Seized by needs

Our clothing tailor's son has bowed legs. I (Jeff) am not sure if you read that and thought, "you have a tailor? Wow, that must be nice" or if you noticed that his son, Alpha, has bowed legs and can't run like most 10 year old boys.

Or if you were here and saw that all the slums and dumps are constantly on fire because everyone burns their waste — plastics, trash, leftover tins, and whatever else — what you you take away from that event? This is normal everyday living. There's so much smoke that I wake up on the ship with the air filters and still smell plastic smoke. I get to complain about this, but people live here — people live in the dump (to be absolutely clear, I'm not speaking metaphorically. I mean the "dump" as where the city takes its trash, just like our own cities or towns).

It is really hard to not be overcome by guilt every day. We can focus on just the wrongs, injustices, and hurts. We can see how we live in luxury and are infinitely better off than this gentleman in the wheelchair at the gas station asking for a conversation and help. What do you do in that moment? 

What if that was the third or fourth (I lost count that day) person who came to you in the last 5 minutes? How emotionally tired would you have been after seeing the need of the old woman with a cane and distorted foot, or the other woman who asked for help?

I encourage you to further explore opportunities you may already be loosely connected with — or, if none exist, then to explore opportunities. It doesn't have to be Mercy Ships. It could be a food pantry, local mission, or homeless shelter. It is easy to be overwhelmed by all the needs. There is need back home, but we're simply desensitized to most of it. I share this not to create shame, guilt, or even action. Nor am I any better than anyone else. I had a conversation with a friend tonight where he reminded me that friends back home told him "Wow, that's so great what you're doing. I could never do that." I question that. There is not two tiers of people such as those who can move away and take on a title such as "NGO worker" or "missionary" and then "everyone else". No, we all encounter need on a daily basis. We all have the ability to become overwhelmed and want to hide under our bed covers; it is a lot easier to pretend it does not exist. 

I don't have answers. I do know I am getting better at embracing sadness. I'm getting comfortable having a conversation with a complete stranger, praying for them, acknowledging them as a person (vs as a "thing" or being invisible). By doing that, I am giving them something that we all long for: dignity. Perhaps that is what I want for you: to be able to mourn with those who mourn and to give dignity.

So the next time I see Alpha with his bowed legs, I will continue to acknowledge him as a person. I also will not give a handout to the next person who asks but neither will I brush them off as if they are a nuisance. They are not. They are human (made in God's image) just like me.

A Story Of Hope And Healing

 **I have patient and Mercy Ships permission to use the first name and age of a patient on this blog. No photos will be used, but this amount of patient info is allowed**

Right now is "ortho season"in the hospital. What this means is 6 weeks of orthopedic surgery with an average of 2 patients a day. 95% of these surgeries are straightening either bow legged or knock-kneed children ages 4-14. I have the absolutely privilege of meeting these kiddos and parents the day before surgery, taking some measurements of their crooked legs and seeing them again the day after surgery when they have full leg casts on. From there we are doing exercises in bed, then standing and even walking with the casts on! As I have written previously, healing takes a long time here so the casts will be on for months. Then the fun of strengthening legs after cast removal, and finally the patient can go home! It's a long journey but absolutely life changing for these kiddos. 

Isatu (Eye-Sit-Too) is one of my ortho kids. She is about 10 years old and from a very small town that she has never left. She is here with her dad (all kids get 1 caregiver while they are here) while her mother is home with her siblings. The whole family is giving up a lot for her to be here, but they are also excited for this opportunity to change her life. She speaks a dialect of language here not a lot of people know, which makes her and her father feel more isolated. When I first met her the day before surgery she was very shy and would barely look at me or my translator. She kept her very bent legs covered under a dress and her eyes were at the floor. Her father looked desperate for help for his daughter. 

I saw her 2 days later after her surgery as she was in bed, dad at her side with 2 long leg casts up to mid-thigh. Eyes were looking at the other kids who also had the same casts, especially the girl next to her who was about the same age. She speaks a different language but I could tell it was making Isatu feel "normal" for the first time. What a gift. 

She is now about 2 weeks post surgery. Leg casts are now bright pink with flowers and stickers all of them. She can walk about 100 ft with a walker and dad by her side. She smiles and waves at me when she sees me in the hallway. I'm learning a few words in her language from her and she giggles at my pronunciation. 

Today I walked her down to radiology for her first x-ray since surgery. We lined her up and I took dad and the translator around the corner so we could see the picture of his girls legs. When that x-ray of those STRAIGHT legs came up on the screen that gentle giant papa wept. He hugged me and grabbed my hand and said Tenki Tenki Tenki (Thank you thank you thank you) over and over. The radiologist showed him the x-ray from before the surgery and then back to the new x-ray for today. We got little Isatu and brought her into the x-ray booth to show her and she cried and hugged her dad. 

