Sam's brother Jon sent us this article yesterday by Dana Perino entitled, "How I Reset My Heart (After a Brutal Election) - My Visit to Mercy Ships." It's a long read, but fun for us as it included time she spent with our friends Keith Brinkman, Caleb Biney and David Forrest. We met Caleb in East London, South Africa at his third birthday party. Keith we met in Monrovia, Liberia two years later. Two more years passed and we served with Mercy Ships in Cotonou, Benin. Five years after that, we became friends with the principal, David. Remember - when things just don't go your way, you, too, can be as diplomatic as a hungry rhinoceros. Be blessed!
Last October, after an intense, bizarre and
exhausting day covering the election, I came home and told my husband
Peter I needed to regroup.
I was suffocating from superficiality. I needed to
reset my heart, reconnect with him, and do something together as a
couple to the benefit of other people.
So we booked a five-day trip. Our destination: Cotonou, Benin in West Africa, to visit Mercy Ships.
Mercy Ships is a surgical hospital ship whose mission
is to bring health and healing to the forgotten poor. We've been
involved with the group for several years. For this visit, we brought
along Erin Landers, the sole employee of Dana Perino and Company. She'd
never been to Africa, and it was fun to watch it through her eyes. “Did
you see that?!” She loved it. And then some.
I wrote this on the long flight home:
The trip to Benin was our second visit to Mercy
Ships. The first was in August 2013 when the ship was in Pointe Noir,
Congo. We were there for the screening day, before the surgeries even
started, when 7,500 people lined up hoping to be a candidate to be cured
of what ailed them.
Some problems are not fixed by surgery, like cerebral
palsy. Watching the gentle way the nurses turned non-surgical cases
away was heart wrenching. But they were also able to say yes to many,
and we shared their relief and joy as they moved on to scheduling. (As
an example of how much need there is in this part of the world, Mercy
Ships filled up all nine months of goiter surgeries before noon on
screening day.)
That day, a little boy, two-years-old, was in and out
of consciousness and the people in line raised up their arms and passed
him to the front. His name was Emanuel.
A doctor looked at him and couldn't see anything
wrong -- until she asked him to open his mouth. There was a tumor
growing on his palate that was obstructing his breathing. The doctors
got him stable, and Emanuel was the first to be operated on during the
ship's stay in Congo.
The surgeon was a friend we made on the ship, Dr.
Mark Shrime (Assistant Professor of Otolaryngology and of Global Health
and Social Medicine at the Harvard Medical School). Dr. Shrime
volunteers two months a year on the ship, which he has that written into
his contract (note to self).
When I talked to him in the fall of 2016, he said he'd be back on the ship in March, so we booked our trip to overlap with his.
At dinner one night, I asked how Emanuel was. Unfortunately, no one knows. They haven't heard anything since he was treated.
We know he was a healthy and happy boy when he left
the ship, and that he was loved by his mom and dad who were there by his
side. But it's also Africa -- follow up is difficult, though technology
will help the ship try to stay in contact with patients in the future.
We agreed that we must find out how Emanuel is doing.
Someone at the table had a friend who was still there, and they knew
someone who worked at the port where Emanuel’s dad worked. Six degrees
of separation applies in Africa, too. I bet Dr. Shrime that he and
Emanuel would be reconnected by April.
There were several volunteers still on the ship that
we'd met on our first trip. Some of them stay for many years. All of
them raise money from their churches and communities, including online
ones, and they pay a ship's fee to cover their expenses.
Some people, like Keith Brinkman, have spent 28 years
on the ship -- what a career he's had (and one of his financial
supporters follows me on Twitter. How about that!).
Others, like Dr. Shrime, come when they can.
Surgeons, dentists, anesthesiologists and ophthalmologists, for example,
can come for as little as two weeks, while other jobs require a longer
commitment due to training requirements or for teachers.
One of the full-timers that works in the operating
room says he loves having visiting surgeons on the ship, but if they are
there for two weeks they want to work 24/7 and get as much done as
possible, which means the others don’t get a day or two to recharge. And
one of the reasons they brought their families on the ship was to have
more time with them. There’s a lot of what we used to call “forced
family fun!”
In Benin there's a cultural custom that family
members wear the same pattern of traditional African clothing. The ship
knows a few tailors who come on and make special outfits for everyone.
When we went out one night, several of the couples
dressed in matching clothes. When in Benin! (Though Peter, Erin and I
had a bit of a uniform, too – khakis and blue shirts. "YOBOS!", we
learned, is the nickname for white people -- it wasn't an insult; rather
more playful and we laughed, too).
