Mohammed's Story

It was my first week back on Mercy Ships. I had been finding my bearings and working quite a bit and was eager to go into the city and do some exploring in Freetown. I thought it was so interesting to see how much had changed since I was here in 2011 but also to see the things that had improved. I decided to do a day of solo exploring and found my way back to Crown Bakery, one of the few restaurants that I remembered from my previous mission. After lunch, I began wandering the area. There were lots of new buildings, including a ten story business building with a restaurant on the top floor that had been built in the last few years. It was great to see the improvement in the city over the years, but also sad to see the incredible poverty and need that still remained. 

I was walking along deep in thought when a young man sitting on a piece of cardboard on the side of the road caught my eye. He reached out his hand and looked at me with hopeful eyes as I walked by, held up his hand and begged “please ma’am.” The desperation in his voice stopped me in my tracks. I stopped and spoke to him. “I don’t have any food,” I said weakly. He looked at me again. “Please!” The desperation in his voice grew even stronger. “Ok, just wait a few minutes,” I told him. I went across the street to find something for him to eat and drink. I came back and he thanked me. “Please can you help me,” he begged again. “I was hit by a car two months ago. I have a bad wound.” He insisted on showing me the wound and began to unwrap the cloth wrapped around his leg. I couldn’t help but gasp when he uncovered the wound underneath. It was gaping, badly infected and I could see about two inches of exposed bone, which looked brown and necrotic.

The suffering showed all over Mohammed's face

“Wow, I’m so sorry” I told him. Let me find out if there’s anything mercy ships can do to help you,” I offered. “I cannot promise anything but I will try.” I asked if he would like prayer and he nodded. He told me his name was Mohammed. I reached my hand out to touch his shoulder and prayed over his leg. He thanked me afterwards and asked me to bring some clothes for him the next time because he had been wearing the same ragged dirty clothes and didn’t have anything else. 

I came back to the ship on a mission to find out what we could do for Mohammed. But I was told the orthopedic surgeon wouldn’t be arriving for another month and a half. He was also a pediatric surgeon with a full schedule of patients booked already, so it was unlikely he would be able to help. It was even more unlikely that Mohammed could survive until January. I was amazed that he hadn’t become septic already living on the street with that kind of wound. 

I spoke with my friend Harry who I knew from my previous mission in Sierra Leone. He was one of the few locals I knew working on the ship. He told me he would send a Sierra Leonean driver to take me back and go speak to Mohammed in Krio to figure out more of his story and what we could do to help him. 

A couple days later, Harry’s friend Alfred drove with me to go visit Mohammed. As we walked up to the place he was staying, Mohammed lifted his head and his face was filled with hope. “You came back!” he exclaimed, smiling and seeming surprised. Of course I did,” I told him. I promised I would bring you clothes and try to get you help.” Mohammed was very grateful. Alfred spoke with him in Krio for awhile then took me aside to talk to me. “I just want to make sure he’s not doing drugs because kush is a big problem in our country,” he told me. We went across the street and spoke with Moi Moi, the shop owner who Mohammed told us had been helping him. “He gives me any money he gets when he begs and I go to buy him food,” he told us. He’s never asked me to buy him drugs. He only asks for food. We spoke with the security guard at the church on the other side of the street who knew Mohammed. Their story was all the same. In fact, they were very protective of Mohammed. If anyone came by who looked like they wanted to try to cause trouble, they would quickly come up to the person and tell them they needed to leave. 

Mohammed initially denied using drugs, then admitted that he had previously done kush. Mohammed said he had stopped taking it after he was injured because it caused delayed wound healing and he wanted his wound to heal. 

I went to buy Mohammed some more food as Alfred spent some time talking to Mohammed about his past and sharing with him about Jesus. I wasn’t gone long, but when I got back, the two of them had their heads bowed and Mohammed was praying to receive Christ! After that, Mohammed’s countenance changed. There was a new light in his eyes, a peace and hope that wasn’t there when I first met him. It was amazing to see the change so instantly. 

We spoke with Mohammed about getting his bandages changed at the local hospital up the road. He was willing to do it, but had no way of getting up. His only way of moving was to scoot himself a bit from one side to another. He wasn’t able to go more than a few feet with the state he was in. “I need crutches,” he told us. So I told him we would get him crutches. He asked us if we could also get him some food. He really wanted "bean salad." I had never even heard of it before, but Alfred knew what it was. We went on a bit of a scavenger hunt to find it. It took awhile, but when we did, I could see why Mohammed wanted this after not eating much for days. The base was two big scoops of beans, then two scoops of spaghetti noodles, ground beef, fried eggs, onion and some sour cream on top. All for the grand total of $1.50! 

One thing after another just fell into place from then on. There weren’t any extra crutches to give away on the ship and no stores that we knew of that sold them, but we were told about a rehab center that sells them. We went to a friend in town to get directions to the rehab center since she worked at a center close by to the area. She said “I have never heard of that place and I have no idea where it's located, but I happen to have a pair of brand new ones that we aren’t using at my center. I’ll just give them to you!” God had definitely led us to the right person!

Mohammed's first day with his crutches

With the crutches, Mohammed felt more empowered. He could finally move more around more than a few feet. He was initially very weak, but as the days went by, his muscles started getting stronger and a smile would break out across his face as he would move around with his new crutches. Every visit that Alfred and I came to see Mohammed, he would ask me to pray for him. He wouldn't let me leave until I did. I loved Mohammed's faith. In my heart, I wanted to see a miracle, I wanted God to restore his bone and miraculously heal the gaping wound around it but I also wanted to get him the medical care he needed while we were waiting and praying. 

Alfred took this photo without me knowing and I'm grafeful for the memory

We managed to get Mohammed registered at the hospital down the street for wound care. The first experience in their outpatient department was horrific. I wasn’t sure what to expect when we registered him, but we had explored our options ahead of time and it was really the only hospital where it would be feasible for him to get care. I wished I could take Mohammed onto the ship to our stellar wound care team, but we were already busting at the seams and the schedule was full. We didn’t have space for him and I also didn't want to risk exposing other patients to the infection he had, which was likely MRSA or some awful bacterial infection. 

