Today I lost my flip flops to the ocean. In comparison to the grand epiphanies that have been gracing my thoughts and blog as of late, this may seem insignificant; however, today being my day off, losing my flip flops may be the most significant occurance for me to share. Yesterday I got to take care of beautiful African children and help them get ready for life-altering surgery. I potentially have never been happier to be a nurse. Since I have been here, I have been getting progressively more and more anxious & excited to have patients and do the thing I came to Africa to do. I loved finally "working" (loosely-used term, considering the fact that, instead of getting a paycheck, we are paying to provide service). If I wasn't such a hyperactive productivity junkie, I might be able to appreciate the time we are getting to relax and enjoy life, before surgeries are in full swing. As it is, I just cannot wait to be overworked and exhausted from being a nurse.

Today though, I slept in until 10:00, drank a starbucks latte, and layed on the dock with my friend Stephanie (again, the term "dock" needs to be used loosely, because, although it is the term we use on the ship, and technically a "dock" is the place where the boat goes, I fear that saying we were laying on the dock might conjure up images of a far too idyllic setting. In Canada, saying "laying on the dock" means tanning in my bikini on a floating wooden dock at a cottage in Muskoka. Our dock here is concrete, with somewhat protective guardrails in select spots, and UN soldiers with guns strolling casually up and down, or sleeping, depending on the time of day...just to give an accurate visual). Back to my relaxing day; Stephanie and I are perfect "chilling" friends, because we share an identical taste in music and a mutual belief that Grey's anatomy and it's soundtrack is therapy for health care workers. Our shared love for Jack Johnson and pretending we are at the beach led us to the dock this afternoon. If you close your eyes and feel the wind in your hair, and listen to the waves and feel the sun on your skin you can almost convince yourself for a moment that you are not in the poorest country in the world. You might actually think that you are lying somewhere beautiful. Although the last thing I would want right now is to be anywhere but here, for a breif moment, the chance to mentally escape from this world is a treat.

So I am lying there: happy, content, relaxed, daydreaming about the number of babies I want to have (JUST KIDDING!!!), when a very strong magnetic force from the ocean stealthily creeps up the wall of the dock and tears my flip flop from my foot. I was left completely dumbfounded, wondering where Jack Bower was in moment of complete helplessness. Shocked, I sat up and looked down into the ocean far below where my stray flip flip floated. All alone. Stephanie suggested that I throw the other one in, so that when it finally washed up on shore, at least whoever finds them will have a pair. Stephanie has a couple years on me, and plenty plenty Mercy Ships experience behind her. If she thought my flip flops needed to be together in the ocean, then I trust her advice. I am not sure why Jesus wanted my flip flops today, but I sure hope He has fun with them!

I like Africa.

It is hot. Everything is dirty. The is a whole lot of garbage. Evidence of the war is everywhere. Buildings are demolished. Streetlights are pretty much non-existant. There are bulletholes in most structures, if they managed to make it through the war. It is muggy and moist. Apparently you can get Malaria. A lot of the time it smells bad. There is no such thing as personal space in the city. Traffic laws are a suggestion at best. Ditches are often smoother and a better option for driving than roads. People yell at you and ask you for money. Everyone tries to find out some token of personal information about you in hopes of you being their ticket to "America". Vehicles are sketchy. You wonder how many years of your life gas emissions are taking off.

A few people in my life have taken to calling me "Princess". I don't think I came by this name by being the most tolerant of uncomfortable or unfortunate circumstances. Yet, in this land where every external factor I can think of is at best "unfortunate", I feel such joy and appreciation for getting to experience, if just for a while, a phenomenal culture. I have been out in Monrovia numerous times now, and each time it takes me a few minutes to adjust. I spend the first few princess moments wishing that the sweat on my forehead wasn't going to permanently glue my bangs to my face, or that deoderant wasn't such a luxery for African people, or that people would stop rubbing their dirty skin against mine. And then I realize that none of these things are going to happen. And my entire perspective changes, as I open my eyes to the wonder of the place I am in.

My new friend Liz is from NYC, and one day, while we were discussing how cool this place really is, she made the comment that it somehow reminds her of New York. I get it. There is this energy and spirit that is unique and that I have never experienced anywhere else I have lived. I am the last person you would describe as "artsy" but even my scientific, methodical brain cannot help but be in awe of the colours and the musicality that are so present all around. The sense of community is amazing. I have had the opportunity through working in the hospital with local day workers to hear what they love about their country and the resounding theme is how Liberians have pulled together and overcome their circumstances as a community. In another blog, I will have to elaborate on what that really means for Liberians, because their history and circumstances make this type of perspective literally a miracle. But, another time. Tonight, I just feel like writing how appreciative I am to be in Monrovia. Every trip to the city is such an adventure. There is continual energy and action and relationship. It is like a dream-world for creepy people-watchers like me.