We made some new friends, too -- including a young
woman named Renee Joubarne from Canada who is relatively new to Mercy
Ships and works in the communications office.
She patiently drove us everywhere and served as our
interpreter. Her first service was in Madagascar. Next stop, Cameroon.
We told her that back in the States, they'd call her a “Girl Boss.” She
isn't prideful, but I think she kind of loved that title.
We met nurses from Michigan. One of them is going
back at the end of this field service to work as a travel nurse and pay
down her student loans. Her girlfriend opted to stay on and will work in
Cameroon as a ward nurse.
The head operating room nurse is from Holland and such a great leader -- I'd follow her anywhere.
The galley staff is amazing -- they make so much
food, buying local when they can, cooking birthday cakes for
celebrations, making sure anyone with a food allergy has some options,
and being so cheerful about it all.
The captain is John Barrow from Australia. Quite a character. When we were touring the ship’s bridge, I said
“What's it like to be captain of a ship that stays in port for nine
months at a time?” He was a good sport and laughed.
Captain Barrow and his wife are raising two boys on the ship. “What’s the hardest part about that?” I asked. "Boys want to run. But there's no running on the
ship. And as the rule enforcer for everyone on the ship, I'm always
telling them to stop running!" he said.
Captain Barrow said that recruiting for non-medical
staff was really important, because without the support staff (both on
and off the ship), the medical team can't do their work.
For example, he said that they really needed a car
mechanic for their fleet of vehicles. I asked if they'd tried to tap
into returning veterans who want to continue doing good work with
organized, meaningful missions, and he thought that sounded like a good
idea.
So that night during a live hit with “The Five,” I
made an appeal for a car mechanic. Well, the next day there was an
application in from a 25-year-old veteran with the required skills who
said he was interested in the job.
The night we left, he caught me in the hall and said, "You're a woman that’s good for your word."
Well, it's better than being good for nothing!" I said.
I hope I see him again one day.
There was also Timmy Baskerville, who started as a
mechanic and ended up on the communications team as a photographer.
Remember his name -- his art is powerful. He started on the ship doing
one job and ended up realizing he had a hidden talent and has a future
as an artist.
I loved talking with the dentist from Peru, and the
couple from Pennsylvania who sold everything and decided to give this a
go because retirement felt like a death sentence.
I also enjoyed a couple from Oklahoma that is raising
their three kids on Mercy Ships. The father is an anesthesiologist who
could make a big salary in the States, but they wanted this experience
for their family.
Their 11-year-old son agreed to do an interview for
my package on Fox News, but he had a question for me, too. I said, go
ahead ask me anything. But he got too shy and looked to his mom for
help.
It turns out he wondered if I knew anyone in the
States that might be willing to donate some AstroTurf that can be rolled
or folded up and put away to be stored on the ship. The only place for
them to play is on the dock and he wants to play "American football"
(not just soccer and frisbee).
“Who’s your team?” I asked.
“The Seahawks,” he said.
“Is that allowed when you’re from Oklahoma?”
“Well, I don’t want to support the Cowboys!”
“How about the Broncos then? That’s my team.”
He scoffed.
“Ok, the Seahawks it is.”
I told him I didn’t know any company off the top of
my head that made that kind of AstroTurf project but that I would ask. I
posted it on Facebook with a photograph of the cement dock where the
kids play. The first response came immediately from a man who works for
Shaw and said, “I think we can do that.” Lesson: don’t be afraid to ask.
The kids living on board attend a school called The
Mercy Ships Academy. There are thirty-five students, from nursery school
to 11th grade. The classes are taught in English. On my tour, I met
fifth graders learning synonyms and eighth graders building apps.
I talked with a social studies teacher that was creating lessons about different forms of government.
One of my favorite teachers is Miss Beth Kirchner,
who used to work for Disney and can draw Mickey for her students to
color in. Dave is their principal -- he's from Australia. Wonderful
chap. He's leaving in a couple of months and the school needs a new
principal ASAP (hint hint) so that the kids can keep attending the
school on the ship with their parents. Otherwise they'd have to go to
boarding school. "Do not want" is an understatement.
I met a William Wolfenberger from Kansas in his early
20’s who works in the engine room on the ship - before this job he'd
never been on a boat or seen the ocean. The second youngest on board,
he's grown a beard and seems to always be in a good mood, even when we
were talking about the cabin he had where his towels never completely
dried.
