A Giving Life

"Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one that wants to borrow from you"
Matt 5:42

"If you lend to those from whom you expect repayment, what credit is that to you? Even 'sinners' lend to 'sinners', expecting to be repaid in full. But love your enemies, do good to them, and lend to them without expecting to get anything back. Then your reward will be great, and you will be sons of the Most High, because he is kind to the ungrateful and wicked. Be merciful just as your father is merciful."
Luke 5:34-36

These passages never caused me much distress, because living in Sweden being asked for money is not something you come across very often. Now, Africa is a completely different story. First of all, people will ask you for money partly because it's an opportunity that's come their way and today they just might strike lucky. "Give me 500 CFA" is not an uncommon comment you get as you walk down the street. No one is really offended when you ignore these requests, but other times, the demand is sincere. Now, making donations is a tricky question when you're basically living off donations yourself.

There is the balance between being wise, being generous, and acting in faith. I have always been very good at handling money and I've never really run short. Now I find myself challenged to donate beyond what I would ever spend myself and my well-controlled bank account is suddenly starting to stir. The requests vary from small change to larger donations to help start up a small business or provide free schooling for poor families. I live well. So far I have never struggled to pay my crew fees or run out of transport money. Yet, every time a larger sum is extracted from my account I feel a small tug in my gut. Maybe to some degree financial security has minimised my trust in God.

"Frida, can you lend me $500?"
With that question my mind starts panicking and I find the spirit asking me what's the matter, I really don't trust God to provide all I need?

Faith.

I have a long way to go...


All Love

Meet Nicolas

We have been a month in Congo and people are starting to post stories about adventures as well as pictures of exciting scenery. I don't have much of those these days, even though I spend a lot of time off the ship. When I go ashore I go here - to visit my little brother and best friend Nicolas. 

Last Saturday was no exception. We were hanging out on the beach, and as the day progressed the sun was starting to burn. Together (although I have very little to take credit for) we created a sun shade, which by the time we were finished wasn't really needed. Throughout the day people stopped by to look at the unusual scene, and some stayed with us all evening. The video is far from exciting, but will show you a small part of my life here. Prepare to meet my new best friend...

The song is Un Prince a Southfork, by Fally Ipupa. The language is Lingala, the local language spoken here.

All Love

My New Best Friend

Today I decided to try the bus system and went on a little trip to the sea, a long strip of sand housing numerous little fishing boats. This Sunday morning the place was empty and quiet, a perfect spot for a  contemplative mind and restless feet.
As I was walking along I caught up with a young man doing his Sunday promenade on the beach. I greeted him and we both stopped in our tracks, curious to find out what had brought another soul to such a desolate place. I offered him some water, sat down in the moist sand and a very interesting conversation begun. As he shared his story I was amazed at his courage and spirit. His name is Nicolas and he is my new best friend. Now I need to find him a phone so that I can call him and tell him good morning and good evening and ask him what he had for dinner; because when you are best friends, those things matter.

All Love

Flying African

A few days ago I left Sweden, travelling by air to Pointe Noire in Congo to join the ship. Now, I was flying over night and had a connection flight from Addis Ababa in Ethiopia. This is the story...

It was with sleepy steps I made my way through the airport only to get stuck in the queue to security. As I reached the desk I was suddenly struck by an immense sense of nausea and almost threw up in the security box. It was with wobbly steps I managed to drag my faint self away, and once I recovered I discovered that cold sweating doesn't make a cold waiting hall any more comfortable. As I was sitting there shivering I counted down the minutes until I could finally board the flight to Congo. Well, I was to discover flying African can be unreliable.

