Reflections

As we sailed away from Benin, I realized that writing on the blog has now become something of a need more than a desire. Sorry to anyone checking for updates that I have been so horrible with writing the last few months. I know I say it so often, but time has seemed to fly past since school started back up again. I now need to share some of the many things that have happened this year, both with Marcel and I and with Mercy Ships and patients, as soon we will have stories of different countries and friends.
Standing on the deck and watching the dock slowly slide away, it was one of those moments that is both exciting and sad. When looking through some stories and pictures tonight, I found a poem that a patient from Ghana had written about the Africa Mercy leaving Benin. Hope you enjoy. More stories to follow!

FARE WELL MY GREAT WHITE WHALE.
Alas the center’s candle is blown out
Soon the signs that points to the Port are broken
The paths that leads to the shore is blocked
They that make their wage in convoy to Novou are stilled and stopped
The days of the white whale’s rest are o’er
The time of your docking is spent
The season of your breeding is halted
Your coming, to some was heaven sent
To others it was a wish granted
But too soon it is to those who knows your worth and work
So sudden it is to those who wish in you to be healed
Soon the mouth that feeds from you will sing your fare well song
The hand that lend you help will wave you on
The soul that depended on you will wish you back
And the heart that stayed with you, only on your memories will stay and feed
But you, like any farer of the deep, your voyage must continue
Your search for souls to cut and heal lingers on
For many more awaits your coming
Many shores awaits the day of your rest
But now it’s time bid you fare well
It’s time to sing your departing song
It’s yet another time for your sons and daughters to go home
Some, never to be seen again
Some, never to walk the shores of the black pearls
Yet to others, a time to rest and regroup
All the souls you touched and healed
All the souls you cut and mend
Stands along the Novou shores
Visible and invisible
To wave and wish you well
In the still small voice of the shore wave
Hear their voices rise saying THANK YOU
For your time and toil
For your care and cause
For your mind and money
But most of all, for being a tool in the father’s hands
Through which He showed His love and care
To a world so lost and dark
Without love or hope
We those you touched and healed are eternally grateful
Thank you and fare thee well my great white whale.
From: Prince Eddie Daniels
To : The Mercy Ships

Zimi-Johns

I think everyone who comes to Benin at some point writes about the zimi-johns and I guess now is my turn.
Zimi-johns (not sure of that spelling - it seems to be different every time you ask a new person) are the most common public transport in Benin - some would call them motorcycles, others mopeds or motorbikes, I call them danger on two wheels :) The law in Benin says that a person must have license to drive a car, but anyone with the money to buy one can use a zimi-john - no license or training necessary. Because of this, it is estimated that there are over 80,000 in Contonou alone. Everytime you stop at a traffic light in the Mercy Ships LandRover, there is this sudden sea of motorbikes surrounding you on all sides. There are not really rules that everyone follows at the same time here (there are traffic laws and police, but there still seems to be some flexiblity in certain rules at certain places and times) so being surrounded by a sea of colorful motorbikes can be a little worrisome, trying to figure out where and when people are going to be turing, going straight or pulling over to the side of the road. Zimi-johns are also used as the local taxis here, with up to three adults squeezing onto the seat of the bike.
Although not something I plan on using an time soon (safety reasons - lots of accidents and burned legs from the exhaust pipe) they definitely lead to some interesting stories and pictures. There seems to be a contest at times about who has the best zimi-john story. So far, I have seen whole families (small child in front, dad, small child, mom with baby tied to back), women on the way to work looking very smart, men in suits and people moving furniture (wicker style couch balanced on the head on the man in the back about doubling the length of the motorbike). I have heard stories of a bundle of furniture roped up and then stuck on the back, a man with a cartons of drinks on the back, someone else moving a refrigerator -- always an adventure on the road. There is something beautiful, though, in the sea of colors and people moving down the road together. I wish I had better pictures, but I am trying to be good about not taking too many pictures of people without their permission while I pass them on the street. There are some people here who believe that the camera somehow affects their spirit, but moreso, I try to think about how would feel when some strange person in a big white car drove by taking my picture and posting it on the Internet. I don't know that any picture can really tell the whole story on this one anyway - just no way to capture the colors, sounds, smells and sights of driving down the road in Benin.

What God is Doing

Here on the Africa Mercy, we have a communication department that writes and puts pictures to stories about patients, crew members and different things happening with Mercy Ships. The following story was written by Carmen Radley - there are photos with the story, but I am having trouble getting them all onto the blog. For me, this story just reminds me how much love people have for one another and also how much God can change entire lives in a single day.

