Back to School for Fooday!

It's always special to have ortho kids with us, because they usually stay longer, thus giving us a chance to get to know them and love on them a little longer than cleft lip kids for instance, who come, have an operation and leave within 3 days.

This is again a great story form our ship's writers. As Christmas is coming (even though it's hot here), I try to give you more heart-warming stories like this. Enjoy!

"Volunteer nurse Melinda Kaney joyfully exclaimed, “The eight-plate surgery to straighten Fooday’s legs worked wonderfully!” Aladji, Fooday’s father, was so grateful that his eldest son’s journey to healing was complete. Fooday would now return to school and perhaps, one day, be a teacher – something his mother Yakha dreamed about for her son.

Fooday’s bowed legs started at the age of eighteen months when he began to walk. The prayers of his family for Fooday’s healing were answered when he was accepted for free surgery onboard the Africa Mercy hospital ship while it was in Sierra Leone.

 Eighteen months following his first surgery to straighten his bowed legs, Fooday, along with his father, Aladji, were transported to the Africa Mercy hospital ship, now docked in Conakry, Guinea. Fooday and other hospital patients enjoy a Bible story while staying at the Mercy Ships HOPE Center, which provides lodging for out-of-town patients before and after surgery.

Fooday’s start in life was tenuous, Aladji recalls. “Fooday was born prematurely. He was so tiny and weak, we didn’t think he would live. All of our family and the neighbors prayed for Fooday to pull through. By the grace of God, he did.”

When Fooday began walking at eighteen months, his parents noticed that his legs were bowed. The family’s meager income wasn’t enough to pay for the herbal poultices offered by the traditional healer. In desperation, Aladji resorted to beggging to raise money for Fooday’s sessions. Sadly, the traditional medicine did not help – the abnormal curve in Fooday’s legs worsened.

Volunteer physiotherapist Kalinda Ramsaran completes the assessment of Fooday’s leg movements. Fooday’s original eight-plate surgery was a complete success. The second and final step of Fooday’s journey, removing the eight-plates, was also successful. Fooday and his father, Aladji, both look forward to Fooday’s return to school.

Yakha explains how much they worried for their son. “Fooday had pain that kept him crying all night. But worse was the shame and hurt that I knew Fooday would go through with bent legs.” Yakha’s fears were well-founded. When Fooday started school at age five, other children continually laughed at him. After a few steps Fooday’s unsteady gait would falter, and he would fall. With each tumble Fooday faced another barrage of insults. Aladji and Yakha were heartbroken. The only safe place for Fooday was at home. He could no longer go to school.

Praying continually, Yakha and Aladji asked God for a miracle of healing for Fooday. Aladji clearly recalls the morning that their prayers were answered. “There was an announcement on the radio that a hospital ship was coming to provide free medical care. I heard that the hospital did surgeries for children with bent legs. Yakha and I were overjoyed.”

Within three weeks Fooday was onboard the Africa Mercy hospital ship for his free surgery. A small metal plate, in the shape of a figure eight, was attached to the outside of each of his leg bones. The eight-plate, designed to slowly correct the bow in Fooday’s legs, would also allow the bones to grow straight in the future. When successful, this technique avoids a much larger operation that requires the bones to be broken and reset.

Now Fooday can run, jump and play with straight and steady legs. He can return to school and be accepted by the other children. Fooday’s mother, Yakha, prays for her son to one day become a teacher.  

Fooday shows off his straight-as-an-arrow leg to his proud and happy father, Aladji. Fooday couldn’t wait to return home to tell his mother, Yakha, that he was completely healed and ready to go back to school.

Now, only one step remained until everyone could breathe a complete sigh of relief. After doing their straightening job, the eight-plates would need to be removed. Otherwise, the legs would bow out the other way! So, over the next eighteen months, while back at home, Fooday’s legs gradually straightened. His eventual return to school was a cause for amazement as his schoolmates could already see a dramatic change in his legs.

At the eighteen-month point, Aladji and Fooday eagerly travelled to the Africa Mercy hospital, now docked in Conakry, Guinea, for his final surgery.

Fooday’s reunion with nurse Melinda was filled with excitement, hugs and giggles. “Melinda took such good care of me when I had my first surgery, and I always hoped I would see her again. Now, here she is giving me the best hug of my life!” he declared.

As it turned out, Fooday’s eight-plate removal was not the only step in store for the family. To Aladji’s surprise, Mercy Ships had a greatly appreciated treatment in store for him too. For years Aladji had focused entirely on Fooday’s healing, while ignoring the pain of his own four decayed teeth and infected gums. At the same time that Fooday was in the Africa Mercy hospital, Aladji had an appointment at the Mercy Ships Dental Clinic. Aladji, with the tormenting dental pain completely gone, shared a warm smile with Fooday back at the ship. Aladji whispered in his son’s ear, “Fooday, thanks to Mercy Ships, it is happy teeth for me and back to school for you!! God is good!”