Another one of my new friends calls it "going to Africa" when we go into the city. I couldn't agree more. I have talked in the past about how life on the ship is very Western and very Unafrican. But going to "Africa" at night or the weekends or on time-off is a completely different world. Before I came here, I had my preconceived notions about what Africa would be like. Although I always wanted to be a part of this world, I could never have anticipated loving it so much. I wanted to be a missionary because I feel like God wants us to love the poor and the sick and the needy and the unloved and those who the world forgot. To be honest, I anticipated this experience being a complete sacrifice of my comfort, my pleasure, and my selfish ambitions. I had no idea that Africa would exceed my wildest expectations and provide me with such delight. Don't get me wrong, I definately miss the pleasure of having nice hair, the assurance of knowing that you will be able to get home without having to push start your vehicle, and the peace of walking across the street without having to reject 5 marriage proposals, but, overall, I like this Africa!

Throughout the last couple of months, I have had an incredible outpouring of support and generosity from the staff of the NICU back home.....so this post is for all of you!!! Before I left, you were all so supportive and I really didn't get a chance in all of the chaos of trying to move my life to Africa to say thank-you to the extent that I should have. I have always felt very welcomed and accepted in my role there, but, as I was preparing to leave, I was overwhelmed at the numerous ways in which so many of you gave of yourselves. In the midst of preparing for this adventure, which intimidated me more than I ever let on, you made me feel competant and capable. And, I am so thankful that your support didn't end there. I have loved so much hearing from everyone and what is going on. I knew pretty much from the start that working in the NICU meant that I had 100 mothers to watch over me, give me guidance, hold my hand, and tell me when I was going the wrong way. This whole thing has proven just how true that is. I can't even count the number of "be careful's" and "don't ever leave the boat's" and "If you fall in love, make sure he is willing to move here's" I heard before I left. As it turns out, I have not been able to honour ALL of your advice.....but I am giving it a solid effort (a girl's gotta have some sort of social life!)

I thought that, as a good distraction for you all while working nights (or in care-by-parent...) you might appreciate hearing about some of the "differences" between our health care system and the joys of working in Africa. I just finished my first evening shift all by myself, and already I have a list of favourite things about working in Africa. So many times, I have made myself laugh thinking about these things happening at home...

1. The family members of patients often stay with them while they are in the hospital. Obviously, there are no beds for them, so they put a mattress on the floor, and the parent / family member sleeps UNDER the bed of the patient. I was thinking that maybe this would be a good practice to incorporate into the NICU.
2. Space is a little bit of an issue, considering there are 4 OR's, 4 patient wards, an ICU, and lodging for the 400 staff all on one ship. This being the case, the beds are very close to one another. Sometimes, when you ask a patient when their last BM was, the patient beside will answer for them. So much for confidentiality!
3. Today, one of my patients was supposed to be discharged, but apparently when her aunt came to the gangway of the ship to pick her up, the guard told her that she wasn't allowed in until tomorrow, so she walked back home. By this time it was dark, and it just isn't safe to walk at night in Monrovia, so alas, the patient stays.
4. All of the healthcare staff live on the same deck as the hospital, so if you have to page a "consultant" at night at "home", they are literally about 30 steps away. Can you even imagine???
5. IV's run "fast" or "slow". That's it. At home, I would have a panic attack if I ran TPN 0.1mls/hr too fast for 12 hours.

I have a feeling this list may be a work in progress. The culture shock relating to health care alone is pretty dramatic. I am thinking that it has as much to do with the fact that I have never had a patient over 10 pounds, as the fact that I have never been a nurse in Africa. Overall though, I love it. As I think about the myriad of factors that are at play in my new African world, I would say that they have all "rocked my world" less than I was anticipating. Everything is obvioulsy different and strange, but deep down, I have this feeling that I was always meant to be in this strange world. I have a comfort and peace that really shouldn't be. I talked to my best friend the other night on the phone and she said to me "you really are doing ok, aren't you?", and I could genuinely & confidently say "yes". Which, I hope comforts your motherly hearts. Thanks for being wonderful!!!

Monday was my first "real" experience being a nurse in Africa. But, for me, our screening day had little to do with bloodwork, vital signs or diagnoses. Although all of the health care staff were involved in the screening day on some level, those of us with no experience at this point were on various teams serving the people as they waited in line to be assessed. My job (along with about 20 others) was to serve water. We arrived at 6:30 in the morning, and already the lot was filled with people waiting to be seen. I have no idea how long they had been there. Already it was hot. Coming from the blizzard of Southwestern Ontario, I like to believe that I find it hotter here than others. At least I hope for their sake that I do. We set about the task of filling large jugs with tap water from the stadium. We filled buckets with bleach water to clean plastic cups and then set up an assembly line to hand out cups of water to the masses of people. To me, it seemed ridiculous. Handing out room temperature tap water to hungry people with potentially life-threatening illnesses who had been walking for who knows how long. As fast as we worked, it felt slow and meaningless. It wasn't very long before I was sweaty and physically exhausted and soaked from carrying full jugs somewhat haphazardly. It was DEFINATELY my most attractive day thus far in life. For the amount of effort it took, I couldn't help but wish that we were doing something more significant. I wondered what the scene would have looked like from above. At the risk of generalizing and making vast stereotypes - a group of overprivilaged, overeducated, underexperienced young people running around making no more than a very minor dent in a very massive need. It made me feel very very small. But, the kind of small that gives you perspective about your importance. I realize that the very best and most that I can do is grossly insignificant. I have been receiving tons of emails lately from people at home telling me how proud they are of me. People seem to be impressed when you give up your life and friends and home to do something like this. It would be easy to settle into emotional state of security and contentment, knowing that I have made a big sacrifice and am doing a good thing. Congratulations Jenn. But then I see the need. And I see that, as important as it is to give my best and give all I have, it isn't enough. On my own, my best and my all will only provide slightly refreshing, moderately contaminated tap water to a very small percentage of people who really need surgery and clean water and homes and and medicine and love. What a humbling realization. I cannot wait to see what my all, combined with the skills and unselfish service from an amazing team of skilled humans, serving under God's provision and guidance will actually be able to accomplish. I am so glad that He has more to offer than water.

