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.