He came in for the wound care the first day and I watched as the nurse removed the bandage and cleaned the area with saline. So far, I was impressed. They were even wearing sterile gloves! Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. But what happened next is something seared into my memory that I will never forget. The nurse took a sharp instrument similar to a scalpel and started scraping away the infectious tissue on his open flesh. Mohammed screamed in pain, a scream of the most horrible human suffering. "Stop! What are you doing!" I shouted. The nurse stopped and looked at me. "We have to remove the infectious tissue." "I understand, but you can't just scrape away at him without numbing the area or giving him pain medicine." Mohammed was still wincing and moaning. The nurse sighed and motioned over to his colleage who grabbed some lidocaine. He numbed up the area and then gave Mohammed a shot of Toradol (pain medication). Mohammed's pain didn't subside much because of what they had already done, but in the subsuquent visits, they began to premedicate him and the dressing changes were much more tolerable.

I honestly was so impressed with Mohammed. Despite his immense suffering, he would smile as we would leave the outpatient area. He was proud that he could now get around on his crutches and he had a new, clean bandage. One day we were leaving the hospital and he looked at me and said "Thank you, Mom." I looked up, surprised at what I heard. What did you say Mohammed? "Thank you, Mom!" I turned to Alfred with a puzzled look and he said to me "Yes, he called you Mom. It's a sign of respect, but also means he cares for you a lot." From then on, Mohammed only referred to me as "Mom." It took me some getting used to, but I was grateful that he saw me as family and someone he could love and trust. He had been through so much. Both of his parents had died in the war and he had been an orphan for many years. I was thankful that I could show him some motherly love and that he had come to trust me.

About a week went by of the dressing changes. The wound was looking better, but the bone still looked necrotic and infected. The doctor had put Mohammed on oral antibiotics, but it wasn't enough. He likely had an osteomyelitis (bone infection). The doctor ordered an x-ray and I asked the x-ray tech if I could take a photo of her computer screen since the x-ray film wouldn't come back until the next day. She agreed and I looked a little closer on my phone. He definitely had a tibia fracture, but the bone higher up from the fracture also looked infected. That was not good. He was likely going to need an amputation. 

  Mohammed's x-ray

The next day, I was working my normal shift on the ship and I heard the charge nurse say "Katie is here today to help us from Connaught." I was surprised. Connaught was the hospital where Mohammed was getting care. I didn't know that any of our nurses worked there. It turned out she was working with our education and training program to help teach the local nurses at the hospital in town. "I have to talk to her," I thought to myself. "This might be my chance." Up until now, I had been told that Mohammed couldn't be admitted to Connaught, even though we had tried. It was a whole process and it moved in African time. There were only certain doctors that could approve patients being admitted to the hospital. It was very frustrating. I said hello to Katie. We had never met before. "I heard you work at Connaught," I said. "Yes, I do," she responded. "Well, I have been helping a boy who I believe needs surgery and we haven't been able to get him admitted." I showed her the pictures of the wound and the photo I had taken of his x-ray. "Oh wow. Can I give you my number so you can send me those pictures," she asked. "I'll see the orthopedic surgeons at Connaught tomorrow and I will show them these pictures." I sat there dumbfounded. God really was orchestrating Mohammed's story. Katie only worked on the ship every couple of weeks and she didn't always work on this ward. God brought her to MY ward the day after I got the x-ray and now things were happening! I texted her the photos right away and waited in hope and prayer to hear an answer. 

The next day Katie texted me that the surgeons wanted to admit Mohammed to the hospital! It was Friday and I had plans for my day off, but this was more important. I wanted to make sure Mohammed could get in by the weekend. I met Mohammed and brought him down to the hospital. Katie met us there and we went through the whole process of paying for his admission card, going through triage, speaking to the doctor, getting his blood drawn, etc. It was honestly a frustrating process because the surgeon had already approved him getting admitted but they still wanted him to go to a "holding unit" for 24 hours that was dirty, crowded and understaffed. But it was a step in the right direction, so we celebrated the small victories.

By Monday, Mohammed was on Katie's ward. They gave him an IV and started him on IV antibiotics for the infection in his bone. I honestly don't know if he would've been able to survive much longer without antibiotics because it was the grace of God that he had survived this long. I was relieved that he had a hospital bed and was being taken care of. I had asked for prayers for Mohammed on social media and had so many friends and family praying for him, asking about him, and offering to donate towards his medical costs and surgery. I was blown away by the response. I told Mohammed about it later and said "Mohammed, you are very loved!"

The nurses at the hospital wrote up a whole list of supplies and medications that Mohammed needed. "You need to go to the pharmacy and buy these things and bring them back," they told me. That's the way it works in some parts of Africa. If you don't buy the medications and supplies, the patient doesn't get them. It's very different than the way we do health care in the US, but for them it works. The ward assistant, Romeo, offered to go with me. We started walking toward the pharmacy down the street then he stopped me. "Can you walk fast?" he asked. "Yes, pretty fast," I responded. "Ok then let's go! We walked about a mile at top speed until we got to the main market. "This pharmacy is the cheapest," he told me proudly. We handed our list over to the pharmacist and they brought out our supplies: 6 bottles of IV fluids, povodine, gloves, gauze, 6 IV catheters, medical tape and some dressing supplies. It totaled up to about $50. He gave us "complimentary" sodas for our purchase and we walked out. 

                                                      One of the many supply lists to fill

"Wait, we are near the bean salad stand," I told Romeo. He looked at me confused. "Mohammed loves bean salad! We have to get some for him!" So we walked over to the bean salad stand. In the midst of our adventure to the market, we had met a deaf boy about 15 years old. He had asked me for food and I did the little sign language I knew to tell him my name and that he could come with us. He was very sweet and had been walking with us for at least 30 minutes now. I asked Romeo if he wanted bean salad and he shook his head no. So I ordered two and when the first one came out, I handed it to our new little friend. He looked at me with wide eyes full of excitement. He started eating it right away and had a big smile from ear to ear. It was fun to bring some joy to his day in the midst of our scavenger hunt.

