A Lasting Impression

Monday morning at 04:00, Meg and I woke up to do a "swimmer watch." As we are one day away from setting sail for the Canary Islands, security has been increased during this past week to prevent any potential stow-aways from coming onboard our ship.

We were stationed at the aft end of the ship and I took the responsibility of operating the torch and radio, naturally. What we had to do was keep an eye out for people climbing up the mooring lines and monitor fishing boats that float close to the ship to catch tiny fish.

Early-morning fishermen

The mooring lines

The watch technically only lasted until 06:30, but we stayed up until 07:00 to see the sun rise. It was an uneventful three hours (fortunately), however, watching the sun appear over the humid ocean was a great, final, lasting memory for my time here in Benin.


The remainder of the day felt odd. It is exciting that we are leaving, but my heart is sore nonetheless. Benin has been a part of my life for nearly an entire year.

As I walked down the dusty road outside the port one last time this evening, I thought back to the first time I wandered out there and how overwhelmed I was. I have experienced and seen tremendous pain, suffering, and sorrow here. But the reverse of those things has also been felt. I have laughed regularly and deeply, I have developed life-long friendships, I have witnessed the might, mercy, and compassion of our Heavenly Father, and I have found love, in His arms, and in brothers and sisters with whom I share a love for Yahshua.


This year has been momentous. I have grown and changed considerably. I have left with far more life-experience and wisdom than I could have ever hoped for. On top of that, I leave with a person who has come into my life unexpectedly and who is going to be around for a long, long time, I'm certain.

Psalm 117

1 O praise YHWH, all you nations; praise Him, all you people.
2 For His mercy and goodness is great toward us, and His truth endures forever and ever. Praise YHWH.

Meg

Prison

Recently, I traveled to a prison in the city of Cotonou to cover a story there. The Mercy Ships Dental Team was doing their last outreach of the year by offering free tooth extractions and oral-health education to the prisoners.

Entering the prison was strange. Meg and I wandered in nonchalantly with cameras and bags. There were a few security guards that payed little attention to us and who motioned us through several doors as we kept asking, "Mercy Ships?" Eventually we found ourselves standing amongst prisoners inside the compound. I was nervous for a few seconds until I saw my friend Jess and the rest of her team.

The Dental Team hard at work

I soon realised that this prison did not follow the mould that I was familiar with. Here the prisoners were given free reign during the day around the entire compound. The place functioned like a small community with markets, a mosque, a church, a bank, and even a music room. Some of the prisoners receive wages working as peacekeepers and cleaners. It all seemed quite pleasant until I started interviewing a few people. Although the conditions seemed okay on the surface, nobody wanted to be there. At night they get locked into cells - some of them crammed with up to 250 men. The overall health quality is extremely low and, altough they were happy to receive free dental treatment, many rather wished that doctors had come to deal with the more serious health problems.

Interviewing the Prison Director Representative

The music room

After interveiwing the representative in charge, I still needed to get an interview from a prisoner that had received a tooth extraction. I prayed silently to be directed to the right person. Then I saw a man smiling brightly, trying to get my attention. I walked over to him with a translator and introduced myself. His name was Judicael and he wanted me to photograph him. I obliged and proceeded to ask him a few questions about his oral health and the tooth that he had extracted. Curios, I eventually carefully asked him if he would be willing to share why he had come to be in prison. "I will tell you, but can we go somewhere quiet first?" he requested.

Judicael

We went and stood in a fairly calm corner of the compound near the urinal - the one place where we wouldn't be followed. He proceeded to reveal the confidential and tragic events leading to his current state. He began to cry and I spent the next fifteen minutes trying to minister to him. Fortunately, my translator Alfred had worked in prison ministry for years and knew exactly what I was trying to say to Judicael. I prayed with him and left heavy hearted.

The worst thing about that prison and most African prisons, I guess, is that people tend to be forgotten about and are never given a fair trial. Judicael had been there for five months and had no idea how long his sentence would be. He felt that his crime warranted about five years. He told me that he had accepted Yahshua as his saviour and had asked for forgiveness. I encouraged him to keep praying and developing his relationship with his Heavenly Father, because that is the most important thing he could do.