As much as we could all see her casts and knew those legs were straight under there, something about seeing that x-ray made it real. Her legs are straight! She will walk normal and go to school and live her life. 

I brought her back to her room, gave her a hug and dad stopped me again. Through the translator he told me he is thankful for me. Thankful I left my home to come here. Thankful I love his daughter. Thankful for the kindness of strangers. We talked openly about Hope and Healing. Hope for a brighter future of Isatu and the Healing of her legs. But then I could tell him of the Hope I have in Jesus. Healing of our lives not only physical bodies. 

I have the best job ever. This place is magical. God is doing things here and I get to be part of it. Pray for Isatu. Pray for her dad. Pray I can keep having amazing conversations while I witness hope and healing. This is one patient and one day out of hundreds. I am excited for what is next as we serve Sierra Leone. 

Family on a recent hike! 

Busy Season

 The words "Busy Season" have a unique meaning in the Beaumont household. For much of our marriage Jeff worked as a CPA (Certified Public Accountant) as an auditor and had a Tax Season aka Busy Season. This stretched from January to mid-May and meant he was working 50-80 hours a week and was really only home to sleep, shower, change clothes and leave again. So when I say our family is in a busy season of life here on Mercy Ships, I don't mean THAT kind of busy season. Just a little more crazy than the normal. 

A big part of why right now feels a little extra chaotic is that the kids have a break in school for 7 weeks. Yep. SEVEN. Back at home it would be 2 weeks only so this has been an adjustment. There are two very long semesters here with a 7 week break now and a 9 week break for summer. That's it. With no spring break, thanksgiving break, etc the semesters feel very long and now this break feels too long. Definitely not my preferred schedule, but we are learning how to deal with it. The kids are able to open the cabin door and find friends easily, but we all just feel a bit off routine. 

Because of this long break, some families go home/are traveling right now. With this comes some "holes" in jobs, so Jeff is covering extra departments. While being Finance Director normally keeps him plenty busy, he is also Operations Director and Chief Steward while those people are on time off! He has extra meetings, a pager to carry around and learning different departments. Thankfully he is well supported by these departments, but it does make his schedule extra full.

For me, the rehab department is in a time of transition. We are discharging our plastic surgery patients (mostly burn wounds/contractures) and admitting our orthopedic patients (knock knees and bowed legs). Both discharging patients and admitting patients comes with increased time and paperwork, even in a world of no health insurance. Anyone who knows me back home knows I LOVE what I do and consider myself extremely blessed to have found a job that I daily cannot believe I get paid to do. I feel the same way here and truly believe I have the best job on the ship. Balancing the time I spend with my kids while they are on school break with the time I have with the patients in the hospital is truly a balancing act. 

The ship is general just feels busy. Even though all of the Christmas activities are over, there are more people arriving on ship every weekend. Last weekend nearly 60 new Mercy Shippers arrived, so that means cleaning new cabins, new ID badges, new everything. See previous post on all of the "Hellos!" and "Goodbyes!". 

All of that to say, keep praying for us in this busy January. Keep sending those texts/Marco Polos/Emails saying hi, giving us updates on your lives and encouraging us. We are thankful for each person who reads this blog, loves us well and encourages our hearts in this worthwhile work. 

Questions? Thoughts? Suggestions for my next blog? Let us know! 

Comings and Goings.

While it may seem intuitive to you, it's not something Jeff or I emphasis in this blog is that living in Africa is HARD. Some days, VERY HARD. This is just the reality of the situation. I posted a bit about this in my post about working in the hospital, but this is also true of life on board, even outside of the hospital. 

Loving people well and living in community necessitates hard things. 

Our family believes in loving people big and loving them with so much of our heart, that it also has the opposite side of the coin in that relationship with others will bring the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. This is seen the most in saying goodbyes. 

While we are here for 2 years and considered long-term crew, there are short-term crew who stay for as little as 2 weeks but also up to 6 months. We work with them, have meals with them, go to the market in a shared vehicle, etc. It is impossible to isolate yourself to just long-term crew, but this means a lot of goodbyes. As much as we guard our hearts and know the date of when friends are leaving, it is still heartbreaking when the day comes. And this time of year a lot are leaving to be home with family for Christmas. While this makes sense, saying goodbye to so many all at the same time is one of those "Hard Things". The past few days have brought more than a few tears as we give final hugs, confirm WhatsApp numbers and pray for safe travels. 

