Fire-drills

Every second Thursday we practice fire-drills to prepare us for potential disasters. I have been on the Emergency Medical Team for a few months now. Not sure how I managed to accomplish that. I'm a stretcher-bearer. I'm guessing it's because I'm fit and healthy.

Some weeks are boring and we are not called to attend to any (fake) victims, but other weeks they put a lot of effort into making the situation as believable as possible - like the time in these photos. On another occasion, we had to carry a fully grown man up several narrow, winding flights of stairs from the engine room to deck 3. Quite a workout.

Today I finished a training course in Crowd Control. I now have a certificate that certifies that I can control crowds and keep order. Hmmm. As we approach the sail in December, our drills are going to become more intense and unpredictable. Words have been mentioned that suggest we may even have one at 4AM. As fun as they are, I pray I'll never be called to deal with a real emergency situation.

Claude's Surgery

I'm busy working on a video patient story about a man named Claude. Five-years-ago, a tumour began developing on Claude's jawbone. Today I watched as a surgeon skillfully removed it. Because the tumour was growing in the bone, the entire jaw had to be removed. Fortunately, Claude recieved a shiny, new titanium plate which will function as his jaw until he recieves a bone graft next field-service in Togo.

Having interviewed Claude in his home last week, and visited his carpentry workplace, I've developed a notable concern for his future and well-being. He's more than just a story. Watching him waking up from his anaesthetic, gagging on the breathing tube in his throat, was unsettling. So too, having his jaw placed in front of me to examine. I stared at the bone, the straight teeth, and the growth that had desecrated all of it, wondering how and why.

I thought I was going to be squeamish due to the blood and the severity of it all, but I managed to hold strong. In fact, one of the nurses next to me had to sit down because she felt queazy. Ha!

I pray Claude has a swift recovery. It will take getting used to, I'm sure. But in the long run, he's going to feel healthier, stronger, and ultimately, happier. And I shall hopefully be able to document his entire recovery process, in HD!

Benin vs. Mali

This past weekend we attended a World Cup Qualifier between Benin and Mali. After paying $10 for the most expensive tickets available, we thought we would have comfortable seats and a great view of the game. However, once we finally found our gate, the doors were blocked by security guards who were keeping protesting fans at bay. I immediately assumed that they had overbooked the venue and there was no more space. Things got ugly and a few opinionated fans received a beating from the guards.

Soon the same thing was happening at one of the cheaper gates. I thought it best for us to get inside as soon as possible, else we'd probably miss the match. We swiftly moved to the other side of the stadium and slipped into a $2 ticket gate. It was a bit frustrating to not get what we paid for, but the seats we found were fine. In fact, I think we ended up having a better experience because we seemed to be surrounded by the 'real' fans. And now we know that $2 tickets will be just fine for the next game against Ghana in October.


The match itself was spectacular. All kitted out in our newly acquired Benin shirts, we cheered for 'The Squirrels' (as they're known) with as much vigour as the locals. Mali went ahead in the 2nd half. The stadium dropped a few decibels in volume. Water bottles and other objects began to descend upon the Mali fans. But then Benin came back with a cracker in the dying minutes. In an instant the entire mood changed. Leaving fans came rushing back in. Everyone was ecstatic.

Having missed out on the Confederations Cup back home, it was great to attend a live match here. It kinda completes my West African experience. Benin will have to win the next match against Ghana to stand any chance of qualifying for 2010. It should be a cracking game.

Belinda and Her Family

This is Belinda, her husband Kitiso, and three of their four children. They were one of the many families that fled from Togo to Benin to escape military assault. I spent a lot of time walking and talking with Belinda. She used to be an English teacher, thus we had no problems communicating.

Belinda told me how they ran from their house in the dead of night when they heard soldiers approaching, how it was difficult because her husband has a crippled leg and her baby was screaming. She told me how they are always hungry in the camp and how the Benin locals have no respect for them. "We are all willing to work, but there is no work," she said.

She kept politely asking whether I could sponsor her family and help them relocate to another country. She had heard wondrous stories about refugees that were flown to Australia, Canada, and the USA, and given a house, food, clothing, and jobs. Some of what she had heard is true, but only in extreme cases. If she only knew of the cultural differences and the subsequent hardships thereof, she would have probably avoided the topic.

After visiting her house and examining the shoes her husband makes but struggles to sell, we exchanged emails. Before I left, she took my hand, looked me in the eyes, and said, "Please don't forget us."

So now I write, remembering them all, wondering how I can help them. I truly wish I could. But my means are so limited; myself being one that needs help and support from others. And I think, if anyone met this kind, polite, suffering family they would want to help them, surely? But they are one of thousands of families in that camp, all with similar stories of struggle. Where, when and how does it end?

Oh, Africa, my Africa.
Your hands are so rough, your belly grumbles so loudly.
You suffer so greatly, you rage so violently, and weep so deeply.
But your beauty remains burning brightly.
So too, my hope for your future grows daily.

Belinda and Kitiso

Kitiso makes shoes. The people in the camp have no money to buy shoes. The people outside the camp refuse to buy from him because he is a refugee.