First of all, they didn't start boarding the planes until the said departure time. Secondly, most planes seemed to board from the same gate, no matter which gate was displayed at the screen, causing passengers to rush through the waiting hall in order to catch their flights. When the time had finally come for us to board we were told to sit down and wait. Instead they boarded the plane to Togo. We waited as our flight was delayed one hour. The next thing we knew, our flight was removed from the screen and people went up to query what was happening. Our flight reappeared, delayed yet another hour, and I was devastated. At that point I was both cold and hungry, nodding off from lack of sleep during the previous flight. As I looked up again I discovered our plane had been delayed a third time, and I decided to join the group of unsettled passengers gathering near the desk by the gate. No available planes they said, and we all wondered what the planes fully visible outside the windows were being used for. They said we might have to switch airlines, and asked us to wait another twenty minutes in order for them to sort things out. Then our flight was removed from the screen again - cancelled, they said. At that point we were all cold, hungry and moody, and upset passengers started shouting at the staff, demanding to see the manager. It all got really feisty, and once the manager finally came around a mob of twenty angry African men literally cornered him and shouted at him in various dialects for a good few minutes. The next thing we heard, there would be a plane ready and fuelled up within 38 minutes. And wouldn't you know it, after about 40 minutes we got told we could start boarding, and we all rushed through the gate like it was a race for life or death, eager to get a seat on that plane.

All in all our flight was delayed 5 hours, but then, at least we got there in the end. Uncivilised perhaps, but effective - I am grateful to the men that dared to threaten the airport manager in order to get us a plane to Pointe Noire that day!

All Love

There Is No Shame Between Sisters

I dedicate this blog post to my two wonderful sisters Rut and Sara. 

Being a woman, I count myself truly blessed having sisters. Sisters, whether linked by blood or not, are treasured people who know more about us than we would ever like to be revealed to the world. They have endured our most longwinded stories, seen us at our most pathetic moments, and they have encouraged us tirelessly. They are always ready with advice, being it on the subject of relationships, career, or body-related issues. There is no shame between sisters. When I fear condemnation by the rest of the world, when I have problems I am too ashamed to confess - it is to my sisters I come. With my beloved two I have laughed so hard my urethral sphincter has struggled to keep tight. We've sung along with the most cheesy songs, many times combined with interpretive dancing and various utensils as props. Together we have thrown every stitch of clothing, breasts and bottoms wobbling as we've run toward the waterline over cliffs, jetties and beaches. There have been movie nights, massage nights and girl talk nights. I believe there are no words to fully express how much my sisters actually mean to me and how much I treasure our moments together. 

Within the last month I have seen both of my sisters getting married, and it brought me such joy being able to see my beloved two dance in the arms of the men they both spent so many years speculating and dreaming about.

I love you more than you know

All Love

God is so Good

This evening many people were going out to one of the popular restaurants/bars here in Conakry, and despite many invitations I decided to stay on the ship. I didn't really know what to do and didn't really have any peace so I decided to pick up my guitar and go down to the dock to play and ponder. As my regular spot was taken I decided to walk a little further and got called over by one of the dock workers. He asked me to teach him to play and sing, and I agreed to teach him to sing a song in French. He and his friends placed a mat on the ground for me to sit on and I started teaching them a song from my very limited French repertoire. One of the guys then wanted to teach me how to sing it in Fula and they wrote out the words for me to learn. The song in English goes like this:

You are bigger than what people say, 

Jehova, bigger than what people say. 

You are excellent, you are marvellous, 

you are bigger than what people say.

This led on to a conversation about God, and as these muslim men started mentioning their prophets I got to share with them what Jesus means to me. I told them how my sins are so great no sheep could make me worthy to stand before a holy God and how Jesus is the one sacrifice that is able to pay the debt I owe. We talked about forgiveness and how hoarding unforgiveness is like carrying around a heavy backpack, how God ordered us to do good to one another and how to fight evil. We talked about paradise and judgement and hypocrisy. After some time curfew called me back to the ship, and I left my eight new friends with a promise to come back Monday to continue the conversation. Before I left I was given a couple of mangoes and a Bob Marley hat (in return I gave the guy my silk scarf, which looked surprisingly good on him), then returned to the ship thanking God for such an unexpected evening. God is good.

