May the Voyage Begin

Today we touched down in Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea on a flight from Cairns, Australia that was excessively early in the morning. The three intrepid voyagers slung our carry-ons and walked up the walkway to our twin-engine prop plane ride to PNG. The views of the Great Barrier Reef were spectacular, and on decent, seeing the rain-forrested landscape of PNG for the first time piqued our excitement.

A man carrying a sign with our names on it greeted us at the airport and we were driven to the dock and boarded the USNS Bandaid (a small boat that shuttles people and equipment to and from the Mercy Ship which is docked within the marina and not accessible otherwise). We jumped on along with about 14 locals who were boarding the boat for medical care.

A 4 year old boy with the biggest grin on his face sat next to me on the bow of the boat, giggling every now and again when we got rocked by a wave. He had the normal look of a boy who played in the dirt a bit more than his parents probably wanted. He was short and skinny with a continuous amount of snot that rolled along his sun-chapped cheeks that he wiped off occasionally with his sleeve. He didn't say a word, just looked up and smiled at Pete, Ryan, and myself, seemingly intrigued by our light skin and "American-ness". His left hand, I noticed, was severely constricted with scars and contractures to the point where he essentially had no functionality of it. It lied in almost a fist-formation that he tucked deep into his over-sized jacket sleeve. I heard that many of the surgeons have already made their pre-op visits, so he must be coming on board for hand surgery to improve his hand's functionality. He was just one of 14 on the Bandaid boat, with dozens of trips back and forth to the boat like this every day.

His father sat by him. Dark skinned, tangled hair, his shirt stained and with evident wear and tare, yet he had a look of pride on his face. Pride and hope. His child was going to get the care he might never get in PNG, and he would be there for his child, making sure he can have the best life possible. It was a priceless moment, one of silence and the exchange of only smiles. Around us was the din of the boat engine and the shifting of passengers as waves crashed against our hull, plowing ever forward towards the Mercy. Once we docked alongside the ship the father hopped out of the boat and I lifted his child up to his arms. I wanted to say something, like "good luck" but nothing came to my lips. And before I knew it, we were directed by people in uniform where to go and what to do, and I lost sight of the father and son.

We received our "berths" [read: bed/room assignments] and are now trying to get situated. Soon we will be briefed on our specific roles and responsibilities on the ship and which teams we will be working with. In the mean time, just trying to keep ourselves from getting lost within the winding corridors and colored stairwells of this huge ship!

May the voyage begin!

Bon Voyage,
~Nic