Sunday, June 27th
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Random Church Visit in Sierra Leone
Ferry Ride 
Greeted by the Local Children 
Giving Testimony at a Local Church 
The Outside of the Local Church 
Sunday the 20th, I was scheduled to preach in some small, remote village only reachable by ferry, while bringing along about four others with me. The day began quite differently than a normal Sunday when the on-board church coordinator handed us money for the taxi and ferry ride, a map, and an address. We began by walking up the (what became after a week of exploring) familiar dirt road looking to catch a taxi at the busy intersection. After a short wait, the surprisingly street legal van stopped by to pick us up to go to the ferry terminal. Because so many people utilize the water transportation, we were herded on like cattle before heading to the very top of the 3 decks. The bottom deck was for vehicles and people who wished to only stand, 2nd deck reserved for first class (who were treated to vinyl seating and a big fan for air circulation), and 3rd deck for "coach". Making our way to the top, we were greeted with open air preaching before the ship left the dock. When he was finished, a comedian took the PA system, trying to earn some extra change, and he was followed by an open Muslim preacher. An hour after we left, the ship docked at the other side and most people literally ran off to get the first taxis available, with us slowly taking our sweet time.
Walking up the dirt street in an area I've never visited before was a bit intimidating at first, but after about 50 different kids came running up to the street from their homes joyfully shouting "Oipito" to us, the worries seemed to dissipate. I found out later that Oipito means "white man" in their native tongue, which some children have never seen before in their lives. After aimlessly walking around about and speaking to locals with our map and address, we soon realized that the church we were looking for doesn't even exist! Moving on to plan "B", we stumbled into some random church way off the beaten path that was lined with metal and had a roof made of sticks. The pastor, although surprised to see us (not every day 6 white people stumble into African villages?) welcomed us to worship with them. Power of Pentecost (or P.O.P) was one of only two churches in the entire area because it is mainly Muslim. Even though I didn't have to preach, I still went to the front during "open speaking time" and explained the story about the ship and what we do as missionaries; the people who were still awake seemed quite interested!
When church ended, the pastor, elders, and those in charge invited us to the front to chat. We were shortly welcomed with cold drinks, or what I call: One of the greatest gifts to receive in an African summer. Remembering back to the Caribbean and how people served such exotic fruit drinks, my mind was curious on what variety of drink would be way out in the middle of Sierra Leone...and could I even stomach it? I saw a brown paper bag approach with condensation sweat covering the bottom. By this time I would drink almost anything that wouldn't kill me because of the extent of my thirst. The pastor flashed me a nice grin and pulled out cold cans of Coke, Sprite, and orange Fanta. I reached for the Fanta; haven't had one of those since Phoenix. The first thing that came to my mind was that I was possibly in the only location that had a hotter summer than home; the second was that Fanta is better when you're in West Africa for some strange reason.
We wrapped up the friendly chats and the men took us around the village for a rather pleasant tour while all the children (One in four die before the age of 3 and the average age in Sierra Leone is 18yrs old) made us feel like celebrities. The way they lived was absolutely fascinating; completely self sustained by their various skills. Continuing through the bush, we came up to a closed Islamic community with a Chief unwilling to let the white ones pass, and after some explaining who we actually were by our "tour" guides (some tribes are afraid that the white man will come in and take over their land), the Chief let us walk through the community; perhaps we were the first foreigners ever to do so judging by the look on the people's faces. Soon we made it on the ferry again, taking us back into Freetown. After speaking to the coordinator on the ship, it turns out the originally scheduled church never "confirmed" our visit before we ventured out there. I wasn't too upset though, because the day ended up being very exciting.
A few days later, I was paged from the engine room to go up to the book fair where all the daily visitors are, because a local asked for me. Standing there was the pastor and his staff of men from the church just a few days earlier. I rushed upstairs to grab a few others who joined me that Sunday and brought them down to once again see the friendly church leaders and took them on a personal tour of the Logos Hope. Seems like usually when something doesn't go "to my plan", the end result is more memorable than I could ever imagine.
Memories that will indeed last a lifetime.
Walking up the dirt street in an area I've never visited before was a bit intimidating at first, but after about 50 different kids came running up to the street from their homes joyfully shouting "Oipito" to us, the worries seemed to dissipate. I found out later that Oipito means "white man" in their native tongue, which some children have never seen before in their lives. After aimlessly walking around about and speaking to locals with our map and address, we soon realized that the church we were looking for doesn't even exist! Moving on to plan "B", we stumbled into some random church way off the beaten path that was lined with metal and had a roof made of sticks. The pastor, although surprised to see us (not every day 6 white people stumble into African villages?) welcomed us to worship with them. Power of Pentecost (or P.O.P) was one of only two churches in the entire area because it is mainly Muslim. Even though I didn't have to preach, I still went to the front during "open speaking time" and explained the story about the ship and what we do as missionaries; the people who were still awake seemed quite interested!
