"This will make a great story someday"

A few months ago our family signed up for a race in a town called Makeni. 

This is about 3 hours away from Freetown (where the ship is docked and Sierra Leones capital). A group of about 50 people from Mercy Ships signed up to do this race together. We had done a similar race in October in a different town and really enjoyed it in support of the nonprofit Street Child. Jackie and the kids would do a 5k and Jeff a 21k. Our group would take Mercy Ships Land Cruisers on Friday afternoon, spend a night in a hotel, and wake up early Saturday morning to run then return Saturday afternoon. No big deal, right?

Before it even started, on Wednesday night Jeff began to feel a little bit sick from the smoke so he went to bed early and then woke up Thursday still feeling a bit sick. So he took tons of vitamins because he didn’t want to be sick for the race. So, again, he went to bed early Thursday night got up Friday. Felt a little OK but still pretty fatigued. Then at 1pm we drove to Makeni and got there in good time, even sitting in the 37°C heat! We got checked in and brought our things to our room on the 3rd floor. All looked good... very basic but fine (we had a sink with running water, a bed, and a toilet seat!). We decided to eat dinner at the hotel and let the kids swim for a bit with friends.  Jeff had the keys to the car, and another family decided they wanted to get food from somewhere else, so he left to drive the dad to get some food. While at the pool a big wind/dust storm blew in. This is fairly common in this area this time of year so they kids and adults around all ran into the hotel dining room to wait out the storm for maybe 10 minutes.

   The windstorm was beautiful!

After the wind had died down I (Jaclyn) realized I could turn on the AC in our room, so I went upstairs to turn it on. I couldn't even open the door because there was planks all over the floor and our ceiling had fallen down! 

The boards that fell in our room and the open ceiling!

Completely in shock and just thankful I was not in the room at the time of the storm, I went down to reception to let them know. Apologizing profusely, they found the one available room for us to stay in. It was right next to the reception desk in the welcome area but we would take it. They needed to quick clean it, but they said it would be ready in 10 minutes (it took 40).  My friend Ruth and I got our things out of the room and waiting for the room to be clean. Finally Jeff came back from getting food for our friends and he was able to see the damage in our previous room. Our dinner was ready, so I went back out to the pool area to eat with the kids and Jeff would move our things in to the room when it was ready in 5 minutes. Perfect. All would be good now. :) 

After dinner of Shawarma, chicken, and fries (yum!) I was ready to take a shower and get to bed early before the race. I let Jeff know I'm going back to the room and he assures me he will be there soon. Great. I open the door to our room and there is 2-3 inches of water on the ground and I can hear the water still running! Oh. My. Gosh. Since we are right next to reception I let them know and get the water turned off. Once again, apologizing profusely, the hotel manager and staff are taking buckets of water out of our room. Thankfully our bags were on top of the bed, but Jeff's running shoes for the next morning were wet. About 45 minutes later (it's now 9:45pm) all water is out and towels soaked up the rest, They had to turn off the water to our room so no sink, shower, toilet. Fine. Let's finally get to sleep!! 

This being the mop water, it honestly wasn't so bad.

One of many buckets of water from our room!

"We're sorry, but we will need to come back in 30 minutes to make sure it doesn't flood again."

So we want about 20 minutes, I (Jeff) pop out and let them know it's not leaking and that we're going to bed. I need to be up at 5 and it's 10:15pm. My shoes are drying, there is no running water in the sink, toilet, or shower. So we use our bottled water to brush teeth, carefully make sure nothing is on the ground in case it floods again, and go to sleep.

At 2am, I hear the football game (Americans call it soccer) from the TV right outside our room. I get up, put on my flip flops and don't hear any swishing water, give thanks, unlock the door, and loudly whisper "we're trying to sleep! Turn it down" to which the four or five night crew sitting in reception were shocked, surprised, and confused. Eventually they figured out that they woke up the people who are having such great luck. I get back in bed, thankful again that I hear the AC is still running and the water is not. I fall asleep. About 4am the AC goes off but it's at least cool enough. 

5am I wake up to both my alarm clock and the local mosque's call to prayer. Good reminder. 