I'm really proud if this photo I took. I simply looked up and saw this man smiling at me. I think it might be my best photo yet.

Ultimate!

Every Friday afternoon, after a long week of interviews, writing, and recording, I head out with the other active crew members of the ship to play Ultimate Frisbee. We usually have around 26 players and play on either the beach or a dusty football field - the latter is usually occupied with football players.

Whenever a round is started, the person launching the frisbee has to shout: "Ultimate!" It's a great way to end a week and start a weekend. I'm really going to miss playing it when I leave.

My friend and colleague PJ made a noble sacrifice a few weeks ago and, instead of playing, offered to take photographs of the rest of us playing. See his work below.

PJ is the best photographer I know. This is why.

"Ultimate!"

Local kids [right] got caught up in the action.

I think I may have fumbled this one.

"I've got it!"

"Catch it!"

C'est moi.

Adele

A little over a week ago, Adele died. I met her back in June when I was writing an article about the Palliative Care Program. She was the reason that I decided to begin working a minor-job in this field. Her strong faith and contagious optimism struck a chord within me. I marveled at how she could remain so positive despite the massive growth occupying the side of her face.

For four-months I visited Adele once-a-week in her home. She would lie on her bed listening to portions of the bible read to her by our translator, after which she would proceed to give us a ten-minute sermon confirming the truth that she had just heard. Adele's daughters were always present. Sometimes they would sit beside her and listen; sometimes they would busy themselves with housework in the adjacent room.

Glory, her two-year-old grandson, provided much entertainment for us during these visits. His tiny hands were always on a mission to find objects to fidget with. Whether it was the Bible, my sunglasses, the cans of nutrition supplements, or anything that was new and foreign to him, Glory would find it and test its durability to the limit. Often, Adele would try chastise him by flicking him with a flimsy piece of straw. I truly feel that Glory was a bright light in that house - especially for Adele. He provided a pleasant distraction from her harsh condition.

As the months went by, Adele's health deteriorated rapidly. However, despite her pain, her prayer requests were always for her daughters and their salvation - never for her own healing. To watch her slowly fade away was difficult. Dealing with death is not a familiar emotion for me. I prayed desperately for her healing at first, but as time went on, I relented from my selfish desires, and submitted to the will and control of my Heavenly Father; praying instead for His will to be done. I know that He could have healed her in an instant, if He so chose.

Though we cannot always know the purposes of YHWH's (God's) perfect plans, I trust that He knows what is best for us, even before we have asked for it. I am so thankful that Adele passed away while we were still around to take care of her. With the end of the field-service approaching, the thought of all the other 'terminal' patients is heavy on my mind.

I saw Adele for the last time on October 29th. Her frail hands and body were shaking tremendously. I had a sense that she was near the end and asked for William, our translator, to read Psalm 116 to her. When we left, as she lay on her bed resting her head, I put my hand on her arm and said, "Edabo, Adelle," which means 'goodbye' in Fon.

She died peacefully the following Monday. Apparently Glory cried continuously during her last few nights, but when she passed away, he stopped. We attended the funeral last week Wednesday. I found myself sitting right in front of the closed coffin, directly opposite her weeping family. It was tough. But after seeing a portrait of Adele in healthier times seated at the head of her coffin, peace entered my heart - a peace I know she too now has.

At the end of it all, as I held a subdued Glory on my arm, I was comforted to know that Adele's joy would live on in her grandson, and the mere witness of her life would have a profound impact in the lives of her daughters.

Psalm 116:3-7

3 The sorrows of death surrounded me, and the pains of Sheol came upon me; I found trouble and sorrow.
4 Then I called upon the name of Yahweh; O Yahweh, I beg You, deliver my being.
5 Full of unmerited favour is Yahweh, and He is righteous; yes, our God is full of mercy.
6 Yahweh preserves the simple: I was brought low and He helped me.
7 Return to your rest, O my being, for Yahweh has treated you well.

