I'm leaving the ship! - What?

I realize this news will be probably be a surprise for most of you. I've decided to leave the ship a little earlier than I had previously planned. The long and short is that I will be leaving for good on Monday. I'll explain why:

I recently had a beautiful month long vacation in the states, where I met with many of you who will read this. It was very refreshing and life-giving to be home and to interact with family and friends that I had not seen for a long time. I returned to the ship feeling ready and willing to finish out my remaining three months. But then something changed. Within the first couple of days back on the ship I knew something had changed. Not with the ship or the on board community or the hospital, but with me. I felt a clear voice telling me that I didn't belong here anymore. The ship was no longer the home for me that it was for the last two years. I knew the calling was over.

I talked this over at great length with close friends and mentors on the ship to try to figure out what was happening. The conclusion we reached was that I should stay until a suitable replacement had been found for my position and if that happened soon then I would pursue leaving early. Fortunately, I started training my replacement my second day back at work.

Here comes the difficult part. I've never been great at finishing well. I wish I could say that I put 100% into my job during this past month, but honestly I struggled to find the motivation for it. I checked out some, not completely. My bosses saw this and recognized that I don't really want to be here right now, so they graciously allowed me to step aside early and move on. This is a good thing.

I didn't come to this decision lightly. I weighed it carefully with lots of input from close friends and mentors on the ship. It's just better if I go sooner, so I picked this Monday to leave. This will allow me five days to close up the life I've lived for the past two years, sell many of my belongings, and move on.

What's next is a couple of months in the Netherlands and England reconnecting with some friends I made on the ship and making some money to start up in the fall. I have applied to some graduate schools and I'm still waiting to hear back from them. If I am accepted, then I will be pursuing my Ph.D. in biochemistry for the next several years.

You may be wondering what this means for you if you are a monthly supporter. Firstly, I apologize for the short notice. I only came to this decision today, so I could not have communicated it any earlier. I think it's fairly simple though, just cease your monthly support. If you are set on automatic withdrawal, just email elizabeth.minahan@mercyships.org and she will assist you. I still have to pay my crew fees for April, so any money already given this month will go towards that and my plane ticket to Europe.

Let me say it plainly. I could not have survived these past two years without the financial and spiritual support of all of you. My monthly supporters have faithfully kept the money rolling in that has allowed me to pay my bills and live well. I know that countless prayers have been offered up on my behalf. Thank you. Akpe Kaka. Tenki Boku. Baie Dankie.

If you'll allow me to write one more paragraph, I'd like to reminisce a bit. This 27 month journey has changed me immensely. I have learned much about different parts of the world, about other races and walks of life. I have learned much about God and have witnessed his love for the poor creatures called humans. I have learned much about myself, my strengths and my weaknesses. I have felt unspeakable joy and intense pain, love and fear, rhythm and apathy, compassion and condescension, security and loss, clarity and confusion. The first time I set foot in Africa, in Togo two years ago. Getting mugged on the beach. Dear friends coming and going all of the time. Slaving away in a hot kitchen in South Africa. A sky more starlit than black on the sails. The terrible screening day in Sierra Leone. Crazy road trips to the jungles and rivers. The freedom of riding a motorcycle down the beach with palm trees swaying all around.

Future plans

I think it's about time that I let everyone know what the next year has in store for me. When I first signed up with Mercy Ships, I made a two year commitment to stay with the ship. That commitment ends in mid February 2012. I have decided that I'd like to stay a little longer. Let me launch into the details...

I met the ship at the beginning of its field service in Lome, Togo. We had a shortened six month stint because the ship was heading to South Africa for an extended shipyard period. I stayed on the ship that whole time and we sailed up to Sierra Leone in February of this year to start a normal ten month field service. Although it doesn't seem like it, our time in SL is now weeks away from being over. It's been a long field service in a lot of ways. A lot has happened here, first with the incidents at screening, then a long and sometimes dreary rainy season and now we're getting ready to close up shop. I will always look back on my time in SL with fondness and some pain.