We're all so happy at 5:45am

The race goes well. Jeff ends up feeling fine! We had a great time and even had some personal bests in our run times. But this is a trip we won't soon forget!

Sunrises are gorgeous

The beauty of creation. Running 21k with these sights made it so much more enjoyable!

A must have at the halfway point: the obligatory coconut

We finished after all. Whew.

Sunday night, as we recap the trip with some friends, we ask, "How was your weekend?" They respond: "Oh, nothing like your weekend. Our whole family just got lice."

"I am Thankful for the Gift of Life"

Every Thursday the rehab department has "Thankful Thursday". This includes all PT's and the daycrew (people who live in country but help with translation, cleaning, and a million other tasks). We go around the circle and say what we are thankful for. 

The normal things come up: happy to be at Mercy Ships, thankful for our families, friends, children, food to eat etc. More specifics things to here like being thankful for a patient healing and going home. 

But every week, every day crew, without fail, start their Thankful Thursday with "I am thankful for the gift of life". At first I thought this was extreme... of course it's great I'm alive but was I really thankful for it everyday? 

The longer I have been here the more this has made sense. Life expectancy in Sierra Leone is 62 years old. That's it. One of my day crew is 55 and talks about how he won't be here much longer. WILD. Also, without access to healthcare, most vaccines, or preventable treatment people die from things here they wouldn't back home. People here can't afford a varied diet and your body can't live forever on just rice and bread. There is also a complete lack of safety without seatbelts (definitely no carseats!), helmets, safety goggles/harnesses/scaffolding while doing construction, etc etc etc. But today I heard a new story that made me say "I am thankful for the gift of life"

One of my ortho patients was on her way home. She had recently had her casts taken off but is still walking with a limp. We will continue to see her a few more times until she is a bit stronger but she is doing well. She came to the ship with her mother and baby sister Lucy who is around 6 months old. To get back home she was traveling by Poda Poda. This is a public transportation bus with maybe 6 rows of 5 people all smooshed together on a bench. On their way home yesterday afternoon their vehicle was rear ended by a cement truck. The people in the back 2 rows died instantly. Thankfully my patient, her mother and sister were toward the front. The vehicle rolled down an embankment and all three were pulled out through a window with cuts all over them from broken glass. She will be fine. Like I said "I am thankful for the gift of life". 

Example of a Poda Poda

So this Thursday I challenge you to be thankful for the gift of life. Thankful to wake up this morning. Thankful for breath in your lungs and another day to love the people around you well. 

The Ticking Clock - Paul Ngandi (part 2)

 The ship sails in a couple of months. For many of the day crew, this creates a sense of "oh no, what am I going to do?" But Paul Ngandi doesn't look at it that way. He sees his time with Mercy Ships as a specific season of service, and he is already looking forward to the next. He isn’t panicking about the end of a steady paycheck; he is preparing to change his focus to the many hurting and lost people in this country.

While the children’s home is the immediate priority, Paul’s long-term vision involves evangelism and caring for the broader Sierra Leone. He has watched how the Jesus Film affects patients and caregivers on the ship, helping them understand the Gospel in a way that conversation alone often cannot. He wants to take this to the remote villages of Sierra Leone using a generator, a projector, and a screen. He has a team of pastors ready to work with him, but he has committed to finishing the plumbing for the children’s home first.

Paul grew up Muslim and came to know Jesus years ago. Since then, he's taken on a shepherding mentality to care for his sisters, his village, and the people around him. He loves being a hospital chaplain with Mercy Ships where he can sit with, grieve with, work through heavy and difficult topics with patients and caregivers, and, hopefully, celebrate successful surgeries and recoveries with many patients and caregivers. 

He knows the risks. People here can die at any time, and in high-risk environments, you have no idea if you will have the chance to finish tomorrow what you leave undone today. I’ve told him before: you can’t complete something you never start. But Paul is resilient. He is a reminder to me that a person can be honest and tender-hearted while remaining steady in the face of death, decay, and sadness.

We are not sharing these stories to ask for funds, but to highlight the reality of life for our friends here. We came to these relationships through prayer. The Lord has been generous to us through our partners, and that enables us to stand with men like Paul as they navigate the challenges of their own communities.