He is friends with Tyler Shroyer, a young man from
Ft. Wayne, Indiana. Tyler spent his time on the ship studying business
and will be going back this year, the oldest of seven boys, to help his
father grow his concrete company. He also has a blog called "From the
Barnyard to Benin."
For Christmas this year, he sold his beard at an
auction -- they get creative with gifts. Whoever won got to dye the
beard purple or pink (he has red hair). The cost of this item? $25.
“So, if I put up $26, I could get you out of it?” I asked.
“Yes, I suppose you could,” he said, a bit hopeful.
"Not that I'm going to," I said. “I don't want to spoil the fun.”
There was a girl named Anna Psiaki. Tall and willowy,
long blond hair. She's from upstate New York, one of nine children.
She's a writer on the ship -- a poet, too.
Her team says she’s the first to get to know all the
locals and has amazing stories of how people just invite her in for a
meal, ask her to babysit their children and make her special gifts.
We saw her off the ship, too, at the French Institute
where a jazz concert was playing. She was wearing a red sweater despite
the heat. It was hideous and I said so.
"It's meant to be!” she said.
It was an ugly Christmas sweater a friend had left
behind on the ship. She wore it with no inhibitions. Anna is fully
herself. I admire and envy that.
“What number were you out of the nine?” I asked her.
“I was the fifth,” she said.
“So no one paid attention to you?”
“I don’t think anyone even knows I’m in Africa.”
That was one of the funniest things I heard on the ship.
Then there was nine-year-old (almost 10!) Harry. His
dad is the second engineer who served in the Navy for New Zealand.
Harry, according to his dad, "loves the ladies." He was not shy about
saying hello and telling me all sorts of things.
“You are quite something!” I said. “You have a way with words.”
"Well, my mom says I can be about as diplomatic as a starving rhinoceros."
“Can I use that line back home on ‘The Five’?”
Permission granted. I started wondering who’d that best describe back in the States.
We met a British couple that really should have their
own reality show. Ally and Amy Jones. He's the human resources director
and she's the Nurse and Medical Capacity Building Manager. Everyone
loves these two and their great senses of humor.
Ally even took Peter surfing one morning. Well, Peter
said it wasn't really “surfing.” It was more like “fell off a short
board over and over again.” The waves are rough in West Africa, but the
temperature was perfect.
The night before, Amy was the designated driver to
get me back to the ship in time to do my Fox News TV hit. We had to
leave early, and our vehicle was blocked in. The parking attendants
shrugged and looked around without meeting our eyes. But Amy was
determined to get me back to the ship. The guys got one car moved. That
left about 14 feet of space for a 15-foot long vehicle. She started
maneuvering the vehicle. The men were all yelling instructions at her in
different languages (she speaks English, French and some of the local
language, Fon). The French military guard across the street came over to
assist – these guys seemed bemused by this red headed woman driving a
big SUV. She was confident. When she gunned it, the military guy jumped
out of the way and the others all were shocked into laughter and a
little bit of cheers. We made it with about a centimeter of space on
each side. I kept saying, "Don't worry, Amy. If I miss my hit, this will
be the best reason EVER." She was another Girl Boss. And one with a
huge heart.
They'll be leaving the ship soon for Amy to give
birth to their first baby. Ally told me her condition upon agreeing to
marry him was that he had to be comfortable living out of a suitcase.
She loves to get off the ship and work in the village, while he likes
being on board (with air conditioning and showers). A perfect match.
“Is the baby going to have to live out of one suitcase, too? I asked.
“Yes,” Ally said. “Well, ok, maybe two.”
They’ll be great parents.
Besides meeting new people, we got to see a lot more
this time as the ship has been in port for about nine months and is
preparing to leave this summer.
The hospital wards were full. Dr. Shrime performed
four surgeries our first morning (Peter and Erin went in and filmed,
while I shied away and dealt with motion sickness that morning -- which
is not the same as having morning sickness, so let's not start any
rumors).
We went to a celebration of sight where seventy
patients that very week had gone from blind to seeing in just a couple
of days. They danced and told their entire stories - no one summarized
(we had to duck out or we’d have been there all day).
Then we visited patients in the outpatient tents who
were having physical therapy to make sure everything was going well
after their surgeries. It's not of much use to have a skin graft to
repair a burn if you don't do the exercises to ensure range of motion. I
was impressed by the care -- from start to finish. No one is urged to
go home before they’re ready.