So people leave expectantly, there are also the unexpected. Sick family members back home. Family Emergencies. These are obviously harder because we thought we had more time and then they are gone. Some may return but that in unknown and we really are saying "I may never see you again". 

And all of this I am saying from the adult perspective. The kids are also meeting short-term and long-term crew who are leaving expectedly or unexpectedly. Teaching them to love people well but the possibility that anyone could leave at anytime is a challenge for Jeff and I, let alone to show the kids. 

Sam's new Star Wars loving friend Amy from Australia

Goodbyes to other kids are especially hard

All of this to say: Pray for us. Pray we say goodbye well. Pray we don't guard our hearts too much and be afraid to love new people coming. We absolutely love living in community and opening our door to see friends. 

Questions about life onboard? Reach out anytime! We love emails/text/WhatsApp/etc

Christmas Festivities 2024

 Christmas is a big deal aboard a Mercy Ship. There is something Christmas related almost everyday of December and can actually get quite overwhelming at times!

Some of our favorite activities have been the multicultural/international ones where we learn more about how friends from around the world celebrate Christmas. We loved Sinterklaas (The Netherlands), Carols by Candlelight (Australia and New Zealand), Christmas Ceilidh (Scotland) and Santa Lucia (Norway/Sweden/most of Scandinavia).

Sinterklaas!

Carols by Candlelight

We have also enjoyed some traditions from home, but in a new way here. Things like finding a hidden Elf everyday, making gingerbread houses, being part of a Christmas play at school, and a Christmas door decorating contest! 

The Elf hiding in a window!

Gingerbread house contest

Sadie was The Star in the Nativity Play

Jeffs Finance Director door decorating like Marley and Scrooge Accounting Services!

An extra fun thing has been decorating the hospital with my patients. We have made paper chains, paper snowflakes (funny for people who have never seen snow!), and just tried to make being in the hospital more fun. The patients also sang a song in Krio (the language here) during our Carols by Candlelight celebration. Seeing my kids interact with my patients make my heart so happy. 

See those cute little shepherds at the bottom? Those are all of the rehab therapists!

Sorry I can't show any of the cute patients I have been working with, but just believe me that they are very sweet, thankful, amazing people I feel privileged to serve everyday!

Anything else you would like to see? Questions for us? Let us know! 

Love you all and we are so thankful for the big and small ways you have loved us this special season. We have received boxes with candy, stockings, notes from home etc from many of you and it really does recharge our batteries to help us keep doing the work in front of us. The FaceTime calls and texts of "Thinking of you!" and "Love you!" really make a difference. 

A Typical Saturday

Disclaimer: if you're afraid of run-on sentences then this may not be the post for you.

Saturday.

Saturday is hard to describe. So, with that, I'll attempt to describe it.

Breakfast: normal breakfast of coffee, eggs, and yogurt. From there, met Sallymae, my co-volunteer, at 10am at the dock for a keke ride (three-wheeled taxi...somewhere between a covered motorcycle and small car). We were headed to the fabric markets. She had Whatsapp'ed a driver who said he'd be there but it was clearly not the same person. The driver we expected had been robbed last week and we were supposed to be in a white keke and this was quite a colorful one. Odd, but okay. Let's move on.

Then we negotiated a rate and off we went into the hot, smelly roads of Freetown. About 30 minutes to go what would have been 5-6 minutes with no traffic and he dropped us off. Then we hiked because he dropped us off at the wrong end of Malama Thomas Rd. As we walked through the fabric market I looked over and the lady I typically buy fabric from waved at me. I promised her I'd come back. I've been to her store several times before and always brought friends.

We were looking for a specific store—one with large bolts of fabric—because we needed to buy enough for the team (typically 3 to 5 yards per person). We went to where we thought we should have been, and it looked wrong. But we searched anyway. I bought some hot chili peppers as I was looking at another stall where they were cutting up chickens. Another lady tried to sell me an avocado. I said no.

We then found the place we thought it was supposed to be. The owner is Isatu. Here she is and her shop.

I still don't think we found the right person, but se la vie. We found some beautiful fabrics. We negotiated but she remained firm so we decided to leave. Then she began budging. Aha, okay. Good to know. We said we would come back even though I wasn't sure we would.

So we went back to my favorite store where the lady is wonderful, helpful, and honest. We found great fabrics but of lesser quality. So, in that situation, I picked up a few that I liked and bought them. I showed her a picture of my daughter because I wanted to buy her a dress and she was delighted. She gave me two yards of a beautiful blue. It was an honor to receive that, even though she has so little. There's a beauty in learning to accept a gift from someone who has so little. I didn't realize it in the moment, but I gave her dignity by accepting it. And then I promptly bought more. Smart businesswoman.