All Love

Fouta Djallon

So I had a week off work and decided to head upcountry to explore more of Guinea. After some security checks I packed my rucksack, invited Jesus along and set off. Here's a day by day summary of my week.

Monday
I got a taxi from Conakry heading to Labé, a town in the Fouta Djallon region of Guinea. It was a 10 hour long journey with various stops for prayer, food and engine trouble. I found myself crammed between a bigger lady and a small man, falling asleep on the poor guy's shoulder every now and again as the sun went down. We arrived in Labé around 11pm and a friend of mine from the region directed me to a decent hotel where I had a good night's sleep.

Ready for bed after a long taxi ride

Tuesday
Had Foude, a local guide, take me on a day's tour around the region on his motorbike. Up mountains, through small villages and visiting waterfalls. Best moment must have been climbing down the waterfall for a refreshing swim. I also made him to climb some rocks with me, and he proudly lifted me up wherever I couldn't reach, proving that he was stronger than he looked. Before heading back we also went to a small village to greet his family. Once we returned to the hotel I was exhausted after the long and bumpy motorbike ride, although I have to say I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Me and Foude on top of the rocks

Climbing waterfalls

No way we weren't going in!

Wednesday
Took a taxi to Matakao to experience some village life, a rickety minivan travelling a dirt road in terrible condition. Before we took off I had bought a scarf, as I felt silly being the only woman without a headpiece, and as I put it on everyone started laughing and called me married woman. Maybe I chose the wrong model... It took us 6 hours to reach the village, although somewhere along the way we had a breakdown with a boiling engine and had to sit and wait for the van to get cleared out of smoke and steam. As we arrived and they found out I didn't know anybody in the village I was immediately introduced to some important people, given a good meal and housing. I was offered to stay with Rougiatou, the chief director over the educational system in the area, and although I was offered other housing with indoor toilet and electricity I felt it was the right thing to stay with her.

The Suprefet and Rougiatou

Thursday
The weekly market of the village, lots of activity and noises and smells (I was especially fascinated by the man chopping away at a cow skull). Rougiatou took me to the health clinic to let me see how they work there. I saw a few malaria cases, some malnutrition, general aches and pregnancy checks. They asked me to stay and work with them, but I kindly declined with the excuse that I was needed back on the ship, which they accepted. Rougiatou took me around on the back of her motorbike and visited various people and had several meetings. In the evening I went for a small hike around the outskirts of the village, gave some health advice and had a good evening chat under a clear starlit sky. I also discovered that fresh cow milk mixed with overcooked rice, sugar and mayonnaise doesn't suit my taste buds.

Thursday Market

The health clinic of the village

The examination soom

Out on a hike

Friday
Went to visit the other regions of the village, greeted sweet old ladies and curious children and ate lots of weird fruit. Witnessed Rougiatous and the Suprefets act of blessing, feeding the local children, which led to a conversation about religion. The Suprefet told me that if I married him (which he had been suggesting since our first meeting) I would have to convert to Islam, and I told him that would never happen. At sunset I went out for a walk and came back to the house to had a good talk with Rougiatou about life and dreams; I praised her hospitality and she praised my contentment. Before we went to bed I prayed a prayer of blessing over her and her family.

Some local girls eating at Rougiatou's place

This was supposed to be a landscape photography...

Saturday
Woke up with a runny stomach, which isn't ideal when looking forward to 6+10 hours of bumpy travelling without toilet facilities. I prayed to God that I would survive the day, and oh praise him, my stomach stayed quiet until I was safe back on the ship. We were 14 people sharing a 7-seater taxi, and I think it was the first time I've seen people sharing the driver's seat. We also had a whole bunch of guys riding on top of the car and I had to watch out that their feet didn't hit me in the head as we bumped along. In Labé I contacted Foude, who found me in a shack eating mango with a carpenter, and he took me on a tour around the city. I bought some more scarfs, we all shared a big platter of chicken and chips, and at night I took the taxi back to Conakry.