Yesterday was valentines day. Mercy Ships apparently honours this halmark holiday. It seems that people cling to the little things that make North American society what it is. You know, like Starbucks, coffee and treats after church, facebook, and apparently Valentine's Day. This "holiday" has never been really high on my list of favourites (potentially due to my lack of ever having a good or even remotely noteworthy one). Last year, my dad brought me red roses and cashews (obvious combination). That one topped my list (Thanks Dad!)

This year, the gentlemen of Mercy Ships serenaded us. Which is nice in theory, but pretty much only in theory. First of all, there are about 10 girls for every guy on the ship, so the sheer mathematics don't compute. Apparently when "Mercy Shippers" go into town, people assume that all of the girls are the one man's wife (it's just one of the ways Mercy Ships tries to help us "blend into the culture")....kidding! Even if we had been able to ignore the fact that we had to share our valentine serenade with 10 other ladies, the next obstruction to this "unique" experience topping my list of favourite Valentine's experiences is the choice of song. Bringing up memories of Leonardo and Kate making out on a sinking ship is perhaps the last visual that would comfort my heart as I embark on 4 months of living on a ship. My sheltered little self has a tough time not thinking that the Africa Mercy (the only large ship I have ever seen or been on) is not the Titanic as it is. I spend every spare moment standing on the bow with my arms stretched out, trying desparately to hear Celine.....again.....kidding! But seriously, singing the Titanic song on board?

But, thanks for the effort, just the same.

Brief update on my life:
I made it to Africa, with only very minimal disturbances in the travel plans. Overall, I was proud of my first independant (well, first EVER) world travelling experience. I made all the connections and my luggage magically made it with me. I have been in Monrovia for almost a week now. Actually, that is not true. Technically, we are in living in Malta, because the boat is at the port, and some there is some in-depth explanation of why we are actually not in Monrovia that I don't need to understand. But, I agree with them completely. I really don't feel like I am in Africa. I flew in with a group of 35 other "Mercy Shippers" and we were picked up by numerous air conditioned Mercy Ships vehicles. The hour-long ride to the ship would have probably been overwhelming, if I had been able to convince myself that what I was seeing out the window of the car was real-life, not in my head or on TV. Perhaps I can blame it on the extreme lack of sleep I was experiencing at that point, or the fact that it was all just to surreal to even believe, but, I really couldn't even process in my head that I was actually in Africa. The Africa that I have wanted to come to forever. One of the girls put it perfectly when we stepped off the plane in the "airport" (open feild with a tent and furnature that I think may have been recovered from a summer camp I went to when I was 12). Knowing that I was completely in awe of the reality of it all she said to me "Toto, I don't think we are in Kansas anymore!" Amen sista!

But then came the boat and 5 days of ship life, which, to my surprise, is much more "comfortable" than I was anticipating. Sure, we are 6 people in a cabin, are only allowed to take two minute showers, and have a few minor inconveniences that aren't even worth mentioning; But, overall, the living condions on the boat are quite amazing. Almost to the point that you forget you are in Africa. I was struggling with this a little, until last night when I took the plunge and made my first venture out into the city of Monrovia. My mom says that I always pick the highest mountain to climb whenever I can. The way I see it, I just like to face my fears. If something scarres me, I want to do it. It stops it from scaring me.

Due to continual stories from crew members who were here for the last outreach, and well-meaning warnings from the people in charge, going into the city was a hurdle for me. The first couple days I took to adjust in head that I was in Africa. Then, when I realized I was really just on a very "first world" boat, something didn't feel right. So, I did it. I went to Africa last night. We ate a restaurant on the beach. Literally, they took tables and chairs and put them on the beach so we could watch the waves and the sunset. It was amazing. To get there was an experience, and all I could think of was how much I wish I was videotaping it all to show everyone. There just aren't enough words. But, my first taste of "Africa" was amazing and heart wrenching and I probably looked like a small child experiencing the world for the first time. But, it is a world that I have longed to be a part of and to touch for so long. And, I am so glad that my time has come!