Adele when I first met her.

Glory and his hungry hands.

Seasons

Back home in South Africa, I would always detest Winter. Things would become cold, dry, and barren. Here in Benin, there is but one season. As the months have passed, I have noticed little change but a slight alteration in the intensity of humidity and precipitation. Apart from that, it's always just hot.

I thought I would love the constant heat here. But I have since realised that my appreciation for Summer was born out of anticipation during those bleak Winter months. As the buds would softly and suddenly develop upon the barren branches of timber, as the light in the evening sky would become softer, and the sounds of the morning birds would become more lively, my heart would begin to lift, sensing the imminent arrival of freshness, beauty, and warmth.

I have missed that this year. Nevertheless, I have experienced my own seasons, and for the past two-months, I have been enduring my own Winter. My health has been badly affected. From colds, to sprains, to burns, to viruses; I have not felt at full-strength for sometime now. But, I am beginning to see the end. I can the see the light changing on the horizon. My Summer is dawning. I believe my Heavenly Father has a great deal of good in store for me.

Just as Winter is necessary to appreciate Summer, so is suffering necessary to appreciate blessing. If life was the same all the time, where would the contrasts that birth our emotions come from? There's no light without dark, no love without rejection, no healing without pain.

Having seen the great suffering present in the lives of so many patients that come to this hospital ship, and the many that can't be helped, I am reminded and consoled that this life is so brief and temporary. For those of us preparing for the day we see our Messiah, be reminded that all of our struggles and problems will seem so insignificant when that great and glorious reign dawns.

It is said an Eastern monarch once charged his wise men to invent him a sentence, to be ever in view, and which should be true and appropriate in all times and situations. They presented him the words: "And this, too, shall pass away." How much it expresses! How chastening in the hour of pride! How consoling in the depths of affliction!

-Abraham Lincoln

Ode to Maddie

Maddie died on Monday. She was a fiery two-year-old girl suffering from Burkitt's Lymphoma. I got to meet Maddie through my minor-job in Palliative Care. Though not terminal, kids suffering from Burkitt's fall into this department. She had responded extremely positively to chemotherapy, which was born as a result of the passionate, extraordinary efforts of Suzanne Zickell, Palliative Care Nurse.

However, due to the chemo, Maddie's immunity was extremely low, and, despite regular tests, she suddenly contracted Bacterial Meningitis. Though everything was tried to save her, her system was too weak and she passed away.

Maddie had the strongest personality I have ever seen in a child. She clearly knew what she wanted and made it well-known when she didn't get it. We often joked about how strong her temprement would be as a teenager. Unfortunately, no one will ever know. Perhaps the world would have been unable to withstand such a fierce and sassy soul? She rests now with her Heavenly Father. Pray for her family, please.

There's a great unknown
Inside my heart
I see a purple cloud
And a hand that falls

Help us to understand
Help us to know Your plans
Let our eyes see through
What seems like an end

She had a needless cry
That brought a smiling joy
I saw a healing cure
That caused our hands to lift

But who are we to think?
And what are we to know?
Let our words be for
Whatever You see fit

Mainly a Map of Me

I was born on the West coast of Africa in a small town called Swakopmund in a sandy country called Namibia. I grew up in South Africa. I have spent the last year working in Benin, West Africa. This continent is my home. Though I have yet to see all of it, I love it, and, unless it's my Heavenly Father's will, I will never permanently leave.

My accent suggests that I'm American and my complexion that I'm European. I have difficulty convincing people that I am, in fact, of this fierce land.

On my left leg I have a birthmark in the shape of Africa, and on my left arm another I like to call Madagascar. I can line them up alongside one another to resemble the area that occupies the center of most world-maps.

"Is that a tattoo?" I am frequently asked. "No," I proudly respond.

"But is it more than a birthmark?" I think to myself.

Kotiam

Here's another patient story that I wrote a while ago. Because I'm only getting into the habit of updating my blog regularly now, I thought I'd share some of the things that I've worked on.