Screening day - Up Close and Personal

And then they meet me...

Here is a slide show of all the amazing photos our photographers (Deb and Michelle) took during the day. Grab a coffee, sit back and enjoy the pictures. Then go on and read some personal stories. N-Joy!



Our photo stand is the last stop before they leave the building. By then they are are extremely tired, both physically and emotionally. Most of them had been standing in line for a good 5+ hours and even though we were giving out water and sandwiches we couldn't protect them from the sun. They are exhausted emotionally as well; many of them are so used to hearing NO that they cannot afford to allow hope sneak into their hearts. As they get closer to the gate...inside the gate...meet the pre-screener...GET PAST the screening station... escorted to the first station, then the second... all the time expecting to hear the dreadful word and yet a tiny hope is rising deep within as they get closer to the last station, our photo booth. It's hard to see their genuine smiles through the veil of wariness!

Outside there was some breeze that helped easy the discomfort of everybody, patients and crew alike. Inside, where we worked, it was hot, humid, stuffy, stinky… you name it. We tried to open the windows, but the generators were placed right outside the walls. We couldn’t hear each other’s words! I opened one slightly. Fresh(er) breeze entered our booth and we could all take a deep breath. Deb was standing 3 meters away from me and I saw her lips moving… darn, we must close that window NOW! :(

We have about an hour before the first patient makes it to our station so I go outside. Screeners stand in front of the patients' line, each with a translator. Their job is to decide if the patient has something we can treat thus sending them towards the building or turning them down. I stood behind Ans, who is a Chaplain on board now, but a nurse by profession. She raises her hand (saying she is ready for the next patient) and a young men steps forward. To my untrained eyes he looks fine. Of course I am neither a doctor nor a nurse, but I did learn a lot since I joined this unique hospital. Ans greets him and asks the standard question : what’s the problem. I can’t see the nurse or the translator as they have their backs to me, but I have a clear view of this man’s face. He is touching his head as he explains his reason for standing in line for so long. The translator conveys his words to the nurse. She nods, asks a few more questions in return. The man’s eyes grow narrow as he listen to the translator, clearly not liking the direction of the conversation. His behaviour changes: he puts his hands on his stomach, then on his back, his speaking becomes  fast, his gestures desperate. The nurse listens patiently, but I guess they both know the answer will be no. He desperately tries to convince the nurse, his eyes are begging, but the answer is still NO. We do not treat back or stomach pain and we do not give out free medicine. We are a surgical hospital!

It’s a tough call! Clearly it’s not the answer this young men was hoping for. His whole body looks broken all of a sudden. It’s a horrible feeling for everybody: for the nurse, for the translator, for the man, even for me, who is only observing the scene from afar. The nurse looks apologetic as she calls for an escort. The man sadly accepts the answer and starts to follow to escort towards the exit gate, which is opposite to the building. On his way out they stop at the prayer station where we offer prayer for those who got ’no’ and would like us to lift them up in prayer. As he walks out he keeps looking back towards the building; the building of hope… 

I go inside and embrace myself for a long and busy day. As the first patient arrives we jump into action. The 2 translators who were promised to us didn't show up so we have to do without a common language. I smile at the lady and force myself not to look at the massive goiter on her neck. I offer my little French to her (Good morning, how are you, my name is Reka, I don't speak French). When she keeps starring at me I realize that she doesn't speak French either. Oh well...

I take her papers and copy her name, patient number and surgery type onto a small white board. This will serve as patient ID and also as the "before picture". I motion to her to follow me. I take her precious yellow card and she looks at me worried. I desperately try to tell her I am not taking her card away, I just need to take a picture of it. I don't think I will ever be able to fully comprehend the significance of this small yellow piece of plastic. For them, it's their life line!

She sits down to my stool. I ask her to smile. She gives me the African smile. (very straight face, no showing of emotions). Suddenly the next patient shouts something at her in susu or pular at which point she offers a tiny smile. I go over there and ask in English if she understands me. "I de tak na sma-sma englis" I jump for joy! She speaks Krio, a language that I more or less understand!!! :)

This lady is from Sierra Leone. She came over the border just to be seen by our doctors. She, too, has a huge goiter on her neck, and to my amusement, her name is also Jane Kamara (well, it's not. I don't want to give out her real name, enough to say Kamara is a very common name in Salone and in Guinea as well. Imagine like Jane Smith x2) So, my first 2 patients had the same name and the same condition...