Once we sail out of Freetown we will stopover in Ghana for about 3 weeks of rest for the crew. This will be badly needed for a lot of us long term crew. Although Ghana may not be the best place for a vacation, it is one of the most developed nations in West Africa. I spent a weekend in Accra in July of 2010 while the ship was in Togo. It even has a shopping mall with a real movie theater. I'm looking to forward to setting into a big comfy chair with popcorn and a soda as the lights fade. It's been quite a while since I've done that.

Anyway, enough about the movies. After the break we will head back to Togo for another shortened six month field service. It seems that Togo's Ministry of Health never stopped asking for us to come back and give them the extra months that we missed the first time. After that the ship will resume its normal schedule and head to the Canary Islands for two months of shipyard.

Ok, so there are the details and facts. The reason I want to stay longer is simply because I want to finish well in my job. If I left when my commitment ended in February I would be leaving right after we arrive in Togo, without fully training my replacement. Hospital supply has become very important to me. When I first arrived on the ship my job was a little overwhelming for me. But now I've settled in and made some positive changes in how supply works for the medical crew. I'm very interested in making sure the torch gets passed on well, so I want to stay until June/July of 2012 and leave the ship for good from the Canary Islands.

All of that being said, I want to recognize that I can only be here because many of you donate financially to me. Crew members have to pay rent, health and evacuation insurance and a variety of other bills. When I was fundraising two years ago, I asked people to commit to supporting me monthly for two years, because that was my initial commitment. A lot of you have faithfully written me a check every month, some even increasing their support over time. I want to say thank you to everyone who has contributed monthly or as a one time check.

I also want to say to you those of you who committed for two years that this is the end of your commitment. Feel free to cease your giving if that's what you want to do. I won't be coy about it though, I'd love it if everyone would be willing to extend their support for an additional five months. Think about it, pray about it, talk it over. If you're a monthly supporter you'll receive an email from me in a while asking for your decision so I can figure out where I stand. If you're a one time giver you won't get an additional email from me about support, but if you'd like to give again or sign up for monthly support, please contact me at cyle.davenport@mercyships.org.

Whew, money talk is over. I'm still not entirely comfortable with that stuff. In other news, I will be taking a trip home to States in March. My friend Ryan is getting married in LA and I really wanted to be there so I swung a deal with Mercy Ships to have them pay for my ticket home because I couldn't afford it. I'll be in LA in early March, then I'll be coming to New England after that for a few weeks. I intend to show up at OAC and MDC while I'm home to reconnect with everyone for a bit.

Trip to Kabala

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)-------

Some of the huts we saw on the way to Kabala

Big tree, little me

At Binta's house with the neighborhood kids

Talking to Binta and Fawne together

After the tree incident Binta started calling me Mango Monkey

More neighborhood kids during Operation Distraction

Chillin on the landy

Airplane ride for Fawne

An honest thought

This post is really to just to keep all of the people who care about me in the loop.

It's mid-field service right now. We are just over halfway done in Sierra Leone, which means daily life is becoming a bit monotonous. I'm feeling pretty run down right now. You can tell by my lack of blog posts that I'm not quite at my best recently. Life on the ship and in Africa has a way of driving a person into the ground. Just like many of you at home, stress is constantly piled on at work and in social arenas. The difference is that the ways a person learns to deal with stress at home don't work here. I can't go home and forget about work because my work is always so close by. I can't drive to the park to read by myself because there isn't a park and even if there was one I would constantly be pestered by someone trying to sell me something. I can't sip a coffee on a quiet Sunday morning because quiet doesn't exist here. You get the picture.

Many of the long term crew have taken vacations in the states or Europe. I've learned that this is an essential piece to living successfully on the ship. For me and others like me, nothing sounds better than escaping this world for a few weeks, but the money simply isn't there. We band together and try to stay positive, but it isn't easy. We've still got 4 months here and then to Ghana for a few weeks, and then a 6 month field service in Togo. It seems like there's no end in sight and I struggle every minute to stay motivated.