Rough roads

All in all it was a good holiday. It was what one can expect; beautiful landscapes, outdoor showers, eating and drinking with the locals, squatty toilets, cooking over open fire, greeting the elders, playing with the children, marriage proposals, motorbikes and crowded taxis. Generally, I found that Africa isn't that exotic after all, it's same but different; we have diseases, we all eat and drink, pee and poop, there is beauty and ugliness. We share the same feelings, we joke and we cry. Africa is also ordinary.


All Love

The Retreat

After 4 night shifts and huge lack of sleep I decided to take a little retreat to Coyah, roughly 2 hours away from town. I phoned up a contact I have there and headed off to nature, peace and tranquility. I stayed in a hotel surrounded by mountains and streams and got there on the back of Sadou's motorbike. My room was lovely and the food was great; I had everything I needed right there.

After a nap I went out for a walk along the stream and came across some local kids playing in the water. After much persuasion I left my dress on the rocks and joined in, to their very delight. After some splashing around I said goodbye and continued my walk, four waving kids behind me. But the goodness didn't stop there. Later I discovered the pure pleasure of racing through the night, empty streets and dark landscapes, the cool air refreshing on bare skin. Motorbikes are mighty fine sometimes! I went to bed that night only to wake up to the most wonderful morning I've had in a long time. I spent the morning snoozing; free to spread out on a wide bed, sunshine streaming through the curtains and the tune of Roxette's Milk and Toast and Honey playing as I slowly prepared myself on starting a new day. After a cold, refreshing bucket shower I sat down on a sunny porch with some mango, ready for a date with God. A good quiet time and a lovely brunch and I was ready to head back to the busy life in Conakry; well fed, well rested and well inspired.

All Love

Touring the Islands

Last week I took a boat over to the islands to do a tour around all the villages together with Blo, the youth president of the islands. Over two days we visited three islands and seven villages, greeted hundreds of people and walked many miles. Everywhere we went I could hear "fotey" being called out from a distance as the children couldn't hide their excitement over encountering this funny-looking pale foreigner; for many it was the first time they met a white person. I ate the food they ate, we drank water from the same bucket and fresh fruit was given to me by the villagers on a regular basis, eaten unwashed with skin on. It's a wonder my stomach remained strong through the whole visit.

Some of the highlights:
The many boat rides to and from the islands
Taking bucket showers outdoors
The big fat scary centipede in my squatty potty. It didn't appreciate getting pissed on and I was quick to get out of there!
Visiting the light house and signing a guest book from 1936
A little girl falling asleep in my lap
The many shared meals and cups of tea mixed with conversations about God, life and love

All Love

Hand on the Heart

I want to tell you about a 19 year old patient we discharged today. He came in with severe burnt contractions on both arms, leaving his arms fixed in a bent position. Two years ago his house was caught on fire, and to be honest, he is lucky to be alive. Since his surgery, where skin grafts were taken from his leg and grafted to his arms and armpits, he has had to wear uncomfortable splints to keep his arms elevated and he's had to do hourly exercises to stretch and bend his arms and shoulders.

In the beginning of his recovery I had time to sit with him and assist with his exercises, and though at first he complained about it, it wasn't long before his attitude changed. That day he was able to eat by himself, even if it took a lot of effort to make the spoon reach his mouth. I told him that after 3 days he should be able to eat with his hands. He laughed at me. At the end of the day, after hours of exercises, he told me he should be able to eat with his hand the next day. That was with the left hand, the good one. I told him to keep exercising and he would be able to eat with his right hand after three days. When that day arrived I went down to the hospital to see him, and didn't I see him eat with his right hand! Since then I have been encouraging him and I've told him that before he leaves us he should be able to place his hand over his heart. Every day I would ask him how he's doing and he would smile and shake his head, still a long way to go.