We eventually made it back to the hospital and brought the supplies to the nurses. When Mohammed saw that we got him bean salad, he was so happy! He thanked me and started eating it right away. I was glad to see that had brightened his day. 

Over a week went by that Mohammed was in the hospital. I would visit him on my days off or after I got off work to make sure he was doing ok. I had bought him a Bible and every time I came, he would tell me about what he had read that day and what he was learning. And every day that I left, he would tell me "I'm praying for you that God blesses you and protects you and gives you a long life." And then as I would walk out, I would say "I love you" and he would call back "I love you too!" I was glad that Mohammed was off the street, in a safe place and being taken care of. But I also worried that he would get sick before they would finally do his surgery. Every day there was something different. One day they were behind on the surgery schedule and had to bump him to another day. The next day there was no oxygen in the OR and they had to cancel all surgeries. I was beginning to see more and more why Mercy Ships had needed to come to help the people of Sierra Leone. The health care system was just so broken and lacking. 

 

                                        One of my visits to see Mohammed in the hospital

As time went by, more and more of my friends on the ship were hearing about Mohammed. They would ask me where I was going as I was heading out to visit him or coming back from seeing him. One night, I asked if we could pray for him after "Coffee with Koffi," one of the Bible study groups on the ship. Eventually, I had a handful of friends who knew his story and wanted to meet him. We took a trip to the hospital together one day and spent some time talking to him and praying for him. Mary, a volunteer from Colorado, was among the friends who came that day. 

                           Koffi, Larissa, me, Mohammed, Romeo, Mary & Judith at the hospital

Mary was especially touched by Mohammed's story. She asked me if she could come back with me again. Mohammed continued to call me "Mom," but now called Mary "Grandma." We would come together and bring him clothes, snacks, medicine and whatever he was needing. I was overjoyed to have a friend who cared for Mohammed as much as I did and who could come with me on my adventures to Connaught. 

After twelve days in the hospital, I was told that Mohammed was finally going to have amputation surgery. He was feeling a bit sad about it, but knew he needed to have the surgery or his bone could become more infected and he could die. I asked him how he was feeling and he said "I'm good, I want to have the surgery!"

The day of the surgery, Mary and I went to the hospital to check on Mohammed. It was already almost 3pm and Mohammed still had not gone to the OR. The nurses reassured us that Mohammed was up next. They informed us that he still needed some IV pain medication for post-op pain, so they wrote us a prescription and sent us over to the pharmacy. After we picked up the medication, we headed back over to the ward. The nurses asked if I wanted to talk to the surgeon before the surgery. "I mean, I don't need to talk to him, but I can," I replied. They sent me to the OR entrance and a man in a white plastic apron came out to meet us. "I am Dr. Contu," he said, shaking our hands. I managed a smile, trying not to stare at the plastic "gown" that looked like something I would wear in a soup kitchen. "Is this their sterile gown here," I wondered to myself. Dr. Contu reassured us that they were getting ready to call Mohammed down to the OR. Mary had a jersey that she had brought with her in her bag. She pulled it out and handed it to the surgeon "Make sure you do a good job on Mohammed's surgery," she said with a wink. The surgeon smiled grateful for his new gift. We came back and told Mohammed that all would be well, said a prayer for him and headed back to our home on the ship.

                                         Mary & I with Mohammed the day of his surgery

The following day I was working an evening shift, so I stopped by in the morning before work. Mohammed was wincing in pain and told me his leg was hurting. I went to the nurses and they told me he had run out of IV pain medicine. "That's impossible," I said. "I bought a 10-pack and it hasn't even been 24 hours." Sure enough, there it was in his patient bag. They had just not seen it. I handed them the vial and asked them to please give it to him. I was so frustrated and annoyed by the lack of care at this hospital. I wished I could stay with Mohammed constantly so I could be his nurse because it often felt like things were overlooked or not done when myself or Katie weren't there. The nurse drew up the medication and I headed to the pharmacy. There were still several vials, but I wasn't sure if I could come the next day and I wanted to  make sure he had more than enough to keep him comfortable. 

I returned from the pharmacy with the medications and a sandwich that I had bought for Mohammed on my way back. His pain had mostly subsided and he was in better spirits. We chatted for awhile and I tried to tell him that I was going to be leaving at the end of the week to go back home. He said "ok" and changed the subject. I was relieved that he wasn't more upset. I wanted to give him a heads up that I was leaving Africa, but I also wanted him to know that he would be taken care of.

Two days later, Mary and I returned to the hospital with another friend. Mohammed was doing well and was in good spirits. We chatted with him for a bit, then I told him "Mohammed, I'm leaving to go back to America tomorrow." He looked at me in shock, then hung his head and began to cry. He hadn't understood when I had mentioned it the last time. I told him he was going to be ok and he would be taken care of. It was a sad moment. He wouldn't look up and I started to cry too. I was so grateful that I could make an impact on his life, but now it was my time to pass the torch to others. I brought a Christmas gift for him that included a new Bible (the paperback Bible I had given him two weeks before was super worn from how much he was using it), a jersey, a Sierra Leonean cell phone, some chocolates and printed photos of us together. Mohammed loved the gift, but still looked sad. I wasn't sure how to make him feel better. Mary was leaving the following week, but had offered to come see him again before she left. I said goodbye to Mohammed and we hugged. I told him I would stay in touch and we would make sure he was taken care of. He nodded slowly and told me he loved me. I said goodbye to all of the other mommas of patients who had been helping me take care of Mohammed. I handed Aminata some cash and told her to make sure to buy Mohammed food. She had sometimes bought him meals herself out of the kindness of her own heart and I knew she was someone I could trust. She nodded and hugged me. 