I happily accepted her help. She was translating my words to Susu as I later found out, one of the many tribal languages here in Guinea. When the first Jane Kamara left, she hopped onto my stool and gave me a wide grin. "Yu de make me pretty, yes?" Yes! :) I showed her the head shots I took of her and her neck from each angle; she approved.  She is scheduled for surgery in a few weeks! I am so looking forward to meeting her in the wards! She told me she had traveled for over a day to make it here. Last year when the ship was in Salone she couldn't make it to our screening and she was over the moon when she found out we are coming to the neighbouring country. Now she WILL RECEIVE a surgery! :)

The next 3 patients I photographed were also called Kamara - some spelled like Camara to show the French influence. Over the course of the day I think we photographed over 50 patients with goiters! Yay!!!
As we suspected, many came from Sierra Leone. Jess, our dietitian shared similar experiences. Last year she treated a little boy who was soooo malnourished due to a cleft lip and palate. He couldn't suck milk from her mum's breast and was too tiny for operation. Jess worked with him for months before he gained enough weight for a surgery. They fixed his cleft lip back then, but he was too young for the palate surgery. Jess told them last year to try to make it here for a second chance. She was looking out for them all day and finally she saw the mum! They didn't have any common language, but the joy in both their eyes spoke loud enough!

Later in the day this little fellow (now over 1 year old) ended up on my table. We had to photograph his palate. Now... THAT was a challenge, let me tell you! To begin with these babies have very tiny mouths! Even if you get them to open their mouths you still won't see the palate without tilting their heads back. Even if you tilt their heads back you can't keep them still long enough to take a picture. Even if they lie still with heads back and mouths open, the flash is not lighting the mouth up enough, because you have 3 extra people hovering over the baby: 1 to make them still, 1 to tilt the head back and 1 to hold the mouth open with a tung depressor. :)

If you stood a bit further away you wouldn't see the baby, just hear their cry and see 3 adults surround the table while I stand on a chair with a huge camera and flash in hand doing my best to get a sharp picture of the palate... Fun times! :) And to make matters worse in some cases the mothers didn't want our male helpers to touch their babies. I understand the whole Muslim thing and tribal beliefs, I really do, but what do you do when you have a long queue of patients to photograph and a reluctant baby with a difficult mother???

Another challenge presented itself in the forms of doctors' hand writing. (see my note on this matter here) Sometimes the condition is obvious, but sometimes the patient looks fine to me. Before I ask them directly, I try to look through their papers and decipher the doctor's scribble. NOT easy! :)

The other big challenge we faced was taking pictures of "Ponseti Kids". (Ponseti is a special technique to fix club feet of little children with a series of casts instead of an operation). The Ortho doctors requested a series of pictures (30+) in different positions and angles to test the abilities of the kids. Before the screening we asked one of the healthy kids on board to be our model so we could take test pictures of each angle and position, also bending and stretching each knee and ankle in every possible direction - it took over 25 minutes! And she understood English, she wasn't afraid of white people, we weren't foreigners to her and above all, her legs and feet were fine! Now, imagine this procedure with a kid who is the exact opposite in everything...

Maybe I shouldn't say it, but by the end of the day I "earned" the name "child torturer" :)))

All in all, it was a very rewarding day! Yes, it was long (we finished taking pictures after 9 pm), yes it was exhausting and yes, sometimes it made us cry, but it was all sooooo worth doing! :) I thank God I could be part of this day and see the Miracle in Action!

Abra's joy

We often write about transformations and show you shocking Before-surgery pictures together with the smiling After pictures. Somebody once said that we could "sell" the whole project on those before-after pictures alone. Probably she was right...

Below, however I'd like to share with you a very touching story. The surgery this lady received is not visible, but I do believe the contageous smile Abra has ever since she recovered is something that screems volumes.
If you don't know what's a VVF surgery, I suggest you read one of my previous posts here. Yes, Abra is the same woman in a blue-yellow dress. (from the ship's writer)

"Abra sits quietly as she remembers the journey of her life. For 24 years, she has known suffering and great emotional pain. One day and one event changed the course of her life for over two decades.

On that day, many years ago, Abra went into labor. It was her fifth child, and she had managed all of her previous labors by herself at home. But this time was different. After struggling with the pain and pressure, she was taken to the hospital for a caesarian section. “There was no hope,” Abra remembers sadly. “Even the doctor lost hope.” The struggle was devastating. The baby died, and Abra remained in a coma for five days.

When she awoke, she learned that her husband had decided to leave her. Then, a few days later, she realized she was incontinent. The condition that Abra suffered from is known as VVF (vesicovaginal fistula). It is an injury caused by obstructed labor, and it results in a continual leakage of urine, feces, or both. Unfortunately, it is a condition that is much too common in developing countries, where women have little access to medical care.