Wise Kotiam Finds Healing

Kotiam stretches out his fingers, his rough palms facing upward, revealing proof of years of hard manual labor. “My farmer’s certificate is the calluses on my hands,” he says proudly.

A farmer of corn, yams, and sorghum and father to 14 children, 52-year-old Kotiam has suffered both financially and physically in the past several years.

Nearly twenty years ago, a growth, commonly referred to as a goiter, began to develop in Kotiam’s thyroid gland, causing a grapefruit-sized swelling to protrude from his neck. It caused considerable pain for him, negatively affecting his farming abilities. For years, Kotiam was unable to fully cultivate his land and reaped progressively weaker crops every season. “I could not send my children to school, and I could not feed my family properly,” he explained. “I did not have a proper income.”


Kotiam sought help at a rural hospital near his village of Matéri. There, he received medication which reduced the pain and gave him hope that the goiter would soon diminish. However, after returning home, the pain and tenderness in his neck soon resumed.

The traditional healers in Kotiam’s mainly voodoo village began to entice him with jujus and fetishes, claiming they would cure him of all problems and deficiencies. But the wise, resilient farmer had coped thus far and refused to become involved in “superstitious matters.” He held onto his faith, believing that a suitable solution would eventually come. It wasn’t easy for him. “At times I was worried that I was going to die,” Kotiam said. “The tumor was in such a vulnerable area – my neck.”

Years passed. One day, two words began to be spoken of frequently among the people in his village. Kotiam did not know the details or the meaning of “Mercy Ships,” but he thought that they related to something medical. He investigated and discovered that doctors from a foreign land were looking for people with sicknesses and conditions much like his own.

Kotiam travelled to the region of Natatingou, where it was said the doctors were working. By the time he arrived there, all he found was an empty building littered with flyers and posters. The bewildered Kotiam leaned down to pick up a flyer. A picture of a woman with a swollen neck like his own was next to a picture of the same woman with a normal neck. He realized that a solution was indeed possible, but he was too late. The doctors had already left.

However, Kotiam refused to accept defeat and dialed the telephone number on the flyer. His determination paid off.

Now Kotiam sits on a bed in a ward onboard the world’s largest non-governmental hospital ship, the Africa Mercy. The mass that occupied his neck is gone, having been skilfully removed by surgeons only a day ago. His speech is calm and collected as he gently rubs his hands together. “I come from a poor family. I had to sell my goat to get money so I could travel here to the ship. It was not easy to do,” he says. “But when I saw the ship, it was like meeting a brother that I had not seen for years.”

Before Kotiam left his village to travel the exhausting nine-hour journey to the port of Cotonou, he had no assurances that he would be accepted for surgery. “It is like hunting with one arrow,” he explains. “When you see an animal, you only have one chance to kill it. If you miss, you do not eat. That is how I felt coming to this ship. I did not know whether I would be accepted. But I had this chance which I had to take.”


The grey hairs in his beard and on his head indicate a humble and experienced wisdom, reflected in his solemn words. Kotiam endured a great deal. But the hope and healing Mercy Ships has brought to his life is evident in his relieved, smiling face. “I am very happy and cannot wait to go back to my farm. I hope to be able to send my children to school again.”

“I have lost many things over the years because I have not been able to farm properly. But I think those problems are over now,” Kotiam says. “By God’s grace I will be able to start farming again next year.”

Football as Unifier

On Sunday, we attended yet another football match. The crowds were greater in number this time around as the football on offer was far more attractive than our previous outing to the Stade Cotonou II. Benin was playing Ghana (The Squirrels vs. the Black Stars). There was also a lot riding on this match for Benin as a loss would almost certainly derail their hopes for a spot in the African Cup of Nations.

Getting into the stadium was an experience in itself. Our previous visit taught us that more tickets get sold than there is room in the stadium, so we made sure to arrive early. Not early enough, it seemed. We joined one of several queues leading to our gate of choice and stood praying for about an hour. Every now and then, the gate would open, everyone would instantly push to get in, the guards would get angry, assault a few people, and then slam the doors shut again; as if to punish us. But we remained hopeful and slowly inched towards the threshold.