Opening his Christmas gift- Mohammed especially liked the photos

The next week, Mary went to visit Mohammed and to say her goodbyes before she left. A few days later Abby went back to check on him. Everyone was making sure he was taken care of. The hospital was talking about discharging him about a week later, right after Christmas. Abby begged them to give us a few more days to figure out a safe place for Mohammed to go. She did a great job advocating for him and made sure he didn't end up back on the street. 

                                                           Abby and Mohammed 

I was back in Arizona with my family for the holidays trying to coordinate calls with the 7-hour time difference and figure out a place for Mohammed to go. My friend Anna gave me the contact info for a missionary couple that she knew in Sierra Leone. They put me in touch with another woman named Antoinette, who ran a Christian rehab center for people who had formerly done drugs and needed to be in a place where they can start a new life. She called me and told me they had a spot for Mohammed. The timing was perfect as he was going to be discharged in two days. It would cost $170/month and he would need to be there for a minimum of three months. I told her we would get her the funds. That day, I messaged another friend on the ship and asked if she could give the leones (Sierra Leonean currency) to the rehab center. I told her I would pay her back through venmo, but she told me not to. She said she wanted to help Mohammed and this was her way of giving back. I was blown away by her generosity and the generosity of so many others who had already given. Before the first month was even over, another kind woman offered to pay for month 2 and 3 of rehab and the outpatient dressing changes that Mohammed was still getting. I had taken this on as my responsibility, but so many people had come alongside me to help and be part of his story too.

Mohammed is doing well and still calls me "Mom." Antoinette is making sure he is well taken care of and Mohammed and I Facetime on her phone about once a week. He is still sad about me leaving and still asks when I will come back to visit, but he is gradually adjusting to his life at the rehab center and his new friends there. We are still working out a plan for where he will go at the end of the three months, but I know that God will open doors for him, just as He has along this whole journey.

Abby & Koffi took Mohammed to the rehab center after discharge from the hospital

I hesitated to share this story because I didn't want it to come across that I was trying to get any praise for myself or anything I have done. But I know that Mohammed's story has touched so many already that I wanted to share it as an encouragement of what God can do through ordinary people like you and me. I never would've imagined all that God was going to do that day that I met Mohammed on the street. But I couldn't help but think of the story of the Good Samaritan and I didn't want to be the person who walked on the other side of the street and pretended not to see him. I wanted to be the one to see him, to help him and to love him. Because Jesus told us that's what He would do. His heart is to care for the poor and the needy and to see those who are unseen and cast aside by everyone else. It just started with one step of obedience. Buy him some food. Listen. Pray. Help. And in the end, his life was saved and forever changed. You can impact the lives around you too. You just have to listen to what God is asking you to do and to say "yes" to him when He asks you to do it. As Mother Theresa once said "Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love." 

From Death to Life

The first time I saw him, I was completely shocked at how thin and frail his body was: literally skin and bones. I had never seen anyone so emaciated in my entire life. But it wasn't just how thin he was that struck me, but the lack of life or motivation to live. 14-year old Selim would lie in his bed and moan, lacking the strength to even lift his head. He would point to his IV, requesting morphine for his pain and I could see that he was trying to escape the pain and perhaps even become numb to life around him. With each moan, it was like he was begging to die. At 14-years of age and nearly 5 feet tall, he had fallen to a mere 48 pounds. His mother sat beside his bed, but rarely touched him. It was as though she was afraid to engage because it was too painful for her heart, knowing he was dying. 

It seemed like a matter of days until Selim would pass. He had come to the hospital from the refugee camp for a bladder stone, but after he was taken to surgery, it became apparent that there were multiple other problems and that he would not have a simple recovery. He had been in the hospital for several weeks when I arrived and his condition had continued to deteriorate. My heart broke for this boy, but the whole situation seemed so hopeless. The surgeons had placed a feeding tube due to his weight loss and inability to eat after his initial surgery, but in spite of great surgeons and tedious nursing care, it seemed like he was at a standstill...he just wasn't improving and it appeared that he didn't want to. I looked in his eyes and saw pain and hopelessness and it broke my heart. I did my best to make him comfortable, take care of his pain and nausea, and show him that he was loved. For five days straight, I watched his suffering and prayed that he would turn a corner. 

Then one day, the missionary surgeon who was caring for Selim told me a story of hope. He had cared for a patient several months before who everyone thought was going to die. "No one thought he would walk out of this place alive, but he did...and proved to be a miracle." He said it with a glimmer in his eye and I knew that after years of working in this place, he wasn't ready to give up on Selim yet either. His story gave me hope that Selim would one day walk out of that same hospital, proving to be a miracle. That day, I sent out text messages and requests on social media for prayers for Selim. I couldn't give up on him yet and I would rally an army of spiritual warriors who fight for him in prayer. 

The next day, Selim seemed to be feeling a bit better and my heart lightened a bit knowing that God was working in him. That afternoon, the social worker came by to see patients and spent some time talking to Selim. While they were talking, Selim asked about Jesus and she was able to share the gospel with him. The next thing I knew, I was carrying a medication over to Selim and realized they were getting ready to pray. I wasn't sure what was being said because it was all in Rohingya, but Selim was sitting on the edge of his bed with his hands lifted up, eyes shut tight and praying intently. I joined the prayer in my heart and could see that something had changed when we finished. I asked the social worker what they were praying for and she said "Selim asked me about Jesus, so I shared with him and he just prayed to receive Jesus in his life!" I was so happy to hear the news and thought back to all the prayers that had gone up for this boy's life the day before. Jesus had heard those prayers and now Selim was one of his own! I imagined the celebration that was going on in heaven...there was certainly some celebrating in my own heart!

The rest of the afternoon, that hollow depressed look in Selim's eyes disappeared and was replaced by an interest in life and a sense of hope. He was finally engaging with us and expressing a desire to live! Several hours later, I brought over the milk for Selim's feeding tube. He started pointing and saying something to me in Rohingya, so I brought over a translator. "He doesn't want to eat through his tube anymore. He wants to eat normally," he told me. I could hardly believe my ears...Selim hadn't eaten anything by mouth in weeks. He really was turning a corner and I could see the answers to my prayers unfolding before my eyes. We gave Selim something light to eat and he kept it down!

