The CRC - Day 1: The Tour and Finding Our Way

Building tour led by Hawa and Isata -- two 17-year-old girls of the CRC. Isata is waiting to receive her exam results to hopefully progress to senior secondary school; Hawa goes to senior secondary school in the afternoons. She is anxious for positive results so that she doesn't have to be the only one of the older girls going to school in the afternoon.

We first looked at the new buildings -- very nice looking but still needing work to complete them; work that cannot be done by us and must be done before the children can begin to use them. Frustrating.

We visited with the workmen finishing the last two tiers of the new wall around the compound; all good workers, day-laborers, eager to please though, of course, not as machine-like as "experienced" workers, and using only the most rudimentary of tools to mix, transport, measure and set.

On to the outdoor kitchen to meet the cooks and to the library to survey the book cases there and discuss the carpentry project.

We then met with Lappia, Patrick, and Douda at the UMC Limb-Fitting Center back behind the dorms; started in 2000, they have fit some 200 legs of people and children. Then, as if to drive the point home, Mr Senessi, the electrician for the center, brought his 22-year old daughter whose left hand was amputated by the rebels in Freetown in 1999. Memunatu is her name.

The Child Rescue Centre -- The Arrival

I just slipped outside to write this entry -- the area is bustling with morning sounds: roosters crowing, people talking, brooms sweeping, small children crying, and the chatter of the CRC children doing their chores and going about their morning toilet in the compound adjacent to the Forest House grounds where we are staying for the next 10 days.

When I opened the screen door and sat on the "front" steps of the Forest House porch (in terms of orientation toward a street that we in America may call the front, the area I'm now sitting in faces into a yard of sorts--with a walkway running to the driveway; but there is no real face of the house other than this one); you can make out the spot where I was sitting at the steps in the center of the porch between the trees here.


Anyway, when I sat on the steps, I heard the boys, almost 50 yards away, call out "It's Derek! Hello Derek!"; they had only met me briefly along with the other team members last night, IN THE DARK, after a delayed arrival.

The terminal leg of our journey to Bo started with a courtesy visit to Bishop Humper in Freetown and turned out to be our joining midway through the proceedings celebrating Albert Academy's 101st birthday. [Albert Academy is a boarding academy of high regard in the country, with many visiting dignitaries and speakers].

Thousands of faces turned toward us as we disembark from the buss--very casually dressed Caucasians in a sea of smartly dressed Sierra Leoneans. They made room for us in the second row of the VIP section in front of everyone. They made room for us, even though they did not know us [a recurring theme throughout our visit]. And we listened to the usual litany of speakers--some entertaining, some droning; some things in the human experience never change, no matter what culture.

Bishop Humper, as Albert Academy Board Chairman spoke; I was able to meet him (greet him, anyway) after the proceedings and have a picture take with him--though as the last picture in the roll, that one may have not successfully clicked.

The item that clued me in that this was a big deal was that, not only Bishop Humper, but also Dr Wurie, current Minister of Education, attended and gave a speech. Evidently Muslim, and a very engaging speaker, he expressed full support for the existence and future development of the academy (though with some of the catch-phrase caveats I've learned to detect in politically-sensitive contexts).

We then drove back through Freetown, past the parliament building, the current American Embassy across from the landmark cotton tree (the new one being finished in a more secure location on higher ground and elsewhere in the city), and to the United Methodist House. It is a non-descript building--as run-down as any in the area, and doesn't carry any trappings in its interior that indicates that it's the office of the UM Bishop of Sierra Leone: dimly lit, dark halls, unrepaired and barred windows, plumbing dripping/barely operational, unmatched furniture and threadbare rugs. I'm sure there is a combination of the spirit of Christ as well as the raw truth of low income reflected in all this.

What can I say about the drive to Bo?