The condition exacts a terrible emotional toll, as well. Abra was ostracized by her family, friends, and community. “Everybody in our area knows about my sickness,” Abra says quietly with downcast eyes. “All of them know.”

Over the years, people often mistreated Abra. They made signs and yelled insults at her. When she stood up, they often checked her clothes to see if they were wet. For a few years, she was able to stay with some relatives. However, when they died, she was on her own in the bush, secluded from the world. She was isolated from every kind of help and support – physical, mental, and emotional.

Abra says she only got through this time with God’s help. “In those times of challenges and pain, I did weep most of the time. I didn’t have anybody to come to my rescue. I spent most of my time in my hidden place, where I wept.” She struggled with depression that made it difficult for her to eat, and she longed for the day her suffering would come to an end. “So the only option is to wait for God’s time when I will join him after death, and it will be the end of everything. This was all I could tell myself before the ship came,” she says sadly.

Then, in 2010, Mercy Ships sailed into the port of Lomé, Togo. The arrival of the hospital ship brought hope for Abra – something she had not felt for a long time. Soon she was received a free successful surgery. After spending a few weeks in the ship’s hospital, Abra was able to go home.

She felt like a new woman, but her joy was short-lived. Tragically, a few weeks later, Abra was the victim of a brutal rape that ruined the surgical repair. She was back in the same nightmare she had experienced for two decades. “When my sickness came back, I was confused and lost,” Abra explains. Sadly, the ship had already left, and she had nowhere to turn.

Abra took refuge with her brother, who required her to be the housekeeper for the entire family. The work was very difficult for her. When she was unable to complete all the tasks, she was driven out of the home. She was only allowed to re-enter the house at certain hours to sleep. She had to awake every morning at 4:00 to leave the house and had to wait until late in the evening to return. She was not allowed to use the kitchen or even take a cup to drink from. She could not share in any of the food. Her brother’s family wanted to make sure she suffered because they were uncomfortable with her sickness.

Abra struggles to hold back tears as she recalls those days. “My brother did not agree with me. According to him, I’m telling a lie – I am not sick because I didn’t lose weight.” She quietly says a prayer and pauses before continuing, “My brother mistreated me. He mistreated me to the point that I got seriously sick.” The pain of her brother’s rebukes and abuse almost destroyed Abra’s spirit.

Finally, she found reprieve with her aunt. “She told me I smelled like a dead corpse before joining her. But the hands of God are upon me. Today I am here. I am still alive today,” she says.

Less than a year later, Abra’s daughter contacted her, telling her the wonderful news that Mercy Ships had returned! “For me, Mercy Ships has been sent from God to me, and I know that the ship is here to heal, I was hopeful. I didn’t know other people, too, have this sickness, I thought I was alone. But now, I know that I’m not the only one. I’m confident, and God is with me.”

Now, Abra has healed from her second surgery with Mercy Ships. She is living with her daughter and has been accepted back into the family. “I feel better now. No, rather, great! And I thank the Lord for the life of the medical team. May the Lord bless them, strengthen them, and give them long life. They will be blessed. God will reward them for ever and ever.”

Abra’s face radiates with happiness as she adds simply, “I have joy in me!”

Abra is so happy to report that she is now dry! Her smile is worth a thousand words.



Abra dances her way into the hospital’s Dress Ceremony andsings songs of joy as she celebrates her healing.



Parts of Abra’s story are very painful to talk about, but she shares it all. She stands up to give her testimony to the crowd. Abra ends her testimony with a song of praise and joy.



The entire group of VVF ladies march down the hallway, singing loudly for all to hear in their new dresses and Bibles as a gift from us.



Abra smiles brightly as the celebration ends.

Abra at home with her daughter – she is so happy to be staying with her.

Abra walks around the compound with a new-found confidence.
No one can take Abra’s smile away. She is filled with joy.



Abra makes lunch for the Mercy Ships crew members who visited her in Lomé, Togo.
 She and her extended family all sit together. It has been decades since Abra felt so at home.



Abra helps her niece make fufu, a traditional West African dish.



Afi - and the mute shall speak...

Another example of love in action from the writers:

“Every moment of my life is difficult to survive. I struggle greatly, and I struggle alone,” Afi says with tear-filled eyes that testify to the pain she has suffered for the last four years. As she speaks of the suffering she has endured, she takes a rag to wipe the tears streaming down her scarred face and recounts her story with courage and grace.

Afi suffers from a disorder called epilepsy. She can suddenly have seizures that force her body into debilitating tremors. One day in 2008, Afi was cooking over a fire with her one-month-old son strapped to her back. Suddenly, she felt ill and thought she needed to sit down. Before she had time to react, her body went into a seizure, forcing her to fall face-first into the fire. She lay there in the fire, seizing helplessly. Luckily, her infant son was not harmed, but the damage to Afi was brutal. She suffered severe burns on her face, neck, hands, and legs.