Over the next few days, Selim continued to improve. He asked for his foley catheter to be taken out and continued to take steps in the right direction. Within another week, he was asking to stand and try to walk. He was still weak and needed a walker to help him, but he was determined and with each milestone, he would flex his muscles and give me a smile. It was hard to believe that this was the same boy who I could barely talk to a week before, with a hollow stare, a pained expression and no interest in life. Every time I looked at him, I was amazed. But why should I be shocked, I thought to myself. Jesus had stepped into Selim's heart and now that new life spilled out of him. His smile was contagious and the newfound joy he had discovered in such a dark place could only come from the Author of life himself, Jesus Christ. 

Finally getting some fresh air

As Selim continued to gain weight and get stronger, I found that I could hardly keep up with enough food to give him. He was like a typical teenage boy, ravenous for food every couple of hours. I found myself visiting our "canteen" multiple times throughout the day buying milk, peanuts, ice cream, chips, bananas or whatever snacks Selim was in the mood for that day. I didn't want to deny him anything he wanted to eat because I wanted him to get back to a healthy weight as quickly as possible. I occasionally got funny looks from the workers at the canteen and I couldn't help but think that they were judging me and wondering how I could possibly eat so much! I would tell them in my broken Bangla that it wasn't for me and they would just nod with a doubtful look and I would just laugh. I didn't care if they judged me as long as Selim gained weight! One day, Selim asked for cow liver for breakfast. I would normally try to talk someone out of that type of request, but it was my sweet Selim and I knew it was better for him than a lot of the other things he asked me to buy him. So I sent one of our ward clerks across the street to the market to buy it for him. 

My days with Selim were so precious and over our time together, we formed a very sweet bond. Every time he reached his arms out and said "Auntie Becca!" with a big smile across his face, my heart melted. I loved this boy as my own nephew and I was so grateful that God had brought him into my life. But I knew that I would soon be moving over to the diphtheria clinic nearly two hours away and I wondered how Selim would handle it. The morning for me to leave came and I could hardly look at Selim. I gave hugs to everyone else, but saved him for last. Finally, Selim motioned me over to his bed and asked what was wrong. He could see the tears welling up in my eyes and I told him that I had been asked to help at the diphtheria clinic in the refugee camp for the next three weeks and that I might not see him again. Selim reached up his arms to embrace me and gave me a long hug as the tears rolled down both of our cheeks. I didn't want to say goodbye. It seemed too soon. I wanted to see him healthy and strong and walking out of the hospital like the other child I had been told about.  I reminded Selim that I would continue to pray for him every day and check in with my friends there to make sure he was getting stronger. But, from a distance, I couldn't bring Selim his favorite foods or encourage him to walk or take his medicine. I realized in that moment that I  had to release control and give him to God. I knew that Selim was safe in the hands of my Father and that he would complete the good work He had started in Selim's life.

Throughout the next week, I got reports that Selim was continuing to eat and get stronger. His central line had been removed and his wounds had healed up nicely. Now he was going to physical therapy every day to regain his strength. I was encouraged with the updates on his progress, but I was hopeful I would get to visit him and my other friends one more time. My schedule opened up at the clinic and after a long stretch of shifts, I was given two days off. Thankfully, the transportation arrangements all worked out and I headed back to the hospital to see my dear friends and my sweet Selim. 

No one told Selim I was coming back for a visit because we all wanted to surprise him. I walked into the ward and saw him smiling at me from across the room. But the second I reached out to hug him, he began to cry and wouldn't let go of me. He couldn't believe I had come back! And I couldn't believe how good he looked! His cheeks had plumped up and he looked so much healthier and stronger than when I had left. In the ten days I was gone, he had gained just over eight pounds! After our sweet reunion, Selim wouldn't let me leave his side. He asked me to take him down for his physical therapy and when we got there, he said "You stay right there!" He didn't want me leaving again. While I was only back for two short days, we had a very sweet time together having tea and snacks at the canteen, going for "walks" with me pushing his wheelchair, watching silly movies and sharing lots of hugs and smiles. 

Selim during physical therapy

Tea and treats with Auntie Becca

While it was sad to leave Selim the second time, it was much sweeter being given that gift of a reunion that neither one of us ever knew we would have. And as the weeks went by, Selim continued to gain weight and get stronger. Soon, he was walking on his own and ready to go home. And Selim walked out of there just like the other little boy that no one thought would survive. The skeleton of a boy who wanted to die got his life back when he gave his life to Jesus. And he walked out healthy and strong because we have a great and amazing God who answers prayers and shows his love and power through little boys like Selim. I pray that Selim will always remember that he was brought from death to life both spiritually and physically and that he will point others to Christ so that they can experience the same. 

Slapped with reality

Spoiled. Rotten. If I had to pick two words to describe how I felt about myself over the last few weeks in Africa, those would be the words. It's not because I'm high maintenance or demanding (at least I don't think I am most days). But when you get a smack in the face of the realities of poverty, you start to see the extremes of just how much we really have in America.

The past few weeks have been amazing. I have been able to make an impact on so many kids' lives in Malawi and then travel to Zambia to bring hope to many people who have never heard of Jesus. It has been incredible and overwhelming at the same time. 

The mission in Malawi was the first medical mission where I was outnumbered by the locals. It was so fun to be the only white person working on night shift...but it was also eye-opening. I heard the stories not only of the patients and their families, but also of the nurses working with me. 

Two of the nurses I worked with on the mission

Malawi is one of the poorest nations in Africa and the poverty hit me square between the eyes. Many of the children were dressed in clothes that were dirty and torn, the mothers didn't know how to use a disposable diaper b/c they had never used (or possibly seen) a diaper in their lives (they just tied cloths on them and would air them out when they got wet). The hospital was so poor and run down that they had to borrow several OR tables for surgeries from another hospital before we came because they only had two that weren't broken. I would see bugs in the ward on a regular basis and even saw a stray cat run through the ward one night. Another night, the hospital lost power and we had to work in the dark with our headlamps until the electrician could come and fix it. 