After the jostling bumper-to-bumper drive through the shop-lined, choked-with-pedestrian, children-leading-blind-beggars streets we exited the city on a well-maintained highway. The highway then became a wide street and, about 40 miles later became a pocked and pot-holed road, alternating with stretches of tarmac, graveled mud, and more pot holes.

One hundred miles and five hours later, we made it to a finely finished road--no more than five miles outside Bo. It marked the furthest completion of the Bo-to-Freetown highway before the rebels swept through, destroying or dismantling the paving equipment. The ride drove home the fact that we were missionaries-on-the-move, the reason why the way was so hard established in my mind the reason why I came out here in the first place.

Finally, we made our way to the CRC--the second our headlights turned up the drive, there was whooping and hollering, flashlights bobbing and little feet everywhere; we felt like rock stars.

I have mixed emotions about the arrival: not having done a foreign mission trip before, I was unsure of what to expect--and I appreciate the enthusiastic greeting; however, it felt over-reactive to me. Then again, it's not about me, and our team represents improvements in their life--hope, health, and (I pray) a vision of Christ's love.

Waking up in Freetown

Grand Regency Guest House
10 Benjamin Dr
Barbadorie, Lumley
Freetown

Not as hot but just as humid as expected when we arrived. The night was hotter and more humid than expected--though we were in a closed room to cut down on the generator noise and exhaust fumes.

The usual hustle and bustle of an airport and helipad--this time though, in a tropical setting and in the belly of a rusting but structurally sound hangar. Bradley tells me the arrival terminal is much improved since his first trip three years ago.

The bishop's right hand man (and travel agent for our local movements, tip-negotiator, and general social "mechanic"), Rev Isasc Ken-Greene, worked us through the lines and the helicopter (a Soviet-era Hip?) ride from Lungi airport to Freetown. Everywhere people were politely asking to help, asking us to buy something (CDs, DVDs, local area maps) or just asking for a handout.

My first encounter with a begger was a young man with no hands--of course (why should it be, "of course"?) I first averted my eyes while he quietly walked past our particular group waiting for the helicopter. Then, ashamed, I watched as he visited with other travelers--an old German gentleman I'd seen on the plane, a British Army officer--they all chatted amiably with the young man (whom I saw quite openly smile and laugh a couple of times). The German gentleman was later met at the door by the young man; the German looked around the boy, around his hips and poked at his shirt for some reason. With the stub of his arm he lifted his t-shirt so the old man could put some bills or coins in his pocket.

How to be that comfortable with the unchanging sadness and still share a smile? At one point I wanted to take him by his stubby wrists and pray--hoping for a dawn-of-time physical miracle. The only (why should it be, "only"?) miracle is the ongoing, repeating, expanding ressurection being worked in my heart.

The ride in the helicopter was an exciting experience for many--beating the air into submission, we cut across the South Atlantic to Freetown, disembarked, reclaimed our baggage amidst jostling baggage carriers--some working for Paramount Airlines, some working for a handout. Crammed onto the "new" CRC bus and wended our way to the guest house. It was not an easy trip for the driver, or for me--the roads were narrow, people-lined, unpaved and no shoulders at times.

What can I say about the people? How do I describe the endless squalor? "It is just like what you see on TV" I confessed to my two fellow teammates as we prepared for bed.

Faces...faces...some blank, some smiling and laughing in a social exchange; half-naked children playing games with sticks or with their imaginations; many, many faces turned to our bus--curious, sometimes smiling, sometimes waving hands, sometimes bland or perhaps scornful looks. It went on and on--always another turn, always more faces....

Most people seemed dressed in clean, often stylish (for Western hemisphere casual) clothes--but the shacks and shanties! Corrugated steel, one-room 8'x10' places dotted the drive along the beach; in the city, as we skirted the edge of Freetown to get to the guest house, the structures improved somewhat...still the steel corrugation was on most roofs. But the streets remain pocked and unpaved, with water running constantly in the gutters--how much sewage? How much from damaged pipes? How much from natural ground water?