I fear as I write this that you'll not want to hear my complaining. My apologies if that is all this post is. Perhaps it will help a bit just to write some of this out. I know that we are here doing good things for the Sierra Leone people. I try to think of that at these times. Please remember me in your prayers. I need an intervention to keep going. Some kind of spiritual adrenaline shot straight into my heart would be nice.

Easter road trip

Four days off for Easter weekend = road trip through Sierra Leone. We rented a van and got to it. This blog is a photographic chronicle of the fun.

Our awesome road trip van, complete with flat tire and bonus flat spare tire.

Dulce is sad about flats. Fortunately, we counted on the kindness of strangers. You can see me in the back there about to get into some guy's SUV to go fix the tires.

Success. More kind strangers are always close by in Sierra Leone.

The third member of the road trip, Liz Cantu, extreme photographer.

We stopped at every bridge to see if I could jump from it.

Dulce convinced me to swim under the bridge to check the depth first. She was right, I would've broken my legs.

"Buy my goat! Good price for you!"

The African landscape burns. This is a farming technique called 'slash and burn'.

Not everything dies after it's been charred.

A peek inside van life. Dulce is probably about to do something terrible to me.

Hot outside, eh? Note the American air freshener. People in SL like us stateys.

Hungry? Just pull over and knock down a mango from a tree.

A genuine African car ferry. We balked at first...

...but then we went for it.

We just had to take a picture of this school. There's no 3 story building just out of the shot, that is the school.

Finally at one of our destinations. The van almost fell apart on those roads.

Beautiful amenities. Also included was an army of monkeys waking me up every few hours by throwing our dishes around.

Easter morning, 7am. The perfect time for a canoe trip to find some pygmy hippos.

And there they are. They weren't afraid to bellow at us when we got too close.

All smiles. Great time at the park.

The long road home...

This is what's happening

It's been a while since my last post. I hope I didn't leave anyone hanging about the outcome of the last screening day and Ibrahim. He came to the ship and got an x-ray of his foot and spine. I don't know the exact results because Ibrahim just kept saying "I'm fine, I'm fine" and the doctor couldn't tell me because of confidentiality, but I do know he is mostly healed now. We keep in touch a bit still. His daughter will have her surgery in 4 weeks and I can't wait to see the look on their faces when she comes out of the OR with no huge hernia extending from her belly. When that day comes I'll be sure to post some pictures of us. As for me, I am doing much better too. I spoke to several close friends about what happened and they helped me to unpack it all and understand it.

The ship is in full swing now. The ORs are busy cutting, breaking, reforming and stitching. The wards are busy changing dressings, checking vitals and dripping fluids. And me and my team are busy checking cabinets, carrying boxes and labeling things. I can't say enough good things about my team in supply this year. We are getting the job done in better and faster ways than I could have expected. We have a new hospital director this year and we are on our way to becoming a well oiled machine. I have taken on a new role this year as well. In addition to my regular duties in supply, I now coordinate the support areas in the hospital as well. Places like the lab, radiology, pharmacy and that kind of stuff. I am easing into my new responsibilities because supply has kept me extremely busy so far. One of the best parts about the new job is the upgrade in cabin that it comes with. As of today, I live in three man cabin instead of a four man cabin. It doesn't sound like much, but I now have my very own space including a desk and a non-bunk bed. Fantastic.

I despise writing blogs like this one that are purely informative and kind of boring, but there it is. An update was needed and I currently have no emotional energy to put into a proper post.

Ibrahim

We've been docked here in Freetown for just over a week now. So much has happened already. It feels like it's been years. For me and my supply team, the last week has been spent working long and difficult days. We have a short time to get everything set up before surgery begins next Monday and way too much to do in that time. I think I sweat out about 10 gallons in the cargo hold.