Afi tried to go to a hospital to get medical help, but the hospital turned her away because she had no one to take care of her son. As her wounds began to heal, her skin started to contract, pulling her face down and her shoulder upwards. The injuries became her shackles over the next four years. Afi’s husband left her because he could not stand to look at her. Riddled with guilt, he ended up committing suicide, leaving Afi to be the sole parent to their three children.

People believed that Afi’s deformity was the result of a curse. She was no longer able to sell fruit in the market because people were too afraid of her. She was forced into a life of isolation, with only her children to help her. The village would no longer allow Afi to walk through the center, touch anything, or be near anybody. When children caught a glimpse of Afi's face, they ran away in fear. She had to hide in her home. If she wanted to go anywhere, she had to sneak around the outskirts of town.

Recently, she went to the hospital again, desperately seeking help. Catching a glimpse of a TV, she heard that Mercy Ships was coming to Togo, West Africa. Afi wrote down the dates. Leaving her children with her father-in-law, Afi tried to get to the port. Relentlessly, she made three trips to the port gates, each time being turned away by the local security. Finally, she was allowed through and examined by Mercy Ships crew.

It was a wonderful day when she was given her appointment card. “I know now that things are going to be better. I can tell my life will move in that direction,” Afi says as she spends her days on her hospital bed onboard the Africa Mercy. Afi’s surgery will release the contracted skin, allowing her neck and shoulder to move again. Her eyelids and lips will be released and repaired. She will receive function and movement again – release from the shackles, the injuries that have held her captive.

She has already had a taste of how much better her life will be. Mercy Ships crew are not afraid of her, and they look her in the eyes. This is the start of a new life, with new hope and a new future. She smiles through her tears saying, “Thank you for everything, and thank you to everybody. I now see a new life coming my way. I pray God will help me each step of the way.”

Afi was very cautious when she first arrived, not sure of how anyone would treat her.

Afi on the day of her arrival to the Africa Mercy.

Afi waits in the ward, healing after her surgery on her neck, eyelids, and lips.

After surgery, Afi is served dinner in the ward.

Afi is so touched by the fact that the Mercy Ships crew are not afraid to touch her.

Afi worships with friends in the church service held in the wards. 

Afi gives her testimony in the ward church service on the Sunday of her departure.

Afi is sad to leave the Africa Mercy, where she has received so much love and support.
She says goodbye to Mercy Ships, with hopes to return for further reconstruction.
She leaves with a new hope that keeps her head held high.

Darius - and the sick shall be healed

Another wonderful transformation from the writers.

"Onboard the Africa Mercy, a nine-year-old boy named Darius sat curled up on his mother’s lap. With his head bent over, he hid his face from view. The dark sunglasses and the large bandages over his eyes hid a boy who was trying to cope with the circumstances life gave him.

Just five months ago, Darius’ had been a normal boy who could run around playing with his friends. Then one day, he came home from school feeling sick. And, before anyone understood what was happening, he was fighting for his life.

Darius had chickenpox, and his aunt decided to buy him some antibiotic to help him get better. Unfortunately, he had an adverse reaction to the antibiotic. This reaction is known as Stevens-Johnson Syndrome (SJS) – a life-threatening skin condition in which cell death causes the epidermis to detach from the dermis. It also affects the mucous membranes of the body.

Darius’s reaction was severe, and it did not take long before he became extremely weak. His mother, Josephine, took him to many doctors, but none of them understood what was happening to the boy because SJS is a rare syndrome.

As Darius’s condition worsened, layers of skin died and fell off from his lips, inner eyelids, and other parts of his body. When he started to vomit blood and mucous, Josephine decided she needed to go to a large hospital – anything to help her son get better. They traveled all the way to a hospital in the capital of Benin, where they waited in the ER for someone to help them.

“I looked down at my son. Flies were living in his wounds. He was covered with blood and dead tissue. Even the flies saw him as good as dead. I wondered how anyone so small could survive so much,” Josephine says as she fights back tears. Darius was brought to the Intensive Care Unit (ICU). Slowly, he started to regain strength but remained in the ICU for a while.

Darius’s eyes were swollen shut, so he could not see. One day, as he lay in bed in the ICU, he heard a fuse spark. He could smell the smoke as the fire started to build around his bed. He began yelling for help, but the nurses had been called somewhere else and did not hear him. Finally, Josephine heard his cries and ran in to see the place engulfed with flames. She picked up her son and ran to safety. Luckily, the boy received no injuries from the fire, and he was moved to the pediatric ward of the hospital, where Josephine could stay with him at all times. He spent a month in the pediatric ward before being released from the hospital.

