Geoff Hom's blog: Africa, why?

In April, I was in Africa for ten days. This was quite a departure for me, as I usually just stay home, work on my computer, play games and take naps. So, how did I end up in Africa?

Let me answer that question by posing a question: Do you feel you have a good sense of the world's pulse? Of what happens in the world?

In December 2006, I had another unusual departure: I spent Christmas vacation in St. Louis, Missouri, for the Urbana Missions Conference. I spent three days surrounded by college students and recent grads, all praising Jesus and excited about serving as missionaries. Except me. I had come hoping to find a spiritual awakening, and indeed everyone else seemed to be experiencing something. I sang, prayed, talked, asked and listened, but deep down I knew it hadn't clicked for me.

On the last day of the conference, I walked again around the exhibit hall, where dozens of charities had booths. Each booth presented a fine idea: Send missionaries to the Middle East. Bring clean water to others using device X. Attend Bible school. But none resonated with me. And then I walked by a booth, and they had a 3-foot-high photo of this person:

This is Hawa. She lives in Sierra Leone, West Africa. She's 7.

And what's that thing sticking out of Hawa's mouth? It looks like she's eating something really weird.

The booth had a woman working there, and I remember looking at Hawa's picture while trying to appear like I was not looking.

The woman must have noticed; also, there was no one else at the booth. "Do you have any questions?" she asked.

"What is that … thing?" I asked, pointing at Hawa's picture.

"It's a tumor."

A tumor? As in cancer? I looked more closely and thought of a mole on Hawa's skin growing out of control. It looked like her upper lip has a giant growth on it, obscuring her mouth from the camera.

In fact, the tumor is growing from inside Hawa's mouth.

Technically, Hawa has a tumor but not cancer. A tumor is a small bit of your body, such as a mole, that keeps growing and growing. A tumor is "malignant" and cancerous only if it will spread to other parts of the body. Hawa's tumor isn't spreading; it's only(!) growing. In medical jargon, Hawa's tumor is "benign."

Of course, you can see how the tumor is almost choking her. How can she eat? The tumor has grown this large in only a year. Soon it will starve her to death, or suffocate her.

Do you feel you have a good sense of the world's pulse? Of what happens in the world?

Before, I would have said yes. I knew a lot, and I had a sense of what I didn't know, so it wasn't a big deal. But Hawa was in a situation I had never imagined anyone in. My view of the world had survived dozens of sermons, books, conversations and arguments, but this 7-year-old girl was disintegrating it as I now stared openly at her picture.

"A tumor?" I paged through a binder with photos of more people beyond my worldview. "Are these … real?"

I don't remember the woman's reply. But I saw a DVD on a table and picked it up.

"What's this?" I asked.

"That's a DVD about our organization. It's our last one … but if you'll show it at your church, you can have it."

"My whole church…? What if I share it with my Bible study group?"

"Okay."

That was my introduction to Mercy Ships. It's a charity that brings free medical care to the poorest of the poor, especially those in West Africa. Mercy Ships does this by building a state-of-the-art hospital in a ship, staffing it with volunteers, and sailing to some of the poorest countries in the world.

Mercy Ships is run almost entirely by volunteers. People come from all over the world to work on the ship, and they pay their own airfare, plus $550 per month to live on-board. Many volunteers stay for at least two years. However, trips of 9–10 days are available in a group: They call these "Mercy Teams." Some Mercy Teams are made of medical professionals: doctors, nurses, dentists, etc. But non-medical teams are also available, and they assist with "everyday tasks onboard."

For several years, part of me wanted to visit this Ship of Mercy. But another part kept saying, "You should wait until you're more ready."

Then one day, I projected backward. I looked back at the recent years of my life, and I realized I could have gone. I could have gone already and still be ready to go again.

So in April 2012, I went with a non-medical Mercy Team to the country of Togo, West Africa. My team was called "Team Alison," since our teammate Alison had served several times before. And … well, I'll save those stories for next time.

I'll close with the story of what happened to Hawa. It's told by the person who photographed her.

In this life, our stories aren't guaranteed to have a happy ending. But I guarantee this one, so please click here for Hawa's story.