I was teary several times on Thursday, arrival day, the day
we have all been waiting for since 2014. People asked if they were good tears; I said
they aren’t necessarily bad tears,
just alive tears. Most people get that, thankfully. I was awakened by the horrid grinding of metal
on metal reverberating through the walls; the pilot entrance being opened! The usual annoyance of a sound like that was
quickly replaced with leaping out of bed and throwing open my window shade –
Benin, right out my window! We entered the harbor and our berth (parking
space for ships) with all the pomp and circumstance expected; singing, dancing,
a ceremony attended by various dignitaries, representatives, and assorted VIP’s. During the sail I had shared with the crew
some of my Benin experiences; quite a few came around and asked me if it looks
familiar. Well, I was never in the port,
so no, not really! Let me escape these
industrial barricades and I think I will feel more at home again.
And it was true.
Yesterday I got to go out and see or HOPE center, and had several
meet-and-greets with hospital directors and contacts that I will be working with
over the next ten months. Aah, the
familiar streets, the lively colored clothing, the massive assortment of fruits
or fabrics or other paraphernalia piled on heads and babies slung on the backs
of their mamas. We pulled in to the HOPE
center parking lot (a pre- and post-hospital residence for patients and
caregivers) and as I got out of the Landcruiser it just smelled like
Benin. No idea what that is; some
combination of the local foliage in thick, humid air with whispers of garbage
fires, cooking fires, rotting fruit, and life going on all around us. I was immediately transported back to just
over eight years ago; my first steps on African soil right here in this city,
taking it all in with wide eyes and an open heart. I could feel it in my blood, the feeling that
all is as it should be; that a piece of myself that was left here has slipped
back into place and I am whole again.
I wandered around the compound, the reddish dirt at my feet
and the honk-honk of the Fanmilk man walking just outside the wall. Laundry hanging out to dry, and a huge mango
tree with baby fruits just making themselves seen, and I remember. So many good times under a mango tree. So
many friendships forged and memories imprinted and beverages consumed and
laughter and light and joy experienced under mango trees. They’re everywhere here and they provide a
really nice canopy of shade so many gathering places near my village and
elsewhere were under a mango tree. That’s where you’d spread out your mat and
take a nap during the hottest part of the day in the hottest part of the year;
desperate to catch a breeze and unable to do anything but lie still. There’s a deep joy that wells up in me at the
sight of the mango tree; in a cruel twist of fate I happen to be allergic to
mangoes, but there’s something about a mango tree that makes me feel at
home.
Today we meet our day crew, 225 locals without whom we
couldn’t do what we hope to do here in Benin.
The ship is now blissfully still for the next ten months, so the work of
unstrapping, untying, and unsecuring has begun.
Patient screening starts next week, with the hospital opening a few
weeks later and the first of many medical training programs also in just a few
weeks. It is a lot of work; but suddenly
I find myself thinking not about the work, but about the joy it is to do this,
to serve here, bringing hope and healing, light and life and service to the least
of these. I pray our patients find new life,
our training participants new hope, and our crew their own mango tree
experience here in this incredible nation.
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| HOPE center mango tree |
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