RULES OF THE ROAD: Roundabouts in Togo

I want to give you a few lessons of the road here in Lome, Togo.  There are some road rules that go against EVERYWHERE else in the world. For example, zimmy johns (motorcycles) can do whatever they want. They are not licensed, they do not know the rules and are everywhere. Rule here: try not to hit them and kill someone AND never think they will yield to you!

Now for a very important lesson in Roundabouts. 

Togo Roundabout Figure #1
Rule #1
Those entering the roundabout have the right away. That's correct folks, the rest of the world - those IN the roundabout have right away. Not here in Togo!
Red= you
Black= other cars 

 

 

Togo Roundabout Figure #2
Rule #2







Once you are in the roundabout you loose all right away privileges – all incoming vehicles have right away. (Except zimmy johns - they do whatever they want) Thus creating a scene like the figure below. 

Togo Roundabout Figure #3
Rule #3: 
Someone will cut another driver off and the other driver will have a pride war in which he will shut off his vehicle in the middle of the road until he feels he has made his point. The following scene is created... 

PLEASE NOTE: All "white space" (or blue in this case) is filled with zimmy johns. 

 Eventually you will make it out only to find another circle just down the road. :) 


Thank you John Foster for this great illustration. It made my day!

How do I capture West Africa?

I am in the middle of a project that I plan on sending to churches and donors around March time. I want to send a video home to show you what it is I see every day. I can’t explain how difficult it is for me to try and explain the complexity of what we do here in West Africa. When you are on the ship, it can be hard to remember that you are in Africa. But as soon as you set foot on African soil, it becomes very clear that you are in one of the poorest nations of the world. The poverty is unreal and constantly everywhere. It’s an unwavering battle as all of your senses are under attack. It’s not just garbage; it is not just sewage or body odor. It’s the smell, sight, texture, sounds, and taste [yes you can taste it in the air you breathe] of true poverty and that is something that is hard to explain if you have never experienced it before.  

Also, you have never been as famous as you are when you come to Africa. Driving down the road everyone stops what they are doing to fervently waive saying either, “White man! White man!” or “Mercy Ship! Mercy Ship!” Children flock to you [although a few are extremely afraid of your white skin and promptly screams and runs the other way], mothers give you their babies to hold and the men constantly want to shake your hand. A total onslaught of locals: battling for their moment to greet you into their country. The children are more precious than words. They just want to touch you: anything to hold your hand or hold onto your shirt. They crave a human connection so badly they will fight each other to gain a precious spot. How can you capture the heartbreaking sight of a child fighting over a piece of your shirt to hold knowing that this will be the closest thing to affection they will receive? It’s easy to ask, “Who am I that they would fight over?” I have to constantly remind myself that it is not me they are really seeking out. They are just longing for help, love, affection and my eagerness to give them each some attention makes them anxious to get even closer.

I still remember when we first arrived in Yam’s Farm Wharf. I was in a vehicle that arrived a few minutes earlier than the rest. It happened as we were slowly making our way down the steep path. All of the school children were playing outside at recess. It took them a second to realize who we were. It was as if all at once they all recognized us and the response was tremendous and made me cry. There was an eruption of screams of joy. I’m not talking about the cheering “ya!” that is normal in the USA. I’m talking about happiest moment in our life, our hope just arrived and I can’t contain my extreme overwhelming joy. That day, 270 children started screaming at once and instantly rushed our vehicle. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many children move as one big mob with desperation on their face that was filled with innocence and innocence lost. They surrounded out Land Rover and started opening our doors, pulling all 9 of us out of the vehicle. Nine adults versus 270 desperate children: to say it is overwhelming is an understatement. They pushed and hit each other, trying to be careful not to affect me but make way so they could place a hand on me.  If I had a video camera in that moment, I could have captured it for you. Now my task is to try and recapture that moment, the need for love, and the desperation that fills their eyes as they stair at you with hope. I hope I can succeed because it will change your life like it has changed mine. I couldn’t be more thankful for the change.

Happy New Year!

December has come and gone. It’s still surprising to think that it is now the year 2012. With a new year brings new promises of hope and future. I was blessed with a gift of a break at the end of December. I went to stay with some dear friends in Alexandria, Egypt and was able to recuperate and recover from a constant battle of sicknesses here in West Africa. God has given me new found energy and new found strength to face my next field service in Togo, West Africa.

           

We will be sailing any day now to Lome, Togo. The sail will only take around 10 hours. I wish I could explain my excitement to see our next country! Soon to come is a blog update about Togo – so that I can introduce you all to her history and present state. Recently my writer counterpart left the ship – it is sad to see her go but in the same day a new writer arrived. I am spending my days training up this new writer, Joanne. Once we hit Togo – we will be running at full speed and the thought of it excites me.

           

I want to thank everyone for your encouragement and kind words over the holiday season. It was very comforting to know you were praying for me. God has confirmed to me over and over that this is where He wants me to be and I feel blessed to know I am doing the right thing. Many don’t ever get that feeling. He has definitely blessed me in the year 2011 and I’m already seeing His blessings in the year 2012. You are part of those blessings and I praise God for you!

Wordless Weekday!

Mamodu Mattia

Mamodu Mattia

Mamodu Mattia is a teenager with an amazing smile, but you would not see it if you passed him on the street. He covers his front teeth with his lower lip, trying to hide the fact that he has a cleft lip – anything to keep the attention away from his mouth. His brother, Mohammad Mattia, stands watch over him, trying to protect him from harm.

The last time Mamodu and Mohammad’s family needed a doctor was three years ago when their mother was going through a difficult labor. She died, and the baby died several hours later. Sadly, their father was killed on the same day in a farming accident when a tree fell on him. Mamodu was only 14 when these tragedies struck.

