Moments to Remember

Our last day in Kankan. A partial rest day. I had one of those fleeting moments when my heart longed to be back on the ship. A part of me was ready to return. To be finished with the long bumpy car rides, to be in one place for more than a few days, to expand my food options. To be back with my ship family.

Yet still, despite that short-lived longing to return, I felt such contentment traveling across Guinea. 

To participate in two up-country trips is a true privilege. 

I have visited the major urban areas of Guinea and passed by many villages in between. Now when patients and our day crew talk about where they are from I have a chance of actually knowing. 

I have been on some of the best roads Guinea has to offer - reminiscent of what I travel in the United States - but also roads that challenge even the sturdiest of vehicles. Heading from Nzérékoré to Kankan we spent eight hours on a red dirt road pitted with pot holes. It is considered one of the primary roads in the country. 

Photo Credit: Eric Baliantz

I have felt outside of my comfort zone at times but that's true of most adventures. And I like to think that I am learning and maturing because of such moments. 

I have interacted with potential patients coming from near and far. Some are just a few weeks old. Others are in the late years of life. Some have a minor health concern. Others are truly in desperate need for help. I have seen faces marked by pain and exhaustion but also faces filled with hope and happiness.

I have had the opportunity to spend quality time with Mercy Ships volunteers who wouldn't necessarily fall into my common circle. I have experienced the fruit of their strengths and their faith. Screening events are only successful with a cohesive, committed team representing multiple skill sets. 

I have worked some of the longest days of my life during these up-country trips (Kankan screening lasted from 5 AM to 12:30 AM the following day), and yet I left each event filled with energy to sustain me even longer.

It's interesting that challenges and blessings often go hand-in-hand.

Our Route
Map Credit: https://www.mapsofworld.com/guinea/road-map.html

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Since I already talked about screening events in previous posts, I don't need to repeat myself here. Instead, I'm going to dedicate the rest of this entry to sharing some random yet impactful memories from my recent trip to the other side of the country. Perhaps these will open your eyes to Guinean culture and life as I experience it here.

***

We escape Conakry early morning. The up-country trip begins. Cresting a hill near the edge of city life, I see a mountain ahead still shrouded in darkness. Behind it, dawn is just breaking. The sun is waking. At the base of the mountain, trees. They are gently covered by a blanket of white fog. The lighting is stunning.  The image so simple and yet so perfect. So peaceful. Did we really just leave the biggest city in Guinea?

Not the exact moment, but similar

Taking an afternoon walk down a dirt path flanked by coffee trees in N'zao, an area close to Nzérékoré. Shortly into our stroll we come upon a massive trail of ants - an inch wide in parts. They are climbing over each another in a frenzy. At the edges we see casualties. Are the ants at war with each other we wonder. Or, are they simply migrating, unconsciously trampling one another like migrating wildebeests in East Africa? We follow them from one side of the path to the other and find the tunnels they have constructed under some low-lying plant life. Ants are so impressive; small yet mighty. I should learn more about them.

***

About 30 minutes into the walk, our trail is interrupted by the sight of a shelter. A man and woman eye us from outside. There is a moment of hesitation. Do we turn around? Do we ask to proceed? We choose the latter. The man leads us further down the path to a clearing where rudimentary palm oil processing is taking place. It looks like harsh, hot work. A mother is on the ground holding her baby. Nearby other children stare at us with curiosity. "Is there a way to circle back to the main path?" - we ask. Another man takes the lead. He is rugged and dirty from the labor of working in tune with the land of Africa. I think to myself - Are we trespassing? Are we burdening this family? or Are they happy to have visitors in this communal culture? We pass by fish ponds, rice growing along the edges. He shows us the remnants of an old wooden bridge built long ago. To the left, a small plantation of rubber trees. A plot of tomato plants up ahead. Does one family tend this land alone? I wonder. We start to feel like we are taking too much of this man's time. He points us towards the main trail. We bid farewell to one another. An unexpected encounter, a kind gesture, my heart is full.

Photo Credit: Eric Baliantz

"It's a chameleon!" We quickly pull our vehicle to the side of the road. Two of my colleagues exit. The obligatory picture is taken. For some reason I am too lazy to go see it. (Yeah, I kind of regret it now). Look at this beauty.