It's approaching 8am and there is a constant stream of children walking along the street below our roof-top porch. Most are smartly dressed in myriad of school uniforms. Some labor under buckets or large circular platters laden with who-knows-what, balanced on their head.

We are getting ready for breakfast after which we will meet up with Augustine, our bus driver, and Alfred Lewis, the CRC Director, and Rev Ken-Greene for some mission-oriented touring of Freetown before we start the trek to Bo.

SN Brussels Airline Flight 207 to Freetown

I'm now "in Africa" on this flight -- the languages, body gestures, meals and smells are different to me. I'm in airspace I've never been in before. Depending which channel one selects, you can get the cartoon movie in French or English and the music styles range widely on the audio channels.

I am learning more about my teammates--as people of faith, we are predisposed to share more rapidly about ourselves than typical excursions; there is more to this business, in the name of Christ, than exercising under philanthropic motives, too. And just as I am finding things different with this flight of people bound for Africa (some to Freetown, some proceeding on to Abijon), so I am finding each of my teammates different from me--and not homogenous in thier motivations or faith perspective as well. This will be interesting.

Three hours out from experiencing the next level of reality in my being bound for/to Bo.

Have brought Foster's "Freedom of Simplicity" with me, which I'm sure will heighten my sensitivities to the differences between my lifestyle and those of thes children, in this city, in the Southern Province, in Sierra Leone, in West Africa...pretty much anywhere else from America.

United Airlines Flight 950 to Brussels

Four very busy, enlightening months to get to seat 26E -- the meetings, the preparation, both for myself and the group; the packing (grateful to Linda for exercising her gift of shopping, organizing, and space-efficient luggage management (not to mention her ability to manage our budget to make all the support purchases). All the this-and-that, almost to the point where God's call in this is taken for granted. The message shared by Bishop Humper back in May is dim, the conviction of Christ's call remains sound.

We're departing with six, down from the original nine--uncertainty, health, and family concerns convinced three that timing wasn't appropriate.

The preparation, volunteering to chair the Grants and Fundraising Committee for the CRC, sharing the "why" of my involvement with friends, St Stephen's members, Sunday School, and family has caused me to more deeply consider my faith's purpose, the nature of God's activity/participation in this world--and once again wrestling with what it means to have God "active" in my life (for wouldn't the underlying being-ness to all reality, by nature, be "active" in that reality?)--concepts that surface include 'discernment', 'calling', 'service', and 'prayer'.

Much to continue to learn. Right now I am thrilled to see various threads in my life intertwining between church, work, and family in particular.

Where am I going (besides "to Sierra Leone")? And what will I be there? It feels more and more real with every bump in the taxiway. Bit it will not be truly real until I am there (will it happen this time?) and can live the pain and hope with these children. My personal mantra that has evolved through this era of my faith walk: I am not doing this to be successful, I am doing this to be faithful....

On the Road!

Departing today to begin the (first?) journey to Bo.

Bags are packed with Permethrin-treated clothing, mosquito netting, light-weight bedding and self-inflating ground pad and pillow, 20 sets of scissors and other sewing supplies, and four table saw blades--what will the x-ray technicians at the airport think of those suitcase contents?!?

Here's our team:


I'll put a post, if ever it is possible.
Otherwise, I shall update this when I return, God willing.

Thank you for your prayers and support.
God's blessings upon you and your life!

Something of interest: Sub-$100 laptop design unveiled

As long as it's balanced against the tendency for globalization to seek to exploit the weakest and those with the least "voice", this technology would be very helpful in developing countries; it would extend educational opportunities as well as expand a student's connectedness to the world beyond.

Ruggedized and with a "crank" to charge internal batteries when the electricity supply is unreliable (I am unsure of the designs ability to accommodate a child's disability due to disease or maiming--something to look into).

Still, with interest comes investment and the hope that there will be opportunities to learn productive (social as well as economical) skills.