The inner lining of his eyelids had fallen away, and as the raw edges of the eyelids started to heal, the upper and lower eyelids fused together. No longer able to open his eyes, Darius was blind to the world around him.

When Josephine heard about Mercy Ships, she brought Darius to one of the eye screenings. The Mercy Ships Eye Team quickly sent him to the ship to be screened for surgery. The young boy needed many surgeries to address his physical problem. But, just as important, the traumatized boy needed an emotional restoration.

At first, Darius kept to himself, keeping his head down. The horror of the past several months weighed heavily on him. Slowly, the crew onboard the Africa Mercy started to coax him out of hiding. His spirit started to lift as he saw how people cared for him and protected him from harm. Josephine explains, “He is receiving all this surgery and care, we are receiving food, and all of our needs are being taken care of. The nurses are so kind to us, and it is such a blessing after all of our struggles.”

The emotional transformation was remarkable. Darius could be found playing the piano – with the largest grin on his face. He also loved doing exercises and stretches.

Unfortunately, the damage to Darius’ vision was so extensive that it could not be reversed. But another type of help was provided.

Yvonne Harris, the OR Administrative Assistant onboard the Africa Mercy, united her church and family in making a long-term commitment to Darius. They are providing the funding for Darius to attend a school for the blind. In spite of his handicap, his future is now much brighter.

A grateful Josephine has a special message for the donors who have helped pay for Darius’s care and education: “You are taking from your own salaries for us! May the Lord bless your hands and your salary, and may you have good health and a long life. You have truly blessed us!”

And Darius, basking in the love and friendship he found on the Africa Mercy, sits in the ward and lifts his head high, singing a song he adapted to honor Mercy Ships:"

“They will go to the ends of the earth,

Mercy Ships, Mercy Ships.

They will never perish,

Mercy Ships Mercy Ships.”

 Darius – six months before he became sick.

Darius, after being released from the hospital – finally, almost healed
from the Stevens-Johnson Syndrome.

 Darius takes comfort from nurse Nick while enjoying the fresh air on Deck 7.

 Darius sits on his bed, not wanting to venture far out of his comfort zone.

 Darius often hides on his bed, and the light bothers his eyes. The scarring all over his skin is from the Stevens-Johnson Syndrome.

 Darius tries to hide. Not being able to see in such a new environment is difficult for him.

 Every day, Darius goes out onto Deck 7 for some fresh air. The light hurts his eyes, but he loves the fresh air. The crew managed to get Darius to come out of his shell and lifted his spirits.

 One of Darius’ favorite activities is stretching. He can be seen stretching up high –
with a large smile on his face.

 Darius also became good friends with photographer JJ Tiziou.

 JJ takes Darius up to play the crew piano. Darius has a strong love for music.

Darius leaves the ship. Even though the sun is bright for his eyes, he finds freedom in being able to walk out of the hospital.

Junior - and the lame shall walk...

The motto of Mercy Ships is: We follow the 2000 year old model of Jesus by being love in action so that the blind shall see, the lame shall walk and the sick shall be healed. The next 3 stories (penned by the ship's writer) are to here to show how the transformation happens in each of our patients. It's not just the surgery, that's an important step for sure, but it's soooo much more...

"Junior’s mother sat in the physical therapy tent with her son. It had been two years since Junior received surgery on his legs – a surgery that changed their lives forever. She desperately longed to tell their story and let the world hear the great things that have happened in their lives. So, while Junior got his two-year-follow-up examination, his mother wrote down their story:

Junior was born premature at seven months, so he stayed at the hospital for four months. At age one, Junior started walking, and I realize that the two knees were bending out to the side. But I thought that because he is big or fat that this was causing that, but as he was growing, it was getting worse. The walking became a burden for him, and he needed me to carry him. People, neighbors in our area, used to make fun of him. His friends and even his own brother laughed at him and chased him to insult Junior when he does something. Some even forget the name ‘Junior’ and call him ‘Club Foot.’”

“When other children play football, he was just spectator because he could never play. But each time, he used to tell those who made fun of him, ‘My legs will be straight one day.’ Junior would bring some of the kids to me to confirm that ‘I will have straight leg.’”

“One day, I saw Handicap International car passing, and I asked them if they can help my son, and they tell us bring him the next day. Back home, I told Junior I have found people who can help us. And he started telling people that the ‘people who are going to help me have come.’ Unfortunately we went, and they said junior’s case is not in their program.”

So one day, in 2010, I heard about Mercy Ships, and Junior said, ‘Yes, this is the white people that are going to help me!’ So, he was in a big rush to come for screening, and he was so excited to be selected for surgery.”