Paul, I know we will sail away in a couple of months, but I’m not going to forget you. Thank you for teaching me about joy and for your dedication to seeing the people of Sierra Leone fed, clothed, and loved.

The Duty to Finish Strong - Paul Ngandi (part 1)

I recently had an honest conversation with Paul Ngandi about the difference between compassion and completion. Paul is a pastor who served in hospital chaplaincy as day crew on the ship. He is a man of deep empathy and a man of prayer. It is a requirement for his calling, but that same tenderness can sometimes make the operational side of a project difficult to manage.

Paul supports seven street children, providing them with food and clothing. He raised the funds to build and roof a house to give them a permanent home. However, the project has stalled at the finish line. The structure has no plumbing—no toilets, no sinks. When Paul originally had the money set aside for the plumbing, he encountered other children in immediate, desperate need. He chose to repurpose the funds to help them. It was a kind act, but it left the house as a shell.

The almost completed house (minus plumbing).

We talked about the importance of finishing what you start. You cannot provide a stable, long-term home for seven kids without a working bathroom. But more than that, I want him to finish before moving onto any other dreams or goals. The plumbing project requires approximately $1,300 to complete. We are helping Paul refocus on this specific goal because the church is at its best when it provides a safe, finished place for the vulnerable to rest.

Paul’s hospitality is as real as his vision. Last year, I had the privilege of visiting his church for a service and joining him, his sister, and her family for lunch afterward. I have so much more than they do, and yet they graciously gifted me what little food they had. That small, spicy potato dish with plenty of pepper sauce was a huge gift—one I will not soon forget.

Joining Paul's church

Paul's sister, his niece, and me.

In my time with Paul, I learned something about Sierra Leonean prayers. Paul almost always begins by saying, "Thank you, Lord, that we are alive today, because there are many people who did not wake up." At first, it seemed quite morbid to me. Then I realized the reality of life here. People die frequently, often suddenly, and without a clear cause. Funerals are a common rhythm. Paul’s prayer isn't dark; it’s an earned gratitude. It has taught me to stop taking the next twenty-four hours for granted. Even when my back hurts I stub my toe, or I don’t get what I want, I can be grateful for one more day.

Narrow Roads and 14,000 Leones - Alimamy Sesay (part 2)

A few weeks ago, Alimamy purchased a robust industrial overlocker machine. In the world of textiles, this is a serious piece of equipment. It cost 14,000 Leones (roughly $600 USD). In a context where it takes months of disciplined saving to reach that amount, it is a significant investment. It is also a sobering contrast to how easily we might spend that same amount in a week back home without batting an eye.

The (boxed) Overlocker machine! Just waiting to get set up.

Transporting the machine was its own mission. I drove Alimamy and a few others into downtown Freetown in our Toyota Landcruiser. The "roads" are more like alleyways with all the shops with their goods out front. These are so narrow that street vendors had to pull their goods out of the way just to let a single vehicle pass (ours). I may or may not have bumped a few stalls and elicited some justified frustration from shopkeepers—oops. I've learned there are different tones of yelling, some are just "talking" and then there are some when the get very animated. Thankfully, we were fine. Whew. 

After navigating the downtown chaos, we spent an hour on rutted dirt roads that clearly wash out during the rainy season. I have no idea how the locals manage it daily during rainy season, especially on motorbikes and small-wheeled kekes. We're just a few weeks from rainy season, in fact.

Life in Africa: A new way to ride. Do you see all three of them?

When we finally reached his shop, the scene was one of focused intensity. The space is small, maybe 14x14 feet, yet it fits six or seven people all sewing on different machines in 85°F heat with 80% humidity. The ground is dry and dusty, parched, dusty, and slightly red by the local iron-rich soil. Despite the conditions, there was a palpable sense of joy. Several experienced seamstresses had spent their Saturday helping Alimamy set up the new machine. It really does take a village.

Alimamy's current shop. 

The unboxing and setup. Everyone was quite excited about it!

The team that helped bring it to his shop, including some of the youth that Alimamy is training to become tailors.