The most powerful event was a New Dress ceremony held
for three women who had their fistulas repaired on the ship. I am
particularly interested in helping to heal women who have a fistula
after their pregnancies.
I first became aware of it at the Aberdeen Clinic in
Sierra Leone where women there stayed for three weeks and got to attend
classes. The day I was there, they were learning to count to ten. Pause.
Think of that. Learning to count to ten after you’ve already had at
least one baby, probably more.
The patients get a new dress after their fistula
surgery to celebrate the fact that they’re now healed. That morning on
the ship, it was standing room only. The chaplain led the worship, the
band played songs, and the patients and volunteers sang and danced. One
of the songs lasted for twelve minutes -- it had a good beat, and I was
kind of bummed when it finished.
I was amazed that each of these women felt confident
and strong enough to stand up in front of all of us, with no
inhibitions, and give a speech -- many fistula sufferers are ostracized
for their condition and withdraw from society. Often they have their
children taken away from them. They become broken, just shells of their
former selves.
The first patient said she'd suffered from the
condition for nineteen years -- more than half of her life. She'd been
shunned and no medical care was able to address her problem. Until the
ship.
"Hallelujah!" she said. Indeed.
Then she led everyone in another song. I didn’t know
the words, but I clapped and danced next to the patient who had beat me
in Connect Four twice the day before.
"Rematch?" he said with his eyes.
"You bet," I nodded. He was good though. A Connect Four ringer.
Despite those bits of humor, I cried for the entire
ceremony -- for their suffering, for the guilt of not being able to do
more for them, and for the women who will not get this chance of a
surgical remedy.
But mainly, mine were tears of joy. And maybe some
tears of relief that my heart wasn't as hard as it felt by the end of
the election season. Then more guilt because with that thought I was
making this about me. Is there no end to our self-absorption?
One of the African volunteers (a full-timer on the
ship) who saw my tears stepped out to get me a tissue, a sweet gesture
that, guess what? Made me cry even more.
As I tried to pull myself together, I was surprised
to be called up to present one of the women with a gift. As
self-conscious as I was since I really didn’t do anything to make her
repair a reality, I wanted her to know how I felt.
I gave her an enthusiastic hug and she hugged me back as women who just understand each other.
"I'm so happy for you," I said.
She didn't speak English, but she knew what I meant.
She kissed my cheeks four times. Four is better than two in Benin.
At the end of the ceremony, the nurse in charge of
the women's clinic said to them. "All we ask is that when you leave here
today, let God walk with you. You are not alone." Yes, please do that.
Don't walk alone.
On Saturday, the ship held a party for kids from a
local orphanage called Arbre de Vie, which means "tree of life". The
young couple that runs the orphanage is from Ohio. Ashley and John
Reeves.
Ashley wore a black sleeveless dress, wedged sandals
and a red straw hat. I liked her style. She held a toddler boy named
Codjo. He called her mommy.
I wondered if they all did, but no, Ashley and John are adopting him.
He was brought to the orphanage when he was twenty
days old. His mother had had a C-section and was sent home. But the
placenta was still inside. Oh. Oh dear. What a tragic end to her young
life. Story after story like this in Africa.
The orphanage has about thirty children under its
care at any one time. They live way outside the city. I hear the place
is joyous. They do all they can with what they have. They just got
electricity last summer and a new kitchen, but their staff still prefers
to cook outside over a fire. It probably does taste better anyway.
One of Ashley and John's other kids is ready to go to
university and wants to study medicine. They've done so many great
things so far in their life, and being around people like that can make
you really question your contribution to the world.
As we walked together after an interview, she thanked me for spreading the word.
“Well, none of us ever feels like we do enough,” I said.
She stopped walking, we shifted the babies we were holding from one hip to the other.
She said gently, "But you're here. And not everyone
can be here. You have unique talents that will help us be able to stay
behind and do even more."
I nodded, speechless, and was glad I was wearing sunglasses.
THE HOPE CENTER
Martha Rodriguez runs the Hope Center. She changed
her name badge with a pen to go from public service to public servant.
She grew up in Michigan and then worked for a chemical company in
Houston.
She retired but wasn't ready to settle. She was ready to do. And doing
ended up being taking the lead at the Mercy Ships Hope Center. When she
took us on a tour, she was full of joy and energy. "Can you believe I
get to live here and do this?"
She loved every bit of it -- the local day crew she
hired all greeted her with big smiles. The children ran to her. The
mamas met her gaze that to me said, "Thank you, thank you, thank you."