Photo Credit: Amber Greenhow

Village life. Round mud huts with thatched roofs. Clean clothes and colorful fabrics placed to dry flat on the ground, on grasses, on roofs. Grains, cassava, coffee beans, and hot peppers spread out on the edges of the road to dry in the sun. Water pumps. Children playing. Women braiding hair. Goats, sheep, and cows wandering wherever their hearts desire - and often into the middle of the road. Speed bumps to keep vehicles like ours from running over said animals. Shade trees, spared from becoming fuel because refuge from the afternoon heat is also essential here. People bathing in the rivers. Mosques. 

Photo Credit: Gerrit Van den Noort

While driving from Nzérékoré to Kankan, someone flags down our vehicle in a village. Could we take one of the village teenagers as a patient, the locals inquire. The boy's condition is assessed. Yes. The answer is "yes". Ria, our team leader, squats down on the side of the dirt road, laptop on her knees. She searches our bus schedule for an open seat. Some basic information is asked of the patient and entered on a new patient chart. It's pink. Pink is for plastic surgery. In the meantime, a pick-up frisbee game is started between some of the village children and my teammates. These kids are naturally good at frisbee it seems. A few women capture the entire sequence of events on their cell phones. Back in our land rovers, wheels starting to roll, I motion to some of the kids. Can I take a photo? They accept. A miraculously good result.

Fabric shopping in Kankan. We pass one storefront and stall after another. Women appear to be in charge. While waiting for customers they share in conversation. One is eating a meal of rice and sauce with her hand. She shakes it off as we approach. Another breastfeeds her baby. Breastfeeding in public is the norm here. One woman chides me for not speaking Malinke, the primary language of the area. The fabric colors are vibrant. The designs so varied. I like the options better than in Conakry. Some of my friends purchase many styles. I just get one - 4 yards. What should I have made?

After an hour or two of wandering around Kankan, I am desperate for a cold, sugary drink. We head to a Total gas station - a place that we know keeps refreshments refrigerated. I spot guava juice. It's canned but so what. I'm thrilled. The taste, texture, and color transport me back to my childhood trip to Hawaii - if even for a few moments. My happy mood returns.

***

Helping with demographic data collection at the screening in Kankan. I sit in front of a young woman. Through a translator, I start to ask questions in Malinke. She frowns. She doesn't understand. Those around us try to help. Maybe she is hard of hearing they say. I wonder. Then suddenly, someone makes it known that she only speaks Kissi - a language common towards the south. We change our language of inquiry but still we can't get many details from her. She seems unaware of her age. Twenties I think, or maybe thirties. It's hard to tell. Nor does she know how long it took her to get from her home to Kankan. The concept of time is limited for many in Guinea, especially for those who weren't able to go to school or who live in the village where one day bleeds into the next. This woman intrigues me though. She has come to seek care for cascading keloids that start on the lobes of her ears and reach down near the tops of her shoulders. They look like earrings, not mirror images of each other but of similar shape and size. I see something regal and stunningly beautiful on one hand and yet I presume her condition also causes much pain. Physical pain from the weight of the keloids and emotional pain from people's reactions. Later in the day, the same woman arrives at my table - the last table visited by patients before they are finished with screening. She has a transportation ticket in hand. I smile. She will be heading to Conakry soon, to the ship. I hope she gets a "yes" from the surgeons.

***

Sitting atop an inverted metal boat by a river, talking to my colleagues while watching village children at play. Behind us, the sun begins to set. The mannerisms of one boy roughly 5 years of age remind me so much of my nephew. I consider whether the two would be fast friends if they didn't live continents apart.

***

It's the final night of our trip. We are staying at a guest house on the grounds of a hospital near Mamou. The air is chilly - worthy of a sweatshirt even. We are sitting around a bonfire sharing our highs and lows of the 12-day journey. At one point, a moment of silence. I tilt my head back. Above - the night sky is untainted by harsh city lights. Stars sparkle everywhere. I spot Orion's belt - one of the few constellations I know. I am reminded how small I am in this world.

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I've been on the ship for a week now. Thanks to the arrival of care packages, I am stocked up on gluten free goodies and my favorite toiletries. I have clean clothes. My team is together. The internet is reliable. Christmas season on the ship is in full swing. Sunday, I gathered with friends at a new (to me) brunch spot. I have a gorgeous ocean view once again...

Indeed, it is good to be back "home". 

But give me a few weeks' time and I'd gladly participate in another off-ship adventure.