My life on the ship: August 2011

I was given a chance to go 200 miles inland and visit some former patients with the communications team from the ship. This is what happened:

We run down the gangway in the pouring ran and climb into the land rover, tossing our packs in the back. The traffic slowly tapers away as we get further and further away from Freetown. The rain doesn't. We splash through countless puddles and cross bridges over brown rushing rivers. The six hour drive to Kabala zooms by as we pass huts and waving shouting children. The mountains surrounding the road are shrouded in mist, but we can still make out towering black rock faces inadequately covered by fresh grass. It looks like the top of my steadily balding head.

Kabala itself reminds me of Cape Town. It has a giant black cliff shadowing over the village, much like a younger cousin of Table Mountain. Our accommodations are the best that the village has to offer. We have real mattresses, water in buckets for flushing, semi-reliable power from 7pm-midnight, and the blackest quietest night you can imagine. We are told breakfast will be ready at 7am, so after a dinner of peanut soup and rice, we turn in. Breakfast is better than I could have imagined and definitely better than any breakfast you can get on the ship. We have instant coffee and baguettes filled with fried eggs. It really hit the spot. It's raining again and our former patients are waiting, so we don't delay in departing the guest house.

We drive into the center and spot Binta and her family waiting for us under the tin roof of auto parts shack. Binta had a leg-straightening surgery on the ship several months ago. Her legs used to be turned inward sharply at the knees, making walking difficult and running impossible. In her type of surgery, the bones below her knees are snipped and adjusted, so recovery is no simple process. After weeks of casts and then weeks of physiotherapy, you can't tell anything was ever wrong with her legs. She squeals when we pull up, especially at the sight of Liz because they spent hours together on the ship. With her are her grandmother and pregnant auntie. I asked Binta's auntie later where her mother was. She simply said "Her mother is not here." I don't know if that means she died or if she lives in some other village. As is the case with almost every Sierra Leone family I've met, the father is not around and perhaps not even known.

Twenty children instantly surround us. They aren't begging for money or asking for food, they just want to see what's happening. We all begin walking to Binta's grandmother's house. We cross through houses for shortcuts. In and out of dining rooms, over drainage ditches, through vegetable markets. We see piles of garbage and trees full of vultures. The houses are close together and the people are extremely community minded. I think it must be birthed from necessity, but that doesn't matter. No one looks malnourished or even unhappy. Most of the people I see are working or doing chores. We walk on muddy roads, stepping on mossy rocks. There is fog and wood smoke in the air, and the locals will say it's very cold, although the temperature is not below 75. Many houses have small gardens with ten stalks of corn growing tall and little cucumber plants. There are mangy dogs everywhere and twitching cattle tied to trees. We cross on stepping stones over two babbling brooks with a large rice paddy between. Binta's auntie, 7 months pregnant, is very concerned about helping us traverse the stones safely. We stroll alongside each other behind the rest of the group, singing a song we both know back and forth. She moves with the rhythm of the song and I stumble along attempting to walk-dance. She tells me I'm pretty good for a white guy. I'll gladly accept that.

After a while, we arrive at the house. Along the way we everyone greets us with "Ow de mornin?" We respond "Fine Fine." The children come up to me and say "Ma lef is nor ma own," the Krio interpretation of my tattoo. I'm not sure why we went to the house, because we only stayed for five minutes before going back to the car. As soon as we get there, Binta's auntie runs inside the house and reappears with a teakettle. She says she wants to wash my feet. In my head I hear a million monologues arguing over whether I should allow this. In the end I just look down and notice that my feet are dirty, so I accept. On the way back to the car I walk hand in hand with little Binta and we talk softly about the friends she made on the ship and I tell her how everyone is doing. She tells me that some of the people in the village call her 'Legs' now, not in a demeaning way, but in a proud way. I think it suits her.

When we get back to the car the other former patient is waiting there for us. His name is Fawne and he had the same procedure done as Binta. His surgery was later though, and he isn't as confident on his 'new legs'. We all pile in the land rover and drive over to Fawne's brother's house on the other side of the village. Just like before, as soon as we arrive twenty curious kids surround us. Unlike before, the team wants to do a real sit-down interview so they need some quiet and a distraction free environment.

So just like that I have my first job on the trip. I have to distract twenty kids so they won't run off and crowd around Fawne. Binta dares me to climb a mango tree, and I accept without really thinking. It surprised me to learn that the kids here don't really climb trees much, so they were very entertained to see me doing it. To them everything is very entertaining when a big white man does it. There's a small riot when I start hooting and howling like a monkey. I got about fifteen feet up before realizing getting down was not going to be easy. The trunk was covered in moss and quite slippery. I eventually got down, but not before gaining an interesting moss stain on my clothes and tearing my shorts a bit. I figure next we should try a little education. The land rover is dirty enough to write on so I try writing a few words that I thought they might know. Before long it turns into a game of who can make the most interesting design on the land rover. Next I went to the old standby, airplane rides. I spot a brave looking boy and beckon him over to me. I instruct him to put out his hands and hold onto mine. I grab his wrists and we start to move around in a circle, gaining speed. He doesn't understand what I'm doing until he's airborne. There's another small riot as a spin him around and around. I do another 30 airplane rides, and even a couple from the feet for the braver kids. One girl keeps trying to hand me a tiny naked baby, but every time he sees what I look like, he becomes very distraught.

By the time the interview is finished I'm totally exhausted, not to mention pretty dizzy. We take Binta and Fawne back to their houses in the car, wave goodbye and set our course for the coast. It's a whirlwind of two days and I can't help but crash in my cabin and go to sleep immediately.

It was a life-giving trip. It wasn't just being able to get off the ship and relax a little. Something about walking around the village and entertaining the kids has given me some hope. I don't have Africa figured out. I can't seem to classify the people and tuck them away in the compartment in my brain labeled 'What makes African people tick.' I've experienced moments of petty selfishness and moments of transcendent love.

Thanks for your prayer and encouraging notes and emails after my last post. At this moment I feel uplifted and ready to face the next few months.

All photos by Liz Cantu (click for larger view)-------