Monday, 02 March 2009

• Sailing Day!

  I'm trying to get some things together for a book, so I've been searching through old blogs and posts and journal entries. I came across this piece I wrote - slightly more than two years ago. It's been so long since I've had anything of consequence to write about. I miss it so much.
  

  
  

  
  

  Sailing Day. 25 February 2007

   

  My alarm clock sounded at 6:30 and shattered any hopes of further sleep.

  'Today is the day we SAIL!" I thought to myself. Grinning like a child on Christmas morning, I leaped out of bed with an uncustomary bound. Sweeping my braids into an elastic, I donned work clothes and sped to the dining room. Breakfast went as it normally does with the grumpy morning people nagging for more yoghurt and the tables emptying slower than syrup in January.

   

  The MV ANASTASIS was scheduled to set sail for Liberia at 4pm. Until then, I anxiously darted around the ship, unable to sit still. I watched about three minutes of eight different TV shows before I finally went out on the deck to pace. At 4 o'clock, everyone started to show up to pace with me. Some had tears in their eyes as they waved to their Ghanaian friends on the dock. Some waved Ghanaian flags and handkerchiefs to no one in particular. Most everyone wandered about with digital cameras getting more restless by the minute.

   

  At 4:30pm, people didn't think anything of the delay. After all – this was Africa! Things don't just happen on schedule like that. At 5pm, however, some faces showed mild confusion.

   

  Ding! The overhead paging system signalled the coming of an announcement.

  "Attention crew, this is the captain speaking. We have a slight problem in the engine room and we will not set sail at this time. Please pray for the engineers and we will keep you updated."

   

  To be completely honest, I don't think anyone was that surprised. The Anastasis is a 54 year-old motor vessel that hasn't sailed in 8 months. Of course there would be complications! Everyone on the deck dejectedly shuffled back into the ship to eat dinner.

   

  I washed dishes for dinner. Being the dishwasher entails loads of sweat mingled with soapy water. The dishwasher stands in a cramped corner of the hot stuffy galley, and runs trays filled with dirty dishes through a massive machine named "Hobart". Hobart is an ornery old coot, and takes a load of tricks and sweet-talks to get any work out of him. This particular evening, Hobart was being especially mischievous. Every time I cranked the lever for the steam valve, he hollered and grunted in loud protest. A good swift kick in the steam pipe eventually did the trick, and Hobart sighed and grumbled his way to finish the dishes.

   

  After dinner, I watched some more snippets of TV shows to take the edge off of my gnawing anticipation. That didn't work, so I found some friends curled up watching a movie and decided to join them.

   

  At about 2am, a Canadian deckhand named Garret came striding through the room.

  "We're leaving!" He said as he puffed out his chest; extremely proud that he got to deliver such news. Needless to say, the movie played on forgotten as we tripped over one another to get out to the deck. My heart raced and the butterflies in my stomach fluttered themselves mad. I watched avidly as the gangway was disconnected from the ship and hooked to a crane/pulley system. A few deck hands clung to the gangway for dear life as it was lifted from the dock and swung onto the ship.

   

  I ran to the other side of the ship (starboard side, facing the ocean) just in time to see tugboats attach lines to the ship. Sprinting back to port side, I watched as the mooring lines were released and tossed to the ship. That was the defining moment. The Anastasis was no longer tethered to Ghana. The outreach had officially ended. At that moment, I stopped to think. Just in the 10 months that the ship was docked in Tema, hundreds of lives were permanently changed. My eyes brimmed with tears of ambivalence. Ghana had become my home for the past six months, and I knew my way around. I made friends that I will probably never see again this side of eternity. However, the new outreach has begun! God has a huge plan for Liberia, and I can't wait to see that plan begin to unfold.

  The tugboats pulled us through the harbour and past the lighthouse. I remembered all of the meaningful walks I had taken to the lighthouse, and the many conversations that had occurred. It was a poignant place for me, and I bid it goodbye as the wind swept my braids in front of my face and obstructed my view. The tugboats let out a long blast of farewell to let us know that they were letting go, and the crew cheered and waved and clapped as the tugboats chugged back to the port.

   

  The Anastasis is now sailing into the pre-morning black of the wide sea. The harbour lights are barely visible at the hazy horizon. The view of the sky makes my breath catch and my eyes shine. There are millions of brilliant stars – stars everywhere. I looked between the stars only to find a deeper and fainter host filling in the gaps. It is now 4:30am. The wind is rushing at my face and making small hairs stand up on the back of my neck. My renegade hair is flying out behind me. The white foamy surf from the wake of the ship is sighing and swishing against the wrinkled black ocean. Mesmerized by the sparkling sea below and the brilliant heavens above, I have reluctantly decided that it is time for bed. I will probably never have a chance to experience this again.

   

  And so it begins.

  
  

  
  

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