Got to spend time with lots of cute babies

The local nurses told me that it was not uncommon for the medical wards to have patients die on a regular basis because of the limitations of their hospital. It was probably the poorest hospital I've ever worked in. But at the same time, the patients and families were so happy with the surgeries. There were so many smiles and "thank-you's." I don't think I ever heard a patient or family complain about the conditions there. We tried to make it nice in the post-op ward, but it was still definitely sub-par by American standards. I can imagine the comments I would hear from my American patients if I put them in a room with 25 other patients with no air conditioning and bugs all over the place....or gave them a mattress and told them they basically had to sleep on the floor. I don't think that would go over so well.

Part of the "Thank You" ceremony the patients' families did for us

After that reality check in Malawi, I headed over to Zambia. I was working with local pastors in rural villages at least 100 km from the nearest hospital. I heard stories of children dying because their parents couldn't afford the malaria medicine which costs about $5. Another person told me that sometimes kids will be sick for a long time and even die because their families cannot afford to pay for transportation to the hospital (approximately $20 round trip). 

It all hit me the hardest the day I met Cami. We were doing home visits in the village and I noticed there was a little girl laying down inside one hut, only looking up occasionally. Finally her mom brought her out to us. The little girl was 7-years old, but very thin and weak. Her mom lifted up Cami's shirt so we could see how emaciated she was. You could see every single one of her ribs. Every bone in her body was prominent. She was literally skin and bones. Her mom set her down near us and the flies covered her face. She looked so weak and miserable. Suffering was written all over her face. But she wasn't this thin for lack of food. Her 3-year old brother was chubby and healthy. Her mom brought out Cami's medical record booklet, which showed she was born at a normal weight. She was right where she needed to be on the growth chart until somewhere between one and two years of age. Then her weight went significantly the opposite direction. Her mom told us she had started to have problems swallowing, along with intermittent vomiting. They had taken her to a local clinic a few times, but they couldn't figure out what was wrong. Her mother told us that they had wanted to take her to the big hospital, but they couldn't afford it. The medical care in Zambia is covered by the government, so all they needed to pay was transportation. But they didn't have $20. I sat there looking at Cami as her mom told us her story and I couldn't keep the tears from flowing. Things would never have gotten to this point in the States. I started thinking of IV nutrition, medical tests and all the things we could do for Cami if she was back in the U.S. It just wasn't fair. Here she was suffering and her mom had pretty much given up and accepted things the way they were. But it absolutely wasn't ok. No child should ever have to suffer like that. 

My first day meeting Cami

We asked if we could pray for Cami and her mom agreed and set her next to me. Cami was so weak that she just laid her head on my lap because it took too much energy to lift it. We laid hands on her and prayed for healing from the swallowing issues she was having. After we prayed, I had Cami sit up so I could try to give her some food. First her mom brought porridge. She ate it slowly, but got it down. Then I made her a vitamin drink with some dissolvable tablets that I had in my backpack. Gradually we moved from that to raisins, then small pieces of nuts that I had broken up for her. She was able to eat the food and she started perking up a little bit as I fed her. 

That night, her mom brought her to watch the Jesus Film at our camp. Afterwards, we asked if anyone wanted prayer. Cami's mom came up among several others and told us that Cami was doing better. She had eaten fish and shima (a local staple) after we prayed for her. It was the first time in a long time that she had been able to tolerate solid food. I came over to Cami to pray for her and laid my hand on her head. At that moment, she looked up at me with those big brown eyes. She looked into my eyes for a long time, then reached for my other hand and wrapped her little fingers around one of my fingers, just like a small baby would do. It was such a sweet moment. I could sense that she felt the love I had for her and prayed that she sensed God's love for her as well. 

The next day we arranged for Cami to go to the local hospital. I didn't see Cami again after that, but my friends at Trail Missions updated me the next week on how she was doing. Cami stayed in the hospital for almost a week and when she came home, they were able to bring her food and supplements to help her to gain weight with the money I had left with them. They have promised to keep me updated on her condition when they go back to visit her village.

It's so humbling to see children that are suffering like Cami and to hear stories of her and many others who can't afford a few dollars to pay to go to the hospital when their health or even their lives are in danger. We easily drop $20 or more on a dinner out or a night at the movies and don't give it a second thought. I recently heard a statistic that anyone who owns their own laptop is in the top 1% richest people in the world. Wow! I never really considered myself rich. I grew up in a middle class home. We always had enough, but we didn't necessarily always have the frills and fancy things like other kids. 

It's so easy to want more when you don't realize how much you've actually been given. But the truth is, compared to the rest of the world, most of us are filthy rich. I don't say that to make you feel guilty, but to make you stop and think. God said he had blessed Abraham so that he could be a blessing to others. I believe the same is true for us. We're not just blessed so we can hoard it and keep it for ourselves, but so we can bless others. We all know the saying that it's more blessed to give than to receive. That phrase may be a little cliché, but it is absolutely true. Our American culture is so self-centered. We are constantly taking selfies, absorbed in our own lives, plans, Facebook statuses, and finances that we rarely stop to see the needs around us. We get so caught up in the trivial things that we miss the many opportunities that God puts in front of us to sow into His Kingdom and make a lasting impact. The need may not be as obvious as an emaciated child who can't afford a ride to the hospital, but the need is still there if we take the time to look for it. 

My pastor recently said "In every room you walk into, there is some sort of need." It could be a need for a listening ear, a word of encouragement, a need for a friend, or some kind of material or financial need. But the need is there. We just have to get our eyes off ourselves long enough to see it. So who does God want you to bless today? Wherever you're at in your life, will you stop looking at the things you DON'T have and start looking at what you DO have and how you can use it to bless others? Chances are you're in that 1% of the population that has far more than you ever realized. 