Their extended family refused to take care of Mamodu for fear of any curses associated with his cleft lip. They felt his parents’ death was Mamodu’s fault. The brothers’ situation was made even worse by the fact that Mamodu is deaf and has no training in sign language. How could he take care of himself when he could not communicate with anyone?

So Mohammad left their extended family to take care of his brother. They have been on their own ever since, trying to make a way for themselves.

Before his parents died, Mamodu attended school. He loved school, but, after his parents’ death, he could no longer afford it. Mohammad worked tirelessly in the fields trying to save enough money to send Mamodu to school, but there was never enough. When Mohammad realized that Mamodu was too old for school, he taught his brother how to farm so they could work together. This helped Mohammad keep an eye on Mamodu at all times. Their extended family and other villagers were always mean to Mamodu, and the fact that he couldn’t hear them made him an easy prey.

A man named Abu Yeva changed everything for the two brothers. He told them about a medical screening conducted by Mercy Ships. It seemed too good to be true, and Mohammad was afraid to allow himself to hope. He did not know how much his brother understood, but he could already envision an easier, better life on the horizon. After receiving an appointment, they traveled for five hours to the ship. They were filled with a mixture of hope and apprehension.

When it came time for the nurses to take blood samples from Mamodu, Mohammad instinctively stood guard over his brother. He was still unsure of what they were going to do to Mamodu. He had years of experience protecting his brother from the cruelty of this world, but now Mercy Ships was treating him with such care and kindness. As their time with Mercy Ships continued, both brothers’ spirits started to lift, and they began to trust the help offered to them.

On their last day on the Africa Mercy, Mamodu was found looking in the mirror, admiring his new face. Mohammad was playing games with children on the ward.

Now both brothers are filled with more joy than they have known in years, as evidenced by their constant smiles. As Mohammad holds a child from the hospital, he says, “If it weren’t for Abu Yeva and Mercy Ships, Mamodu would not have been helped. I am so happy for my brother! Thank you Mercy Ships!”

December 2011
Story by Nicole Pribbernow
Edited by Nancy Predaina
Photos by Debra Bell

Mamodu and Mohammad wait anxiously to begin the admissions process.

Mohammad watches over Mamodu as blood samples are taken.

Mamodu and Mohammad are still unsure about the surgery.

Mamodu takes the first steps onto the gangway while Mohammad stands back apprehensively.

 
Mamodu is curious about what the nurse is doing to him.

Ever-vigilant Mohammad watches carefully as Mamodu finishes admissions.

Mamodu’s stitches come out!

 
After the stitches are removed, Mamodu and Mohammad see the amazing transformation for the first time.

Mamodu and Mohammad admire Mamodu’s new reflection.

Mamodu takes one last look at the ward  before he is discharged.

Mamodu and Mohammad final walk down the gangway with spirits lifted high.

  
Mamodu and Mohammad leave for home one week after their lives were transformed.

This is a Drill! This is a Drill! This is a Drill!

Safety is always first, right? Well don’t worry because that is our motto on the Africa Mercy! We recently conducted several fire drills. Where these drills are apart of our normal schedule here on the ship, these were “at sea” drills that included donning our lifejackets and preparing to abandon ship! It sounds more exciting than it actually is, but I assure you, it is very crucial to the crew to know what to do “in case.” Thankfully, we did not have to use this knowledge during our recent sail to Ghana, and now we are back to conducting “on land” fire drills. These on land drills will sure help me! In Ghana, our gangway is on the opposite side of the ship! Just my luck, I would try exit the ship ON THE WRONG SIDE!



I have a lifejacket! With a whistle and light ;)



How do you say goodbye?

How do you say goodbye to someone who has changed your life? How do you say goodbye to someone who has given you joy? How do you say goodbye to a people group who has molded your heart into a more beautiful object to give to your Lord? How…how do I say goodbye to Sierra Leone?
In my 6 weeks of being molded and shaped into a new creation, I’ve grown to love Sierra Leone more fiercely than I ever imagined. I stare at her, and she stares back into me…straight into my soul: knowing who I was and knowing who I have become. She sees the change that has overcome me, and when we pull away she will wave with stoic presence while I cry for the loss of my first African love: the people of Sierra Leone.

We are packing and tying everything down in preparations for the sail. “Soon,” they say, “we leave soon.” The surreal atmosphere of a half empty ship only makes me long to stay. I feel cheated, cheated out of time with Sierra Leone. I just got here, and we are leaving. I think of my family who adopted me and taught me Krio. I think of the girl who cleaned me when I was dirty and tired. I think of the village that changed its circumstances to prove they can overcome. The patient whose life was transformed in front of me from outcast demon to freed handsome young man. The list doesn’t end as faces and memories flash through my mind. I will miss each of them and pray that God will bless them for how they have blessed me.

My goodbyes are said, and I sit on the ship waiting to leave. I wait to leave, and we don’t even know when we will go. So I stare at her from another world, through longing eyes, wanting to care for her and help her. Sierra Leone, she has captivated me and her struggle has motivated me. I hope one day I will return to Sierra Leone, but for now, I move along the coast to new places with their own powerful hold on my heart. But I wonder if I will love any country as much as I love Sierra Leone.

I leave for Ghana soon: a country more developed and making progress. The ship will be receiving maintenance during this time, and I will find myself at a loss of what I have found normal. No patients, no writing, and no village visits. I pray that this time will be renewing of strength and energy. Togo will become busy as soon as we hit the docks and I will find myself as the “experienced” one training the new writer coming aboard January 1, 2012. I pray that God will renew me in the next 4 weeks so that I can give more than I have to offer in Togo because God’s wisdom will guide me through each day.
Goodbye Sierra Leone! God Bless and I hope to see you again soon!