The cooks make over 300 meals a day out of an outdoor
kitchen, and they were washing beautiful lettuce leaves and had a huge
bowl full of avocados (I kind of wanted one but I didn’t dare).
At one table, patients ready for surgery in the
coming week were eating with their fingers, some with gigantic tumors on
their faces that would be gone by Friday. In the heat, in their
discomfort, they all stood to greet her, smiling. (Can you believe I got
to come and see this?).
At the laundry area, several kids -- some patients,
others siblings or children of patients -- played with whatever was
handy -- a stick, a broken race car.
I gave one little girl Felt Jasper to hold and she
rubbed the soft material all over her face, put his pink Barbie
stethoscope in his ears. Then the children saw Erin and the camera
equipment and in unison they asked for what kids the world over want – a
selfie! It turns out even little babies in Africa know how to swipe a
phone.
Martha is an attractive woman. She has a long pony tail, letting her hair turn a lovely grey.
I thought I'd like to do that one day. Run a Hope
Center and have pretty hair I don't have to worry about coloring. And to
have a heart that big.
As we were leaving to go back to the ship, an older
couple came to the door. The husband was blind, walking with a cane and
being led by his wife. They'd traveled from up country and said they
were there to be pre-screened for his surgery. The problem was they were
a day early and the center was full. It was only 2 p.m., and Martha
said she'd figure it out, not to turn them away yet.
In the car, she called someone and explained that
they’d come a long distance and needed a bed. But she was told there
wasn’t a room that night and that they believed couple had a place to
stay, perhaps with family.
Martha said good-bye and then, to no one in
particular, said, "But they’ve traveled so far. There has to be a way.
How could we turn them away?"
"I could never. Ever," I said from the back seat, admiring and wanting to be more like her.
She was here and she was doing.
What was I doing?
A word about Benin. I've traveled to many countries
in Africa, and to me Benin felt the most hopeful. It has a new president
with a business background who is focused on the economy and expects
results.
One thing he likes is punctuality. So do I! But "this
is Africa" is a phrase that even locals use to explain the
inexplicable. He also tried to get everyone riding motorcycles to wear
helmets. He signed a helmet bill into law. Now, you'll see people on
motorcycles with helmets – a few wearing them properly, but others
wearing it on their knee, or on top of their headdress.
"But I am wearing the helmet, officer!"
I kind of appreciate the mix of compliance and defiance. But I do hope they start to wear their helmets.
With a stable government and a young population (65
percent of the country is under 35), and decent infrastructure in the
main cities (that's all relative in Africa), the city feels alive. And
fairly safe.
Cotonou is the economic capital, and we ate at an
Indian restaurant, Shamiana, whose pappadam were better than any I've
had in the States.
Ouidah is the cultural city where millions of slaves
died or passed through the Gate of No Return before the terrifying trip
over the Atlantic.
When we were there, busloads of schoolchildren were there on field trips. They were colorful, loud, and funny.
Looked to me just like kids look anywhere. I got a
photograph from behind as they all gathered at the sea, many of them
seeing the ocean for the first time. And I wished them well -- that
they'd have peace and opportunity and that they'd keep giggling like
that.
Finally, we met the U.S. Ambassador, Lucy Tamlyn and
her husband Jorge Serpa, wonderful representatives of the USA in a
country that aligns with America's interest for freedom and opportunity.
They are wonderful people who have both dedicated their lives to
foreign service.
Peter and I feel lucky to know them – they have the
best stories! (Like when Jorge was evacuated in Chad…TWICE). I finished
my trip feeling like Benin had a hopeful future.
And not to be left behind on the ship, I took Caleb
Biney with me. Caleb is fourteen and lives on the ship with his family.
He's a part of Scholastic’s young journalism program, and was able to
interview Amb. Tamlyn for an article for Scholastic’s News Kids
magazine. He was also taller than both of us.
As we left the ship, I told Peter I want my obituary to say, "Loved hellos. Hated goodbyes."
Humans can make friends easily, if they are open to
it and are interested in other people. There's so much cultural and
language diversity on the ship, but we all bonded over something that
means a lot more than anything else I do every day -- to serve others
who need our help, and to do it selflessly and joyously.
It's actually rather simple. It just took traveling halfway around the world for me to be reminded of it.
We accomplished what we set out to do -- reset our priorities and reconnected with each other.
And now...back to our previously scheduled program,
but with lighter hearts and renewed enthusiasm for the things that
really matter.