Back to Africa

It has been awhile now since I left Africa...sometimes the memories seem so distant, but the people there are still so special to me and there is still a deep place in my heart that gets excited anytime I am reminded of that beautiful continent. And although I left the ship almost 3 years ago, the memory of the ship didn't leave me and often still comes up in everyday conversations and occasionally even in my dreams. So I had really hoped to be able to go back to visit the ship while it was docked in Madagascar. I had been working on Operation Smile missions for about a year and had heard that there was a mission to Antananarivo, Madagascar in April. I applied for the trip and waited....and waited. I knew the odds of getting on such a highly sought after trip were not very high for me since I was new to OpSmile and didn't have too many missions under my belt. But still I hoped...and prayed.


Then, through a series of God-ordained events, one of my leaders on another mission earlier this year "just happened" to mention to me that she had been contacted about a need for another nurse to Madagascar. I told her I had been trying to get on the mission and she put in a good recommendation for me. Within a few days, I had an email in my inbox inviting me to join the team. I could hardly believe it! This was really going to happen!


To add to the "coincidence," I found out that my friend Jaime was going to be working nights on the mission with me. We were both staying beyond the mission and decided we would travel together for a bit after the mission ended.


Antananarivo or "Tana" as it is more commonly called was not a disappointing place to end up. The people were definitely different than the Africans I had come to know so well in West Africa. I quickly came to learn that there was both Asian and African influence in Madagascar and the people looked and seemed to be a combination of the two...not quite as loud and friendly as the West Africans, but still very warm and kind-hearted. Many of them spoke French and I was excited to practice my broken French for the first time in a long time. Thankfully, there was always at least one person who understood French (or should I say MY French) who was able to translate into Malagasi to the other Mama's in the room.


In spite of the fact that I had only done three missions prior to Tana, I was designated the "nurse in charge" on night shift. Apparently, I have that "natural leader" trait, so I didn't have a choice. I enjoyed being able to help out the others as much as possible. Our local nurses were also wonderful and I had the opportunity of getting to know them well.

Our local nurse "Malala" and I with one of our patients before surgery

The mission went smoothly and in spite of moments of children crying and everyone needing their pain meds all at once, it was beautiful to be back in Africa, taking care of these wonderful people who were so grateful for the surgeries we were able to do for their little ones. There were too many cute kids to count and in spite of occasionally making the kiddos cry when I forced their medicine down them, I still ended the mission with a bunch of new friends (even some of the kids who decided to forgive me...it's amazing how much forgiveness hugs, bubbles, and toys can bring)!

We had so many wonderful patients with their own stories of hope. But one of my favorites was a father and his son who had their cleft lips fixed the same week. The Dad recalled that he had been sad about his cleft lip his whole life, but that when his son was born, he realized there was a purpose. Now his son wouldn't feel alone! He would be able to relate and empathize with his son. And now, so many years later, they were both having surgery. It was so special.


The mission came to an end before we knew it and Jaime and I headed out to the rainforest. What we didn't know was that our late departure from Tana and lack of planning was not the best combo for traveling out to the Volcana Lodge. Thankfully, though, we had God on our side and He definitely paved the way for us.

As the two of us boarded a bus full of people heading the direction we wanted to go, we got cozy as we realized we would have to put aside the term "personal space" for the duration of the trip. Thankfully, Jaime and I have both been in these situations before, so it wasn't a big deal for either of us. About 5 minutes after driving down the road, the bus stopped to pick up more people. We saw a guy get on who was wearing one of our "Operation Smile Madagascar" t-shirts. We said hi and realized he was one of the local surgeons from the team. And we were VERY grateful to have someone on the bus to tell us where to get off because we didn't really know what we were doing.

A couple hours later, we got to the town where we were supposed to get on the "connecting bus." We hadn't realized when we left town that there would be a time crunch. This was the very last one to go to the town we were headed and there was about one seat left...maybe. Jaime and I squeezed into the back, along with two other guys, who decided it would be easier for them to just stand on the back of the bus and hold on to the back door than to try to find a spot inside. We started off and within the first few minutes, Jaime had a chicken pecking at her foot. We couldn't help but laugh. This situation was not ideal, but it sure was comical...we were the only two white people in this bus that was jam-packed with people and animals and now a chicken was hoping that her toes were something he could eat. Thankfully, the ride on the chicken bus was only about 45 minutes (compared to several hours we had spent on the first, less crowded bus), but it was still long enough for Jaime and I to form a life-long chicken bus, random African experience, BFF connection. When we arrived at our destination, we found out that there were no taxis around. Thankfully, we had made a friend on the bus who happened to work at the hotel we were staying. We were able to get a ride up to the hotel instead of walking several miles up a dirt road that was now covered in mud from the rain (not to mention it was getting dark). So it was the grace of God that we made it in one piece.

The next several days were filled with lots of fun activities, a walk through the rainforest to spot families of lemurs, a "night walk" where we saw lots of chameleons and other fun little animals with our flashlights. We even got to visit a little island that was full of lemurs that we were able to feed. It was so funny having them all crawl around my shoulders and walk on my head. They LOVED the bananas we brought them and reminded me a lot of little monkeys!

Jamie and I with the lemurs

After our fun trip to Volcana Lodge, Jaime and I headed back from our trip and then parted ways, as I started out for Tamatave to see my friends from Mercy Ships. It was very different visiting the ship as a guest instead of being there as a crew member, but I had a lot of fun catching up with old friends, visiting the patients on the ward, and helping out with the kids at the orthopedic rehab center down the road. I also brought some fun things for the kids at the "Hope Center," the facility that Mercy Ships used for patients who needed follow-up, but no longer needed to be hospitalized and had no place to stay in Tamatave. The kids quickly warmed up to me and before long, we were taking tons of selfies and goofy photos. I couldn't help but think to myself "Oh Africa, I have missed you!"

Before I knew it, it was time to leave Tamatave. I had a nice little stop in South Africa on my way home for a safari, as well as a visit to several old friends from Mercy Ships. I came home with a full heart, grateful for the opportunity to see so many dear friends and make many new friends in two amazing African countries. Until next time, Africa...

