that I have not been exposed to before.  Oh wait – it’s just English.  So the rumours are true – this is in fact the way a percentage of the population articulates my language!  The exaggerated southern drawls stretch out like a mound of pulled taffy.  “A-tay-an-shun play-as.   Laaaaaa-feeeeeee-eeeeeehtd naaa-ow ba-owr-daaaaing.”  It is amazing how diverse one language can be!  If the exchange students that live at my parent's house have a difficult time understanding the fast pace of the English language, they would be in for a real dose of confusion if you threw a North Carolina accent into the mix.  (No, I am not in North Carolina, but so far that is the accent which has seemed to be the farthest from my 'normal.')  

• The words “sweet-tea” and “soda” mean nothing to me.  I find my foreign language skills improving as I make the mental leap to “iced tea” and “pop.”

• Gun culture.  Hot-pink rifles for sale at Walmart.  Totally normal.  The opinion of gun usage ranges from person to person.  Some have an uncomfortable hesitation to exercise the legal right to be armed, while others confidently embrace the gun as a means to protect their family and belongings.  Some of these views are bizarre to me, but I have kept my mouth shut in order to gain an understanding of this place that I find myself in.  After listening to many conversations, I am beginning to see some reason behind these mammoth cultural differences. 

   We are all unique - that is for sure.   Such a diverse group of personalities, cultures and lifestyles.  I'd love to speak up and make it known to the masses that West Coast Canadians do things the 'right' way, speak with the 'correct' accent and have the 'best' ideas; but, if I stop and just listen to other people's stories and try to understand where they are coming from, I begin to learn about the complexities of life, and how they can shape us as humans.  In the end, no one way is the correct way to speak.  There is no one perfect way to cook an egg.  My preferred lifestyle may not be appealing to others, just as I may not share their preferences.  I may not be used to the gun-toting culture and the values that surround it, but I am trying to understand my fellow humans, and try to get a glimpse of their perspective. 

      
       -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  As the token Canadian in my class, I feel the entire reputation of Canada resting on my shoulders. 

So far I do not represent well.

• I have not been caught saying "Eh," or "aboot."  
• I do not yet speak fulent French.  
• I come from the only area in Canada that basically never spends it's winter months in a snowy deep-freeze.  
• I do not play the all-Canadian game of ice hockey.

   The other day, I found a way to redeem myself.  Along with the mid-morning break came a crystal serving dish of glazed donut-holes.  Eureka, I found it!  Even though it was break-time, I began to teach a lesson on Canadian cuisine.  "In Canada, we call these 'Tim Bits.'"  "Ten bits?" "Tam Bats?" "Oh.  In America we just call them 'Donut Holes.'" I'm informed.
  Oh, such a rich culture you miss!  I launched into a verbal serenade of the history of this donut chain.  "It is like a Canadian version of a toned-down Starbucks.  Tim Horton, the founder of this iconic donut shop used to be a professional hockey player..."  But these are the only facts that flowed from my memory.  Nothing else to share with the class.   As much as I had wanted to impart a touch of Canadiana, I actually don't know too much about my own Tim Hortons!  Ce la vie.

  I have discovered a healthy addiction.   "Duolingo.com"   This language-teaching website is somehow managing to refresh my brain in the french department, and I feel as though the games have become addictive.  Just as I would spend hours playing tetris, so these games keep my focus glued to le Francais!  Perhaps, if I continue to feed this addiction, I could become a more well-rounded ambassador of Canada - a bi-lingual citizen.  Well, there is a goal to shoot for.  (He shoots he scores!!!) 

Better late than never...