“Back home after surgery, he was having straight legs, and he said to brothers, ‘Didn’t I tell you these people are going to help me?’”

“So people are happy. Junior has such a good testimony – a positive testimony that always generates good and blessings! Now, Junior is playing football and running all the time.”

“I will like to take this opportunity to thank the Team of Mercy Ships. I’m encouraging you to do more to others in the same condition like us. I see Jesus’ mighty hand in Junior’s care. He removed the shame from me and Junior’s life. Thanks! May God bless you!”

Junior when he first arrived to Mercy Ships in 2010.

Junior was 6 years old when he first arrived to the Africa Mercy.

Junior after the surgery as he got discharged.

After a long day in coming to the ship for his follow-up appointment,
Junior rests in his mother’s arms.

Junior is very proud of his straight legs!

Palliative care in West Africa

Now, that the 2012 Togo Field Service is officially finished, all the different departments are busy writing their reports. I picked up a few stories written by the ship's writer to give you a better understanding of what else we do here besides running a surgical hospital.

"Mercy Ships, a global humanitarian organization, operates the Africa Mercy, a state-of-the-art hospital ship that provides free medical care to the poorest of the poor in West Africa. This medical care targets conditions that are especially feared in the often superstitious culture of West Africa. Cataracts, disfiguring tumors, hernias and goiters are removed, and burn contractures and misshapen limbs are corrected.From time to time, Mercy Ships encounters a sorrowful reality – a medical condition that is beyond the reach of treatment. But, when healing is not possible, crew members offer help through our Palliative Care Program.

For those with terminal illnesses, the Palliative Care Program offers information and understanding about how to cope with inoperable conditions. Patients are freed from futile searches for non-existent cures that cost precious resources and cause the heartache of disappointment. They are shown ways to maximize comfort, minimize pain and spend their remaining time in a joyous manner.

Volunteer palliative care nurses make regular visits to patients’ homes. During these visits, patients receive further advice about their care, and their health status is reviewed. When terminal illnesses are highly visible or debilitating, patients are sometimes abandoned by their families and friends. In these dreadful circumstances, Mercy Ships volunteers are a vital lifeline to needed medicines, nutrition and other personal needs. And, most importantly, they shower desperately needed love and care on these fragile patients.
An overall goal of the program is to raise awareness about palliative care. Training and encouragement is provided to community members so they can carry on after the hospital ship moves on to its next field service.

A perfect example of the holistic nature of palliative care is the personal mission taken on by Sylvie Agobia. Sylvie, a day-worker onboard the Africa Mercy, helped in the palliative care program in Togo in 2010. Sylvie describes her experience: “The patients I visited were always so deeply grateful to see me. Many of them said that my support was the reason they were still alive.”

When the Africa Mercy left Togo in 2010, Sylvie found new employment, but she continued with her volunteer mission of visiting palliative care patients. “I prayed to God to give me the strength and courage to do the visits on my own. The patients I visit need the emotional support so much, and I am so blessed to be there for them,” she explains.

One patient that Sylvie visits is Abayavi, who has an inoperable facial tumor. Abayavi’s children provide very little support or care due to their superstition that their mother’s tumor is a curse. Abayavi, a woman of great Christian faith, is deeply touched and grateful for Sylvie’s love and companionship. Out of her own pocket, Sylvie purchases medications and food for Abayavi, thus providing much needed comfort.

The need for the palliative care services offered by Mercy Ships and volunteers like Sylvie are huge. Medical treatment in West Africa is in severely short supply and financially out of reach for the vast majority of people. As a result, people endure their illnesses over longer periods of time with little relief.

One of the most important on-going needs of the palliative care patient is having sufficient income to support themselves and their families. That is why another component of palliative care support provided by Mercy Ships is so vital. Small grants are provided to patients who are physically well enough to start an income-generating business. Camilla Borjesson, a volunteer palliative care nurse, explains how the grants have helped. “One patient who received a $100 grant is now supporting their family as a vendor of vegetables and groundnuts. This income has given them self-sufficiency and the means to manage their illness and family to the best extent possible, given the circumstances,” she says.

Palliative care patients are great inspirations for hope and healing. For example, Halou has demonstrated a mountain of courage to rise above her difficult medical circumstances. She underwent extensive radiation therapy in a local hospital to eradicate a squamous cell carcinoma in her throat. Unfortunately, in the course of eliminating the cancer, Halou’s ability to breathe and speak were negatively impacted. Halou was given a trachaeostomy, which provided a new breathing airway, but she no longer had the ability to speak. When the Africa Mercy came to Togo in 2012, Halou was referred to the palliative care program as a possible patient.
Mekenzie Williams, the Team Leader for the Palliative Care program, swung into action. “We arranged for Dr. Heinz Reimer to examine Halou. He confirmed that her vocal chords were not functional and that the trachaeostomy tube would have to stay in for life. We didn’t want to give up, though, so Dr. Heinz consulted with his network of speech therapists and physicians by email. The result was a series of voice-building exercises for Halou,” Mekenzie explains.