I want to mention screening day now. Some of you might have heard about the sad events that took place there. For those who haven't, I'll explain briefly. We set up for a mass screening at the Freetown National Stadium very early Monday morning. There was a huge amount of people wanting to be seen by our surgeons all packed in a small area outside the stadium. Eventually the crowd grew out of our control and there was something of a riot and several people were trampled. There were several injuries of varying degrees and one man was tragically trampled to death. We shut down screening shortly after that and we plan to try again soon.

During this time I was with a patient named Ibrahim. He came to see us yesterday because he wanted us to help his 2 year old daughter who has a terrible umbilical hernia. Shortly before the riot he was pressed up against a large metal door between the crowd and us. The stadium's security personnel suddenly slammed the door shut because the mob was unruly. The mob pushed back on the door with the force of hundreds of desperate people. Ibrahim's foot got trapped in the bottom of the door. I was there pushing on the door with the guards. None of us knew his foot was being crushed because there was too much noise. My heart sunk to my stomach when I finally made out the voice I was hearing on the other side of the door. "FOOT! FOOT! FOOT! FOOT!" It took me a few moments to convince the guards to let loose enough to get Ibrahim's foot out. Several minutes later the door reopened and people were streaming into the stadium, but Ibrahim was not in the first 50 people to come through. I found out later that he was suffering so much pain from the door that was lying on the ground trying not to get stamped on. Eventually I looked over at the door and saw two nurses dragging a man screaming in agony. He was soaked with sweat, more so than I am after a day of containers, and he looked to me like he was going to die. I rushed over to him and tried to pick him up and put him over my shoulder. He was in too much pain for that. Instead he wrapped his arms around my neck, buried his face in my cheek, and wrapped his legs around my body like a young boy would do to his father. I carried him to a safe place where we could get some water and look at his foot. We rested and talked for a long time. He told me about his daughter and showed me a picture of her condition. She has a huge protrusion from the front of her belly extending out a long way. My heart sinks again. At this time screening had ceased because of the riot, but I heard God more clearly than I ever have in my life. "Help this man. Help his daughter. Nothing else matters right now." I ran to find someone above my pay grade who could look at his foot and schedule his daughter for surgery. I took Ibrahim's camera with me to show them. I found someone quickly who could make the decision. After looking at a couple of pictures they said yes. I ran on to find some orthopedic surgeons to examine Ibrahim's foot. I found them quickly too. Even in the chaos I found them sitting and waiting, ready to help the next person who needed them. They came with me to Ibrahim and examined his foot and back. They decided he should come to the ship for an X-ray. He is coming tomorrow morning and I promised him we would fix his foot. His daughter will have her operation early in May when that type of surgery begins. I took Ibrahim to get the yellow patient cards that prove he has been scheduled and that allow him access to the ship. As soon as he saw them he grabbed them and wouldn't let go. I took him a wheelchair to the exit, bribed a motorcycle taxi driver to treat him well and sent him off on his way to go tell his family all about the day and the good and bad news.

I tried to tell him about the door. That I had my shoulder on the other side pushing and crushing his foot. I couldn't do it. When we said goodbye he was smiling and laughing despite his pain and I was smiling and laughing too, but wanting to die on the inside. Ibrahim came seeking healing for his daughter. He had no idea the price he would have to pay to get in and be seen. Our chief medical officer likes to say that all these people just want to be a part of the human race again. Ibrahim was desperate for his daughter to be restored and she will be. So he can smile and laugh and forget his sacrifice for her. What can I possibly say to him? He made me promise to call him when I got back to the ship yesterday because he was concerned about MY safety. Unfathomable.

All these thoughts and emotions are so raw to me right now. What is Jesus doing here? I don't know what his purposes are, but I have been humbled by all this. He is stirring up some things in me I'm not comfortable with. Please pray for Ibrahim, his daughter, and the people here. And please pray for me, I'm having a bit of hard time with all this.