As I returned from the islands this morning he called out to me from the outpatient's tent, and as I went up to greet him he told me he would be leaving to go back home today. As we said goodbye he placed his right hand on his heart, with a smile on his face, and I have no words to express how I felt. Thank you God for your faithfulness and your loving care!

All Love   

Happy Easter

This morning I woke up without knowledge that my phone had changed the settings to summer time without my permission; so I found myself dressed and prepared at 05:30 wondering where everyone else were hiding. Once I realised what had happened I muttered some well chosen words and went to lie down and rest some more. As I was lying there unable to go back to sleep I recalled a conversation I had had earlier this week and I realised today was one of the local security guards' birthday. So I huffed out of bed and strolled down the dock to greet Soldier, the night security, before he went home for the day. It was a happy man that greeted me with the exclamation "You did not forget!"Sometimes it is the small things that make the biggest difference, and I felt as I returned to the ship, that it is all for a reason.

Today is Easter Sunday, the day we remember and celebrate that Jesus didn't die for nothing, but he conquered death in order for us to live; so I will see today as a day of gratitude and purpose.
Happy Easter y'all!

All Love

Love Me On the Outside

1 Peter 2:5

"you also, as living stones, are being built up a spiritual house, a holy priesthood, to offer up spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ."

If I was part of a house I would like to be part of a warm cabin in a cold landscape, made out of stones or logs. It would have one floor only and it's windows would be dressed with curtains hung up by careful hands. Inside there would be a fire and a cozy sofa in which people are slumped comfortably. There would be a wooden table, there would linger the smell of home made bread, there would be wine, candles and music. The floors would be covered with soft carpets and there would be room for everyone who wanted to escape the bitter cold winter weather. 

On the outer wall would be fixed a front door light to light up the path and help people find the entrance. A light to let people know they are welcome and expected. 

If I was part of a house, I would like to be that lamp. It would pain me not to be able to participate in all the wonderful things taking place inside, but if I moved inside I would keep looking out the window wondering who walked past not knowing they were welcome. They must know they are welcome.

All Love

My Favourite Attribute in a Man

Attraction is a fascinating phenomenon; highly subjective and uniquely wired for each person it affects each of us whether we are aware of it or not. For us women it can be found in the mud covered face of a rugby player, the soulful voice of a vocalist, the rough hands of a carpenter or the warm smile of a mailman. Personally, I always loved a man that could make me laugh, and I find a unique set of teeth incredibly charming. There are many things that play our strings of attraction, but lately I found this: Few things are as attractive as a man that works hard, that without complaining sets about to perform duties small or big, hidden or visible; that cheerfully volunteers to assist when help is needed and inspire others to do the same. This man does not consider himself to be above others, he respects each position and acknowledges the work done by the smallest member of the team. 

If this man knows to walk in humility, knows to put others in the centre rather than self, then he has the potential of becoming a great leader. And if he fears God, there are no limits to what he can become. I will always admire this man.

All Love

One Hell of a Moto Ride

Imagine you're on playstation or your x-box playing a thrilling motorcycle game. You're going fast, so fast you can barely control the bike. When you catch up with other vehicles (which of course you do constantly) you go around them, either on the curb side or by heading into the lane of oncoming traffic. You hear a constant sound of beeping horns as you swish past the other vehicles, and people are shouting as they hurry to back off not to get in your way. You're facing the staring headlights of oncoming traffic so often it soon appears normal. You don't have time to stop or slow down; if you are forced you will leave the main road and head into the community, through shops and through people's yards, finding an alternative route in order to reach your final destination. If the road is about to become blocked you speed up rather than slow down. You have too many near-misses to count. You get chased by the police and go even faster; it's thrilling and exciting.