Dr. Heinz accompanied Mekenzie and Camilla on their next visit to Halou to show her the exercises. After one month of dedicated practice, Halou had regained her speaking ability. She was so excited with her progress that she recorded a voice message for Dr. Heinz that the palliative care nurses joyfully emailed to him.

One of the on-going challenges that Halou faces is her difficulty swallowing food. Mekenzie and Camilla do all they can to ease this situation with supports that are readily available to Halou’s family who keep loving watch over her. “In our most recent visit, we brought moringa sticks that can be planted so that Angele can harvest the moringa leaves to make a wonderfully digestible nutritional supplement for her mom,” Mekenzie adds.

Despite her day-to-day medical trials, Halou remains joyous and caring. She graciously welcomes all of her visitors with a warm smile and her trademark energetic hug. She loves to share her most emphatic hugs with the palliative care nurses, who have found a permanent place in her heart.

While the Palliative Care Program will shortly move on to its next field service, efforts for the program’s continuation are already underway. Sylvie Agobia is exploring the possibility of developing a farm operation to generate income to establish a formal palliative care program that she would lead. As well, Camilla and Mekenzie are hosting a Palliative Care Training Course for Mercy Ships day-workers. The hope is to increase awareness of palliative care while motivating interest in others to providing palliative care as a personal mission, like Sylvie does. There is still much to be done, but, thanks to the efforts of Mercy Ships and people like Sylvie, the hope and help offered by palliative care is growing in West Africa."

Halou and her daughter Angele look forward to the regular Mercy Ships Palliative Care visits that bring hope and comfort.

Mercy Ships palliative care patient, Halou, demonstrates her new speech capability. Dr. Heinz Reimer taught Halou the exercises that she faithfully performed to build up her voice.

Mercy Ships Palliative Care is truly a partnership of education, support, and encouragement, shared between volunteer and patient. This medical service enables a patient to cope with an untreatable illness in the most life-sustaining and comfortable manner possible.

Halou, a Mercy Ships palliative care patient, demonstrates her wonderful spirit and energy by carrying the platter of food and medicine she received from Mekenzie Williams, a Mercy Ships volunteer.

Off Ship Sites III. - HOPE Centre

I guess this is my favourite location, probably because last year I spent endless hours working there and also playing with the kids and just spending time with the patients.

This year the HOPE Centre (Hospital Out-Patient-Extension) is a bit further away from the ship, boy, I do miss the 3 min walk from last year! :) The purpose of this facility is to house patients who live too far away. They either come here a few days before their surgery and/ or stay here after they had the surgery and don't need 24/7 medical attention, but have to come back for daily checks. Depending on the surgery patients can stay with us from 2 days to 5 months! That's enough time to get to know them well! :)

During the 2010 Togo Field Service, Mercy Ships renovated and used the front half of this building.  After the field service ended, the building was released back to the Ministry of Health and it is currently in use as a maternity ward and a health clinic. We were told that since we left in 2010 over 1000 babies were born here - ALL HEALTHY! :)))

The inside area with corridors. One side of the building is for male patients, the other is for ladies.

 In November when the Advance Team was looking for a building, the Ministry of Health offered us the back half of the building we used before. We renovated that part as well and use it for the current Hope Centre.  When we leave Togo, it will once again be turned back to the Ministry of Health.

Kids having a relaxing time playing with Playdough and other toys.

The kitchen area where the meals are prepared three times a day.

Linda (above left) is a Sierra Leonean lady who worked with us last year. We provided a micro-loan for her to buy the pots and set up the kitchen. She charges us for each meal she cooks (last week they made over 800 dinners and lunches!). Once the ship is gone she will continue her small business as a cook! :) I think this is called a win-win!

Yummy, spicy sauces are being made in these pots 2x a day.

The area outside the building, but still within the compound.

Bed with mossy net

There are around 50 beds plus under each bed there is a mattress for a care giver who comes with the patients.

Barry and Cheryl are in charge here.
They do a fantastic job juggling patients, educating day workers, and manage the overall running of the Hope Centre.

With one of my friends here, who speaks good English - we removed a tumor and replace his jaw with Titanium so he will become as I encourage him often "the most handsome man in Togo" :)

Some of the toys in the office - they are all donations from all over the world!

Crew members come often to visit the patients, play with them or teach them useful skills like sawing or crochet.

Mother learning a new skill while we heal her baby

Kids LOOOOVE playing with our digital cameras!