About fifteen minutes before the kick-off, and after the doors had remained shut for a relative eternity, four muscly guards ambled up, their shiny batons proudly displayed. "At last," I thought, "these men will bring order to the chaos." And that they did. Two of them immediately started swinging violently. People scattered. We remained awkwardly squashed together amid the turmoil. Once things had settled, we discovered that the guards had created something that many would call a rarity in Africa: an orderly line of people. Fortunately, we found ourselves in the line, while the masses that surrounded us a few brief seconds ago were seething at the back of it.

But then the next problem presented itself. The doors were locked from the inside and the guards - who I now admired and respected - could not manage to convince their colleagues on the other side that order had been restored. The tension was mounting. With the kick-off approaching, the civility wouldn't last much longer.

Finally, the iron clanged and a guard peeked out from behind the barrier. The other guards shouted at everyone in French to be calm and proceed single file. We held our tickets in the air and squashed through into the brink of football delight; the past behind us and instantly forgotten.


We found seats with ease. Our vantage point was brilliant; offering a clear view of the length of the field, just off centre of the half-way line. Prayers were answered. We proceeded to enjoy 90-minutes of a goalless match, the highlight for me being the sublime yet subdued performance of Chelsea midfileder Michael Essien.

But then, in the dying seconds of extra-time, when we thought all was over, Benin somehow managed to scramble the ball into the back of the Ghana net. Rapture! Applause! Screaming! Whistling! Water! Loud noises! The eruption was profound. The final whistle was blown, the Benin players ran a victory lap, and the fans surrounding us insisted on getting photos of us celebrating.



Seeing that the precious minutes of athleticism and ball-control had been spent, the value of the interior was now broke and everyone wanted to get outside to celebrate in the streets. This happened quickly and peacefully, of course.

The drive home was memorable. I held the Benin flag aloft out the window as we passed hundreds of jubilant, celebrating Beninese citizens. Sport has the amazing ability to unify any and all people, provided the circumstance is victory. We sped through the streets cheering and whistling as every person we passed replied in like fashion.

You might question my pride for a nation that is not my own. Well, after nine-months, this country has, in a sense, become my home. Benin has given me only fond memories. Having invested so much time and energy into building relationships with a few once-suffering individuals, I feel I have the right to support this peaceful country; a country that my own South Africa could learn many lessons from.


Oooooh. Video.

Waiting

Celebration


Driving

Emmanuel

This story occurred a few months ago but it's still relevant. Emmanuel traveled from Nigeria and is only the second patient I've interviewed this year that can speak English. Being able to communicate with him without the necessity of a translator and hearing his story in his own words proved to be key in forming a friendship.

It's the first time I've managed to make a connection with a patient. When he was still on the ward I would spend time sitting on the side of his bed listening to him talk. It seemed important to him to be able to share, and he enjoyed telling his story.

The week after his surgery he became slightly depressed because, due to swelling, he could see little change in the shape of his face. But the following week, once he was discharged from the ward, he was a different man, full of smiles and laughter.

Emmanuel - a Man Rejuvenated

Nearly ten years ago, Emmanuel, a Nigerian-born father of two, went to a hospital with severe pain in his lower left molars. A tooth was removed, but the pain persisted. A check-up revealed no visible problems. After a brief teeth-cleaning and some pain medication, Emmanuel was sent home.

Then, in 2004, Emmanuel returned to the hospital. Constant pain and a noticeable swelling of his jaw were strong indications that more than just a tooth cavity was to blame. A surgeon attempted an exploratory operation to discover the cause; however, no abnormalities were found. A bewildered Emmanuel returned home to explain the confusing situation to his concerned wife.