As we walked back to the first shop, a van tried to drive by in this narrow street, filling the air with all sorts of pollution (it was bad). And it was stuck. It could not move through so all store owners had to pull their things away from the van to let it go by and it knocked over items along the way. It eventually passed after several minutes. 

I warned you about run-on sentences.

We eventually bought the fabrics after negotiations and getting Isatu down a little bit. But success! So we headed to Crown Bakery for water, a beef shawarma wrap, and then to get a keke home. Little did I know that would be more exciting.

After leaving a delightful lunch with my friend Sallymae, we headed back. We found a keke who was the most aggressive driver I've yet had (and that is saying something). he went around all sorts of vehicles, up hills, and went 70 kph in the three-wheeled keke. I should add, there are no seatbelts, doors, airbags, or much in the way of structure to keep us safe should we blow a tire or hit a car. It would be a trip to the hospital. And even though we are a surgery ship, it's not trauma, so it would be to a local hospital. Ibrahim, our driver, quickly grew fond of me, realizing I'm an American and could help him. 

When Sallymae and I hopped in, there was already a local Sierra Leonean passenger. Our driver kicked him out and told him to get another keke. This grieved us as this is typical that locals will get kicked out because foreigners bring more money and are "worth more". We are not the first, nor are we the last. It is very sad. It's something I try to avoid whenever possible but is something we are sensitive to — we want to help but often being the foreigner gets in the way and disrupts the local economy in more ways than we can see. 

As Ibrahim drove fast, he started saying he loved me. I wasn't sure if it was a language issue. Did he mean "love"? Did he mean something like "I like you"? Or, as I learned, he was more interested in trying to get a job from me because he realized I was a white person and white people pay well and always need locals. Ah, okay, I get it now. Again, this grieved me. It saddened me but I recognized the game I was in. Don't do anything dumb because he's racing through traffic and going 60-75 kph. Then he wanted my WhatsApp. Ah, it's becoming even clearer. 

We eventually got dropped off by the ship, got his WhatsApp number, and then as we walked to the ship agreed that we don't want to do business with him. He's too loose. He wanted a loan to buy a keke, promising me that he will pay me back. he was also pretty reckless of a driver, unlike the first one who was quite defensive.

Whew! Back at the ship and it was only 2pm. I was going out that night to a play. So I rested, went to the gym, and then had an early dinner. Then back to the dock at 5pm.

The play was called Fantasia and would be at the Radisson Blu hotel in Freetown. I expected it to be dark and likely sad and potentially gruesome because it was about kush a local synthetic drug. Highly addicted and makes people into zombies. It's really destroyed many young men here. So much so that you can find short documentaries on YouTube (like this one). We left early because we were caravaning and we were unsure about traffic.

But not 10 minutes out of the gate and one of our vehicles in front of us gets in the right lane and completely fishtails around the road. Thankfully, they did not hit anyone and everyone was safe, but it was scary nonetheless. We got out, inspected the car. Everything seemed fine, except the rear tire was a bit low. A few people inspected it and it seemed fine. Then we got back in. While following them, it realized something was off. It wasn't good so we tried to radio them. Our radio stopped working — what luck. So then we honked, waved at them, and did everything for 30 seconds to get their attention. Finally, they looked saw us, and pulled over. From there, it was another ordeal to call back, relay what happened, and figure out next steps. A few people stayed behind in the car to get it taken back and the rest of us ventured on. It was yet another stressful moment but we were thankful there were no injuries or accidents. Land Cruisers can tip over easily, especially with how that one was behaving. 

We get there 10 minutes before 6pm and then they said they were running behind and needed 30, no, 40 minutes. Great. We'll grab a drink, sit down in the hotel, and wait. 

The play was great. Turns out, when the Spanish embassy runs a play called Fantasia, you shouldn't think of Disney and Mickey Mouse when you pronounce it. You should say it like it was a Spanish word: fahn-tuh-SEE-uh. Oh, that makes a lot more sense. And likely also helps any copyright issues.

It was about kush the drug but it was hilarious, provocative, and whimsical. Without giving away the story, it was a thoughtful curation about the inner life of someone stuck in the hole who uses kush as an escape from a dad who beats him relentlessly, has no hope, is told he's a failure, and doesn't believe he's worth anything. Ouch. When you start from zero and end at zero, what should we expect? There was only one hope: fantasy. But even that hope is no real hope. There's hope in Jesus, but not in our own escapes, in our own dungeons, in drugs, or even in forgiving ourselves. 