It's even more thrilling when you experience it live from the back of a mototaxi in Africa, no protection and completely in the hands of the driver. It could be described as a 1, 5 hour long cat and mouse game with death, or one of those nightmares you cannot wake up from. Many times I was afraid my knees would get knocked off, speeding through a chaotic midline at 70 km/hr. At times I could feel tears from the driver being blown into my own face as we reached a bit of clear road and hit the accelerator so bad we could hardly feel the speed bumps as we flew over them. I think I said a prayer for every blind corner and prayed that God would keep us alive all the way to the port as we were speeding up through the city in order to get away from the police who didn't appreciate our close-to-death-entrance into a roundabout. I still wonder if our drivers were trying to help us commit suicide, because it sure felt like it. I can assure you we felt very alive as our feet finally touched solid ground, adrenaline rushing and our faces covered in dirt and dust. Oh, and did I mention we were two passengers on each bike?

In all this, I have to say there was definitely some pleasure in this; I do love speed, I know I tend to go a little bit too fast most of the time myself, just not in such a suicidal manner. Despite the pleasure, I feel like it will probably be a good while until I'm ready to take a mototaxi heading into the city again....

All Love

Graduation Day

The road to Kindia

Wednesday morning me, Kevin and Koffi set out at 5am in order to reach the farm in Kindia on time. It was the day of graduation for the farmers, and I had been asked to attend. It was a pleasant journey through a stunning landscape, clothed in morning mist and awakened by a beautiful sunrise. We were driving past children going to school and women walking to the markets carrying heavy loads on their heads. The only disturbance was the massive pot holes in the road, and my reactions to them greatly amused my Togolese travel buddies.

We arrived at 9am, were given a good breakfast and warm greetings. It was so nice to see the owner of the farm and the boys again, and the joy was mutual.

There were speeches held and certificates handed out, we toured the farm and had a delicious lunch to the sound of drumming. In the afternoon the time had come for most of the boys to return to the farms where they were originally employed, and there were many hugs and tears as friends were saying goodbye and a time of close fellowship had come to an end. It was an honour to be there and take part of such a big day; the end of a season of learning and fellowship and the beginning of a new season where everything they have learned will be put into practice and tested. They made me promise I would come and visit them again at their new locations, a promise that was not hard to make as it would be my pleasure to do so. We said our goodbyes, exchanged numbers and then me, Kevin and Koffi started the long journey back to the ship.

Picture from my first visit at the farm

Graduation Day

All Love

The Common Cold

Today I am not very attractive. Maybe it's the red nose, swollen face or the sea of tissues that I'm bathing in; the common cold can be brutal when it hits you. It wasn't that long since I recovered from the previous one, I even know the word for "cold" in the local language, which is sad in itself. I had to cancel all my plans for the day and spent pretty much the whole day in bed watching House.

I said many months ago I would become better at resting, setting off one day a week to rest and focus inward instead of outward; I have to confess it wasn't very successful. So when I refuse to rest it seems like my body's forcing me to rest, like today. And I feel God is siding with my body, which makes me a little bit grumpy.

Conversation of the day:
God "How was your day of rest?"
Me "I don't like being sick"
God "If you get better will you still make tomorrow a day of rest?"
Me "Eh I, I have stuff to do and I planned to..."
God "You might want to cancel your plans and buy another box of tissues"

He always wins

All Love

Shirtless But Not Heartless

This weekend I visited the island Fotoba with some local friends of mine. There I met Alseny, a 10 year old whom when he got to choose said he wanted to be my husband rather than my son. He is now owner of my favourite shirt, the one I used to wear all the time. I put it on him after our swim as he was shivering, and he later asked me with sad puppy eyes if he would have to return it before I left. Of course he could keep it, if someone loves that shirt more than I do I bet it's him!

Here's a little video from our post swim dance party on the beach...

All Love

Kindia Video

Last week I left Conakry to visit the farm where our agricultural program is located, about four hours drive from the ship. It was a great time and I really enjoyed being off the ship and surrounded by nature rather than metal. 

 Music by the American/Guinean duo Joe Driscoll & Sekou Kouyate, from their album Faya.

All Love