When church ended, the pastor, elders, and those in charge invited us to the front to chat. We were shortly welcomed with cold drinks, or what I call: One of the greatest gifts to receive in an African summer. Remembering back to the Caribbean and how people served such exotic fruit drinks, my mind was curious on what variety of drink would be way out in the middle of Sierra Leone...and could I even stomach it? I saw a brown paper bag approach with condensation sweat covering the bottom. By this time I would drink almost anything that wouldn't kill me because of the extent of my thirst. The pastor flashed me a nice grin and pulled out cold cans of Coke, Sprite, and orange Fanta. I reached for the Fanta; haven't had one of those since Phoenix. The first thing that came to my mind was that I was possibly in the only location that had a hotter summer than home; the second was that Fanta is better when you're in West Africa for some strange reason.
We wrapped up the friendly chats and the men took us around the village for a rather pleasant tour while all the children (One in four die before the age of 3 and the average age in Sierra Leone is 18yrs old) made us feel like celebrities. The way they lived was absolutely fascinating; completely self sustained by their various skills. Continuing through the bush, we came up to a closed Islamic community with a Chief unwilling to let the white ones pass, and after some explaining who we actually were by our "tour" guides (some tribes are afraid that the white man will come in and take over their land), the Chief let us walk through the community; perhaps we were the first foreigners ever to do so judging by the look on the people's faces. Soon we made it on the ferry again, taking us back into Freetown. After speaking to the coordinator on the ship, it turns out the originally scheduled church never "confirmed" our visit before we ventured out there. I wasn't too upset though, because the day ended up being very exciting.
A few days later, I was paged from the engine room to go up to the book fair where all the daily visitors are, because a local asked for me. Standing there was the pastor and his staff of men from the church just a few days earlier. I rushed upstairs to grab a few others who joined me that Sunday and brought them down to once again see the friendly church leaders and took them on a personal tour of the Logos Hope. Seems like usually when something doesn't go "to my plan", the end result is more memorable than I could ever imagine.
Memories that will indeed last a lifetime.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Arrival: Freetown, Sierra Leone
The ship made it safely to Freetown on time Monday morning, June 14th, and we were greeted by local dancers and drummers on the quayside. After a lengthy two week stay on the ship with 400 people, most were eager to go onshore to explore the city and build friendships with locals. But as for me, I had to be back down in the engine room for a bit of work to finish up day. I didn't think my first day in Africa would involve leaving the ship...
Around 5:30pm, while laying down for a bit of rest before dinner, my cabin phone rang. Apparently, one of the ship's drivers went into town on a priority run for some much needed supplies when the van's engine decided African driving was not going to happen for too long. I was beckoned on an emergency run to go and fetch him and tow the van back via nylon rope. I had to leave immediately; the sun was falling quickly...Freetown is no place to be after dark. Why me? So they tossed me the keys (Logos Hope has 5 VW vans), a map, and one thing that actually saved my life: Mark, from Zimbabwe as passenger. With his African driving experience, we were sure to complete the endeavor. Driving from the ship's side to the port exit gate, I was still trying to figure out if people drive on the left or right here. After a long time of "convincing" the police we were from the ship (did I mention the vans are enveloped with "Logos Hope" decals?), the gate was victoriously opened for us to set out on an adventure I now refer to as: "Operation drive-to-survive". I'll spare you most of the details except for my personal favorites:
1. The roads were so narrow and covered with people, I was literally hitting them with the van continuously. The side view mirrors were eventually folded in by themselves after they "made friends" with countless backs of pedestrians.
2. People like to slam their fists on your vehicle as you drive past.
3. I'm still not sure which side of the road people are "supposed" to drive on in Sierra Leone.
4. A policeman stopped us, trying to open our locked doors vigorously, trying to come in the van while scolding us. He wanted to come inside and have us drive him to the station because we didn't have the correct plates. After he took my Arizona driving license and passport, Mark strategically called his bluff and won my documentation back...I guess the police just wanted a bribe. Good thing he was with me.
5. In two hours we made it about 4 KM.
6. Swerving to miss people is hard. Swerving to miss ladies with gigantic baskets on their heads full of fruit is very hard.
Right before I was about to have a nervous breakdown, we came to our logical decision of heading back to the ship and calling it quits. We phoned the other ship driver, telling him to get a taxi back and just leave the van there. So my first time on African soil wasn't the most pleasurable by any means, but I still want to remain positive nonetheless. Kingston, Jamaica was supposed to be a culture shock to me and perhaps it was slightly, but Freetown is different from Western culture in every empirical way possible...especially when walking through the immense market.
Enjoy the pictures I've attached of the arrival and please keep my safety and health in your prayers.
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