Darkness Lifting
For seven years, Genevieve has been the eyes for others. She gave birth to three children-two boys separated by a girl-all with cataracts in both eyes, preventing them from seeing anything but the most subtle shifts in light and shadow. Going anywhere has been an exercise in patience and strength for Genevieve-tying one-year-old Ricardo on her back with a piece of brightly-patterned cloth, taking seven-year-old Alexis by the hand, holding three-year-old Nadege by the arm-then guiding them up steps, though thresholds, and around potholes. For years, her eyes have been vigilant guards against danger-coal stoves sitting in the corners of rooms, containers of liquid that could scald or poison, and all the daily threats that could harm her children. "Because of the blindness, I must be with them all the day," Genevieve said. "Even if they are playing, I have to watch them. In everything, I have to be right beside them." Genevieve and her husband tried to get help for their children. They visited the hospital in Glazoue, the nearest city, but they had no means to pay for the expensive cataract surgeries. The physical toll of her children's blindness was heavy for Genevieve to bear. But the emotional strain was even more difficult, for Genevieve wondered what would become of her children in a country that makes no accommodations for blindness. Genevieve also struggled spiritually. "Why is it that all my children are blind?" she thought constantly. "What did I do to God for this to happen?" To make matters even worse, she heard people cruelly whisper, "It must be witchcraft or a curse-because three blind children in one family is too unlucky." Then hope surfaced when a man in their village offered to help. Andre Affedjou, a civil servant in Benin, and his friends sometimes assist people who cannot afford medical treatment. When they heard about Genevieve and her children, their hearts were touched. "Usually we find one blind child in one family or one handicapped child in one family, but three blind children for one family was too much," Andre said. He knew that if they did not get help, they would have a very bleak future and would be dependent on others of their entire lives. Andre said, "They will not have a chance to go to school because there is no blind school in the village. But if they receive their sight, it will be a great happiness." Andre heard about Mercy Ships on the radio and arranged transportation to Cotonou and housing for the family. They came to the ship the week before Easter-three happy children, laughing, using their fingers to "see" the toys the nurses handed them, and mimicking the foreign noises of the ship. Genevieve looked pensive-daring to hope, yet unsure that her solution had finally arrived. "I hope that the children will recover their sight," Genevieve said, "and they can go to school. I will be happy if my children can see my face and my husband's face." Ken Strauss, Eye Team Coordinator and wife of eye surgeon Dr. Glenn Strauss, said that the children arrived in good health-good enough to be operated on immediately. Often, children have to be nursed for a few days before their operations, usually due to dehydration or fevers or infections. She gave Genevieve credit for the children's good health and spirits. "She is such a wonderful mother," said Kim. "The kids are so happy. Even when they were blind, they were such happy little children." And their innate joy was evident in their infectious laughter, their giggling chatter, and their dimpled smiles that wandered the room without focus. They seemed to be designed to experience life and happiness to the fullest extent. The expectation for a successful surgery was the highest for three-year-old Nadege. She hadn't been blind long enough for permanent damage, yet her eyes were developed enough for the new lens to fit well. For congenital cataract procedures, children over the age of seven often have permanent damage because the optic nerve never developes, and the brain adjusts to blindness. This was a worry especially for Alexis. For baby Ricardo, the concern was that his eyes were not developed enough for the procedure and that the lens wouldn't fit correctly. The children all received their operations on the Thursday before Easter and spent a night with their eye patched. The next morning, the surgeons, operating room nurses, and Kim assembled for the exciting moment-it was time to remove the bandages. First they removed Nadege's. "When we got the bandages off," Kim recalls, smiling, "she grabbed the doll we were holding in front of her and said, 'Bebe, bebe.' So she knew what it was, and we knew she could see." Next was Alexis, who they feared wouldn't see as well. They put the toys on the floor. He looked around, walked straight up to Dr. Glenn, and took something he had in his hand. Finally, they removed Ricardo's bandages, and then promptly returned him to his mother's arms to calm him. For some time, he lay with his eyes squeezed shut. Finally he opened one eye and glanced around. Suddenly he saw something on his mother's shirt, and he reached up and grabbed it. "When he did that, we knew he could see, too," Kim says. "It's just like a miracle! Even to Dr. Glenn, to see their vision come back is still a miracle. For him, every operation is a prayer that their sight will improve, for them to be able to function, to get around and get into things, like kids are supposed to do. And when it happens, it's just fantastic." Now Genevieve's hopes are realized. Her children will see her face, and they will know their father by sight. They will go to school, She will see them holding hands and walking outside to play on their own. The burden she carried so faithfully and lovingly is gone! The darkness has lifted! "I am so happy," Genevieve simply says. "I am so happy, I cannot tell you how happy I am."

God is good - what more can I say.