Four years later, it was obvious that Emmanuel had a growth in his jaw. The severe protrusion on the side of his face made it difficult for him to get regular work as a mechanic. “People do not want to hire a man that looks sick,” he said. The tumor caused him to flinch with pain whenever he exerted himself. The once active man now found himself on the couch of his living room most days. He sadly said, “I used to like playing soccer. I liked to work in the gym and build my muscles. But when the sickness started, I lost my happiness and my strength. I did not even want to watch soccer on the TV. Now my arms are thin, and my legs are weak.”

Emmanuel had a friend with a vague medical background who came to him and convincingly offered to perform surgery to remove the growth. Desperate for relief, Emmanuel agreed to the risky attempt.

Unfortunately, the friend was not able to remove any of the tumor and caused more damage by aggravating the growth and leaving Emmanuel with a mass of scar tissue on his jaw line. Emmanuel’s condition worsened, and his hope and happiness were further diminished.

Though he was fortunate enough to have some financial support from his parents and his wife’s hairdressing business, Emmanuel still tried to make some money to feed his children. He regularly travelled to Cotonou, Benin, to buy goods with the intention of selling them at a profit in Nigeria.

While walking through the market one day, he had a strange feeling that someone was following him. He noticed a woman who kept looking at him with a concerned look. Eventually he confronted her. She spoke in French. The English-speaking Emmanuel did not understand. “I had a feeling that she was trying to tell me something important. She kept pointing to my tumor,” he said. Emmanuel shouted out for someone to translate for him. A young girl came along and began explaining what the woman was saying.

The woman’s name was Veronique, and her younger brother Odilon once had a growth in the same place as Emmanuel’s tumor. Thanks to an organization called Mercy Ships, Odilon received a free surgery that had removed the tumor. She explained that the ship was docked in the port, not far from where they were. She said that the people onboard would be able to fix Emmanuel, give him food, and not even ask for money. “When I heard these things, I was very happy,” Emmanuel said. “My heart was beating fast. I prayed to God, ‘If this is possible, then let it happen.’”

Veronique could certainly relate to the turmoil Emmanuel was experiencing after seeing her own brother suffer with the same condition for years. She proceeded to leave her selling goods with another vendor and told Emmanuel to follow her to the ship.

Emmanuel arrived at the ship, baffled by this sudden answer to prayer. “When I walked onboard, it seemed like everyone was happy to see a patient like me,” he recalled. “They took some tests and told me to return in a few weeks for my operation. But then I was scared that the ship was going to leave.” However, when Emmanuel returned for his surgery, the Africa Mercy was still there, and he was admitted to the onboard hospital. The following day, he underwent an eight-hour surgery to remove the growth from his jaw. “When I woke up, they told me how long it took. I was glad when I heard this because it made me realize that they took care to do a good job.”

Due to the work done to his jaw, Emmanuel was unable to chew. To avoid the risk of infection, a feeding tube going directly to his stomach was inserted into his nose. But despite the discomfort, Emmanuel’s spirits were uplifted, and he spoke like a man rejuvenated. “Now that the tumor is gone, I have my happiness again. Praise God!” he exclaimed. “Before, I felt separated from people, but now I see myself as a normal somebody. I phoned my wife and my parents and told them about my operation. They shouted through the telephone, ‘Praise God!’ They were very happy to hear the news.”

For the first time in nearly a decade, Emmanuel is feeling positive about the future. “When I go back to Nigeria, I am planning a lot of what to do because I am a new man now. I believe in God. He knows my heart and what I think, and He knows what is good for me so that my heart is filled with joy,” concluded Emmanuel.

The mercy shown by Veronique in the market and the free surgery provided by Mercy Ships have completely transformed Emmanuel’s life. He is now a walking testimony of the hope and healing Mercy Ships endeavors to bring.

Man With a Movie Camera

My ID card says Writer, but it should actually say Writer & Videographer (that is a real word). I am glad that I have the opportunity to make use of the abilities I gained in film school. Apart from filming notable Mercy Ships events, I also film the occasional patient story and news report, most of which I also edit. Doing this job has given me valuable experience which will hopefully provide avenues to similar jobs farther afield.

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.