It was great being out with fellow volunteers to get off the ship, explore Sierra Leone, and find and support a fledgling playactors group. There were 70 people and easily half were from Mercy Ships. They appreciated our coming out and supporting them. I appreciated what they were doing with trying to tell the story of kush and what impact it has here. 

We went home. Thankfully, it was a safe and uneventful ride home. But it is days like this where you realize so little is in your control: whether it is trying to find a poorly marked fabric shop, seeing chickens getting cut up just a dozen feet from the fabric market, sticking out like a sore thumb, inhaling tons of fumes, being asked for money by many people, wild keke drivers, desperate keke drivers, or cars breaking down, it really does help remind me that very little in life is under our control. Life back home in America felt very controlled. This is the antithesis of that feeling. There's a wild beauty here. I love it. I find it amazing and yet exhausting. Coming back to the ship represents a western first world place where I have a bed, electricity, internet, raw vegetables that I can eat, cereal, clean bowls and plates, and my family. It's important not to make a dichotomy but to experience and see life and culture as something breathtakingly spectacular, and also fiercely wild and uncontrollable. 

I can let my guard down on the ship. Okay, that is great, but this is not where I am called. I'm called to serve and love those around me, and while most of my job is on the ship, I am also here to participate and enjoy meeting people on land, to talk with Isatu and her daughter who is studying financial accounting, or to make friends with Alimamy who is one of our funniest day crew or Francis, another day crew, who is doing this because it pays well, but he wants to get back into accounting which is what he studied. How can I make a difference there? How can I help both of these men? Not in a white savior mentality. Perhaps it is staying out of their way. Perhaps it is helping them with connections. Or perhaps it is simply a smile, accepting a gift, and watching them obtain something far greater: their sense of worth and dignity. 

These are some of the typical Saturdays. It is weird, wacky, and unpredictable. But it's not just what I do or what's done to me, but it is living in the ambiguity, in the grey. It is asking and being asked these questions. It is exhausting. But it is life-giving. Perhaps my role is finance, but is that it? Or could it be more?

Mariatu's Money

Mariatu works down on deck 4 of the ship in the hospital. She is one of our wonderful day crew who come on board to serve in a variety of ways. For her, it is radiology.

Last week was payday, and while it worked for everyone else, she said it didn't go through. "Ugh! I thought we got through all these technical and banking issues." See, day crew are paid through an online mobile payment app (think Venmo Business, but you can pay a massive amount of people). I was out of the office on Friday, so I asked someone on my team to investigate. 

Our system said she was paid. The bank confirmed it. She told Hugo, her manager, she was not paid. So what do you do in moments like these? I never experienced in this in the US — it always just "worked".

The bank said she could come to the bank and discuss, but I could tell it would not be a two-way dialogue. Hugo, Mariatu's manager, came back to me and said if she goes to the bank, then she would have to take a half day to travel and would get nowhere because the bank would not help. Sadly, I think the manager's view is correct. But then the manager said something that brought the real issue into perspective: she has no voice, no agent, no counselor, no support. No one had her back.

See, what Hugo was communicating to me is that while, yes, technically, she could go to the bank to resolve it, nothing would be resolved. If we think there is a breakdown of trust in America or Europe, we still have tons more inherent trust that wrongs will be righted. But for many here, there isn't even a semblance of trust breaking down because there wasn't any to begin with.

Mariatu has no voice. No one would believe her. No one has her back. Hugo was imploring me to go with her to the bank because I have a voice, and if I spoke up, people would listen. Sadly, my "voice" comes from being white and from being American. Mariatu has neither. She was going to be heartbroken and lack a remedy. She, in her mind, would lose her two weeks of pay. She's better off than most: her husband works and has a good job, she does not live in the slums, and she speaks English, among other strengths. Imagine if she lost two weeks of pay and did not have a safety net.

In the end, she did get her money, and it was a technical issue. She received the correct amount on the correct day, but the bank notification failed, and we worked through that. However, though that paycheck has a "happily ever after" ending, her life is marked with being invisible, forgotten, and ignored. Mercy Ships mission statement is "We follow the 2,000-year-old model of Jesus, bringing hope and healing to the world’s forgotten poor.". I like that. However, I always believed it was about the patients and their families. This week I received the opportunity to expand my understanding: it is not just about patients and families, but our day crew such as Mariatu. It is the security guard that I respect at the pizza place. It is Max in the dock — and Moses and Salah, too. It Isatu in the fabric market. It is also the other lady I buy my fabric from, whose name I cannot recall and feel guilt that I cannot (and wish I would strike that sentence so you didn't know I forgot).

The day crew is my mission field.