Pam Parish

After our interviews in the War Wounded Camp, I asked Joan if we had another interview set up and she gave me a look that perfectly reflected how I was feeling at the moment…. I just can’t handle any more right now. Agreed. There are hundreds upon hundreds of stories to be told in Grafton, but, at that moment, neither of us could bear to sit through another one. There’s something about seeing their faces, hearing the pain in their voices and the silent prayers you pray as you sit listening that simply wear you out.

As we made our way back toward the location of the medical clinic & children’s outreach for lunch, we each retreated into our own thoughts; trying to process and cope with all we had witnessed and heard. Although it was only 3:00 in the afternoon, we were exhausted. We headed back and quietly ate our lunch and took time to reflect on all we had heard. The amazing thing to me was the effect that the stories and scenes of Grafton were having on the soldiers; I hadn’t expected it, but it made sense. I can only imagine how difficult it is to see your own people in such pain.

As I walked around the medical clinic, I my heart was, again, captured by the children; some so sick they could barely look at you, others dancing around in front of their mothers trying to attract the attention of one of the medical clinic workers for a smile, many following us around so that we could “snap” their pictures.

There were many roles that our team filled at the clinic each day and as I watched everyone perform their duties with patience, love and excellence, I couldn’t help but to imagine that Jesus was right there in our midst, touching each precious life as the team took their temperature, listened to their concerns, prayed for them and gave them medicine that would quite possibly save their lives. Words really can’t express how it feels to stand in the midst of such an amazing and heart-breaking scene and know that you are playing a small part in a big, big change that God is bringing through your hard work.  We will likely never know the full extent our efforts this side of eternity. It’s completely humbling.

I watched as the patients were seen through the nurse’s triage station; the children experiencing thermometers and blood pressure monitors for the very first time, I could almost hear them thinking, “Who are these strange people and why are they sticking these weird objects on me?” The looks on their mother’s faces were mixtures of hope and heart-ache. I just simply can’t imagine being able to seek real medical care for my children only one time a year.

We had four doctors working with our team, three of them were Sierra Leoneans and the other, Nadia, came with us from Victory. It was especially touching to watch them as they interacted with their patients, showing care for each family and taking the time to understand the problem and provide the best medical care possible. Each family had their own story, in the two pictures below, each boy had lost family members in the war and both were seriously injured. The boy in the bottom picture had his head stuck down into a boiling pot of oil by rebel soldiers when he was two years old. He will live with the very visible scar for the rest of his life. It’s these stories and the thousands more like them that, at times, make the whole thing seem almost unbearable and surreal.

After the doctors saw the patients, they wrote a prescription based on the available medicines that we had brought with us to the make-shift clinic. The pharmacy staff worked very hard to fill each and every prescription along with providing much needed vitamins to the children.

While families waited to be seen by the doctors or for their prescriptions to be filled, many of our team helped out wherever they could and talked to them; finding out a little about why they were there and if they wanted prayer. Most everyone appreciated the prayer; it was a refreshing change from America, actually, to see so many people - many not even Christian - not only willing to let someone pray for them, but eager for the prayers.

As we loaded up to head home that night, it was beginning to get dark due to the clinic staying open later than intended so that we could see as many people as possible. The trip home took us nearly 2 hours and was one of the most harrowing of the trip. There were throngs and throngs of people on the roads, not cars, people. Every street we turned down looked like we had driven up on a sea of people, like party goers on New Year’s Eve in Times Square - the streets were that crowded. It was impossible to imagine being able to drive through it. Yet, in the language of Sierra Leone driving, the horns blared and military men waved for people to get out of our way; which they did, sometimes too close to the last second for my comfort. We came to several complete stops amidst people, cars, carts, motorcycles and animals and the military had to get out and clear the chaos so that we could get through. As we drove through the crowded city after dark, I could sense that the thinly maintained calm in the region was one hair’s breath or one wrong move away from bedlam. Although the Freetown police have done a tremendous job of restoring order and in the city you can see signs of progress and improvement, you can’t help but see the looks of anger, distrust and malice on the faces of many whose wounds still sit so close to the surface that they seem moments away from snapping. I prayed for them as we drove through, as I also prayed for us.

Day four was looming to an end and I was certainly not the same as I had been upon waking that morning. I had witnessed pieces of everything I had read about Sierra Leone, its beauty, its tragedy and its hope. I was left to ponder how the scenes from today would change me, shape me and draw me closer to the heart of God.

Transformed by each day,

Pam Parish

Click here to read Day 5 - Part 1

Read my journey from the beginning:

Day 1

Day 2

Day 3

Day 4 - Part 1