Alimamy has already trained 50 youth through the World Bank and, more recently, his organization called DOERS. His goal is to scale this into a larger training hub that can accommodate 15 to 20 machines. He's currently working to secure a one-year lease on a larger facility, costing approximately 25,000 Leones ($1,100 US). He's been working hard, taking on more business from us and others, and is getting closer to realizing this next phase of his overall dream. It gets bigger, but this is just one more step toward his goal of improving the lives of Sierra Leoneans as demonstrated by his huge heart for Jesus and his people.  

As we prepare to sail away in a few months, I am grateful to Alimamy. He has taught me a great deal about what it looks like to find joy in the incremental work of building something that lasts. Sierra Leoneans have taught me more about living out of joy in my daily life. Alimamy is one of the chief joy-givers.

And, of course, this was on the way home. I'm going to miss West Africa.

The Master Tailor in the Dining Room - Alimamy Sesay (part 1)

For the past three years, Alimamy Sesay has been a constant presence in the ship’s dining room. Most people on board know him for his friendly, warm, consistent greetings. He is the person who shows up every day with a smile, helping brand-new crew members navigate the drink station or figure out the rhythm of the buffet line.

It is easy to see the cheerfulness and miss the weight behind it. A little over a year ago, Alimamy lost his wife. It was sudden—the kind of heartbreak that happens too often here, where people get sick and die before they can get the care they need. He was left with two young boys. Because of the demands of work and life, one lives with relatives here in Freetown, and the other lives with his mother-in-law back in their home village.

Despite this, he remains of a cheerful attitude. Part of that is his character, and part of it is a bit of the Sierra Leonean culture: there is an unspoken expectation to be happy because you need to make others happy. But Alimamy is also a practitioner with significant depth. He has his college degree, is a great clothing tailor, and loves to engage with everyone.

Our Christmas outfits, tailored by Alimamy (yes, he wanted to wear the Santa hat!)

Alimamy made our family’s Christmas outfits this past year—blue and black jackets customized in a traditional West African style. I like them a lot. But the skill is only part of the connection. I’ve watched him engage with our kids in the meal line, noticing when they seem sad and stopping to ask how they are doing. 

Recently, I had the honor to visit his shop in Waterloo about 45 minutes away. I was surprised to find that the youth working there already knew me by name because of the many fabrics I had sent over for our family. I had no idea. It is a humbling reminder of the second and third-order effects our small interactions have on a community. Because it is not simply that he has other people who work in his shop, but he is constantly training up youths to teach them about textiles. How to sew, stitch, and design clothes. In effect, a source of income to provide for their families. He has trained 50 youths with the World Bank and also in his shop. Unintentionally, we are making a difference for this cohort of half a dozen youths for well over a year and did not know. What a blessing to discover that. There is good in this world. There are people who give and want to better their country. Alimamy is one of those.

Washing Feet

 I am in the throws of "ortho season" right now. 48 kids in casts who were previously bowed legged or knock kneed are coming to rehab to see a PT. It's controlled chaos! There is a team of 8 of us seeing all of them (soon to be 6 as 2 of my colleagues return to the US and Belgium). After 12 weeks in a cast, they have their "healing check day". We take off the cast, go to radiology for x-rays and then wait for the surgeon to say yes they can stay out of casts or no they have to go back into cast for 2-3 weeks then try again. Of course we are all hoping and praying they get out of casts and we can start that next phase of rehab. 

Part of the process of taking off the cast is using a cast saw to cut the cast off. This is a new skill I have acquired here, something I have never had the need to do back in California. But after the cast is off, we take a few minutes to clean off the leg before going to radiology. After being in that cast for 12 weeks, there is dead skin, small wounds, you name it. While friends here have asked "isn't the small awful?" or "isn't that gross?" it is the absolute pleasure of my life to clean those legs.

It is a sacred thing to me. A moment of servanthood. A time to slow down and show these kids how much I love them. I will clean your feet. It's a vulnerable thing for them that I do not take lightly. 

I have no pictures of these moments and never will as I wouldn't want someone with a camera ruining the moment. But believe me, this is one of hundreds of unexpected blessings I have been a part of since coming to Sierra Leone.