  My blogging aspirations had grown quite drastically over the last month as I said goodbye to my own little corner of B.C.  Armed with a stack of personal 'business cards,' I distributed my blog page and other contact info with the fervent promise that I would keep a better blogging track record than my last stint aboard the AFM.  
  These communication goals were genuine to begin with, they just had a few hiccups.   Throughout my flights from Victoria to Texas, several interesting characters crossed my path and many iconic blog entry ideas flooded my brain.  With so much accumulated in my brain, by the time I reached my final destination in Texas, I had a very real need to spew it all out onto my blog.  Problem was, it was 10:30 pm, no one else appeared to be awake in the lodge, and I had no clue as to the WIFI password.  Awww drat!  Can't communicate tonight!
  Next morning, rise and shine!  Excitement from meeting new people, sharing stories and experiences and finding out more of what these next few weeks would entail.  But of course my biggest question was how to connect to the internet.  You see, I was thinking very much of you fine folk.  But alas, the computer (which is supposed to be such a helpful gadget to simplify life) turns out to be a menace once again.  Firewall/internet trouble.  Don't ask.  This problem persisted until Tuesday night, despite the constant problem solving efforts of the tech support staff.

  Saturday with no internet?   Fine by me.  I have been cramming so many social opportunities into my schedule prior to leaving, that a hermit vacation would be welcomed.  Sunday rolls around.  Still no internet, but I spend a good chunk of time out in nature and exploring my new home.  Then Monday comes.  By now, I just want to feel a touch of normalcy.  Unfortunately the solution would be to communicate via the internet.  I just want to be able to use my computer, with my photos and my preferences and in my room.  None of this sharing business.   So my proverbial porcupine quills began to stand up as I grudgingly accepted each new day that I had to wade through without my connection to the outside world.
via the internet.  In class, we begin to learn about a bunch of cool resources that are available to us to learn french and connect to Mercy Ship's intra-net.  This all sounds wonderful except I can't connect to the internet.  I find out that there are classroom computers that I can use, and since they are hard-wired, they do have internet available, but I really just want to be able to use
  So humorous.  This really just was to test my patience, or to improve my lack thereof.  I also feel foolish and childish that I would let such a small issue as internet access spoil my days.   This morning the internet came back to life and so of course now I can write to you.  The only problem is all of that enthusiasm from my first few days in Texas has faded some.  I have much to write, but I need my sleep now.  A demain...

The beginning of a new chapter...

Greetings blog readers!

  I am so happy that you have decided to join me on this mission.  No fancy blog writing today, just very simple thoughts from this frazzled, semi-comatose brain.
  In just a few short hours, my long awaited adventure will commence.  In case any of my readers do not actually know what is going on in my life, I will be joining Mercy Ships' 'Africa Mercy' for a two years stint working in the off-ship dental clinic.  The first leg of this journey is a 5ish week detour to Texas, where I will participate in a long-term crew training program. 
  Yesterday was not one of my better days.  I took a ridiculous amount of time to pack, only to find that I had too much stuff.  So the familiar unpack and edit of luggage contents began.   My to-do list began to shrink as I completed one task after another, but as a result, my brain suffered a mild panic attack. 
  After a calming few hours with friends, I felt relaxed and rejuvinated topped up with a fresh cup of coffee.  Time to return to this mammoth packing task. 
    How does one decrease the contents of their suitcase when they had already thought that they had packed the mere essentials?  "Can I buy it in the ship shop?" I asked.  Yes? Great, one more thing that I can leave at home.  "Can I buy this item when the ship goes to the Canary Islands in the summer?"  Yes?  Great!  Switch that from the 'bring' pile to the 'leave' pile.  "Did I have even the slightest doubt that I might need this item on my travels?"  Yes?  Well, then it probably is not that important.  Hours later, 1 piece of luggage and 1 carry on had been filled with what I had deemed necessary.  Of course I could have done the obvious thing and just brought more luggage with me, but then I would have no bragging rights as to my amazing packability. 
  OK, so as lovely as this blog-writing activity seems to be, it would appear that my ride to the airport will be leaving in about an hour, so I must dash!  No time for spell-check, no time to ensure that my thoughts have been coherent. 
  "I'm late!  I'm late!  For a very important date!  No time to say "Hello" - Goodbye! - I'm late! I'm late!  I'm late!"

 

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