Guatemala

Throughout my travels, there have been several places that I immediately fell in love with. One of those was Guatemala. I was so excited when I found out that I had the opportunity to go back! I arrived in Guatemala City almost exactly a year to date since my first trip there in October 2015 with Helps International. There is something about Guatemala that really captured my heart. From the warm-hearted people and rich culture to the beautiful lake, volcanoes, and amazing scenery, it's hard to go there and not love it!

This mission was honestly my favorite Operation Smile mission so far. We had an amazing team comprised of lots of internationals, including volunteers from Brazil, Peru, Sweden, Spain, Italy, Australia, Norway, Bolivia, Venezuela, US, Canada and of course Guatemala. We had awesome team leaders and everyone seemed to come together quickly to accomplish a common purpose: to give the best care to the children of Guatemala. 

Screening flowed smoothly and there was even a special program on the stage to entertain the kids during some of the waiting periods. I was able to connect with several of the kids as they came through the vital sign station. The Spiderman and princess tattoos I had brought were very popular with the kids and they all wanted one before they passed on to the next station. There was one little girl in particular named Telma who bonded with me immediately. I was grateful that we finished the vital signs and registration stations a bit early that day because she was waiting and ready to play. She had brought her own little bag with a kid-sized brush and play makeup. 

The kids were happy to show off their princess tattoos

So we set up her "beauty parlor" in the back and I did her hair and makeup. Then it was my turn. Thankfully, another little girl came along before I was completely decked out in hot pink eye shadow and we we were able to switch over to doing her hair. After we finished with our "beauty parlor," the girls started asking me about my stethoscope and I was able to teach them how to listen to their heart and lungs. I decided to take advantage of their curiosity and the teaching moment and taught them how to check their radial and carotid pulses too. Then I pulled out my pulse-oximeter and taught them how to check their pulse and oxygen level with that fun little gadget. The girls were very fascinated and I told them that they should consider being nurses when they grow up! 

Telma and I 

Learning to use a pulseox

Eventually we had to pack up and part ways, but  I received multiple hugs before they finally left. Screening had been a success and I had the chance to play with the kids this time too, which was definitely a bonus! 

We were very blessed to have such a wonderful hospital to work in with some incredible staff! They even converted an extra room into an OR for us the day before surgery! The head nurse, Rosy, was also one of my favorite people. She was so kind and humble and helped us with everything we could possibly think of that we needed in the hospital.

A few friends with Rosy (far right)

Before long, the operating rooms were in full swing and lots of babies and children were getting new lips and palates. I tried to get a bit of extra rest that first day, as I was getting ready to start my stretch of night shifts. In spite of my efforts, I was pretty exhausted after the first night, especially since the other night shift volunteer was from Peru, so there was only Spanish-speaking. Needless to say, my rusty Spanish improved very quickly. 

My night nurse buddy Ana and our pediatrician Alexie

One of the great things about working night shift is that once everyone gets settled, things slow down and there is more time to talk to the patients and families. Generally, most of them are sleeping by this time, but for some reason, we seemed to have at least one child every night that decided to wake up in the middle of the night who wanted to play. It was sweet to watch the mamas attempt to play with the kids in spite of their sleepy eyes and obvious exhaustion. Occasionally, the kids would want to play with the nurses or let us hold them, but mama always had to be in sight or they would cry. So, in this case, there was no rest for the weary when it came to the poor parents. But in spite of their exhaustion, it was evident that the parents had so much joy that their children had been able to receive their surgeries!

In the middle of the night, as different children would wake up ready to play, their parents would bring them out to the hallway and start talking to the nurses. During this time, I had the opportunity to hear some of their individual stories. One in particular touched my heart. It was the story about David Gomez, an adorable 11-month old little boy who was born with cleft lip. His mother, Adela was smiling as she was watching David play with a beautiful smile and a perfect lip. He had just had surgery that day, but his lip was healing so well that you could barely see the incision line. 

As Adela began her story, her eyes filled up with tears and her voice became shaky. "I had seen other babies with cleft lip before David was born, but I never thought it would happen to me. I had three healthy children and then David was born. It was such a shock when we saw that he had a cleft lip. It broke my heart to see him that way. Every time I looked at him, I felt sad. I just wanted my baby to be healthy." Whenever other children would see her baby, they would ask what happened to him. She would try to explain that he was born that way, but couldn't help but feel sad for her baby. 

Adela started to look into options to get David's lip fixed. There was a surgeon in the area, but he wasn't a specialist for cleft lips. Finally, she found a specialist, but it was too expensive and she knew that she couldn't afford it. Then, a medical group came down for a cleft lip mission, so she took a bus to the city where they were holding the mission in hopes of getting help. But when she arrived, she found out that she had been misinformed and the mission had already ended. Feeling hopeless, she returned back to their hometown of San Marcos. 

Then one day, Adela's 7-year old son called out to her from the living room "Hurry Mommy, come here!" Adela rushed to the room and found her son watching a tv commercial for Operation Smile. "Look Mommy, they can fix David's lip! I want to see my baby brother like that with his mouth fixed. You have to take him to those people." This was the first time Adela had ever heard of Operation Smile. With renewed hope, she took down the information and prayed that she would be able to finally see her baby with a new lip.

As the day for screening approached, Adela said she began to get nervous. "I had heard that they wouldn't be able to do the surgery if he got sick or had a cough, so I was trying my best to keep him healthy." When screening day arrived, David was in good health and ready for surgery! Soon Adela received a surgery date and information on when to bring her son to the hospital. David was finally going to get his surgery! 

David recovered quickly and took his medicine like a champ. "I'm so happy he can have a normal mouth now," she told us trying to hold back the tears. "I am just so grateful." 

David and Adela

It was so great to hear David's story and so many others as each night passed. It was such a great reminder to me of why we do what we do. It is worth all of the jet lag, hard work, night shifts and tired days. Because at the end of it all, we had 99 babies and children with each of their own stories who received their own special miracle and now each one of them has a bright future. I am so grateful that I got to be a part of each of their amazing stories! I hope it's not long before I get to come back and be part of another incredible mission!