Once again, I find myself here.
Everything is exactly as it used to be, and completely new, all at the same time. Familiar and comfortable yet foreign and challenging – if that is even possible.
A new city in a new country. New friends and coworkers. New ways of doing things.
For starters, there is this ship – a 500ft vessel which has set the stage for some of my life’s most significant moments. I walked on board early last Thursday morning and breathed an immediate sigh of peace. Joy filled my heart. I was greeted by loving, familiar faces and had that wonderful sense of coming home to a place where you “fit”. I know where I belong for this time. I know what to do and how to go about things.
And then there is the city. I spent Friday exploring Freetown. I had been warned that excursions into town were fairly dramatic. “Freetown” and “traffic” are essentially synonymous terms here on the ship. I should have been prepared – I guess I thought I was. But, calling Freetown busy is the understatement of the century. It’s hard to truly describe the chaos of the heart of town. Between the open sewers and the vendors and the trucks and the “it’s here then its gone” excuse for a sidewalk, even getting from point A to point B on foot is a challenge. It sort of feels like you are in a videogame but there is more pressure because, if you fall in the gutter or get run over by a truck, you don’t get another life. Maybe I just don’t deal well with being over stimulated in every way simultaneously, from every direction. Either way, I found Friday overwhelming.
But then I did it again today. I went into Freetown - just myself and one friend, with a specific purpose. And, all of a sudden, it didn’t seem near as overwhelming. I would go so far as to say it was enjoyable. Relaxed even. I guess it doesn’t really matter how many times you come to Africa – every time you come back again, it takes a while to sink in. It’s just starting to sink for me. My being is ready, but I guess it takes time. 
By Saturday, I was doing my first shift on the ward. D Ward. Where last year, we set up the summer camp craft corner for Tani and Gafar. Where O’Brien was healed. Where O’Brien died. Where there are now new faces: some repaired and ready to face the world and some still waiting. Two o’clock Saturday afternoon, I jumped in. As a result of our Gambian detour, our group left the wards a little short staffed. So, instead of having orientation shifts, I just went for it. I took care of patients in a world that I know incredibly well, and yet felt so unaccustomed to at first. Where do we keep this now? Do we still do it this way? How does this work now?
And again, just like riding a bike, as my friend Deb reminded me before my first shift, it has come back. It all feels as normal and natural as it possibly could. Half the time, I still don’t have the answers to the questions that arise in my own head or from others’ – but, I do know that I am doing it. Adapting. Coping. Caring for those that I have been sent to serve. Maybe not perfectly. Probably still with a lot of assistance for the time being. But, doing it.
We probably don’t ever figure it all out. Perhaps we don’t ever need to. If we ever think we have all the answers, we probably need to start again at the beginning and figure out what it was we missed. No matter how much experience we have, I doubt we ever have the ability to adapt to every situation seamlessly. I am thinking that I would never want to. Because these places that I find myself in are the ones where I learn the truths that I didn’t know I was missing.