(Eric beginning galley rebuild)
- Now that the overhead has been repaired, building the cabinets is next.
- There will be three sets of storage cabinets. One on the side of the stove and two at the back. An overhead access box will allow for fan exhaust, wiring and plumbing from the top deck.
- At this stage, two of the cabinet sets are built, sanded, caulked and ready for primer.
- The stove outlet needed to be rewired and we had a local electrician do the job.
- We will be modifying the AC/Heat ducting to get some good air circulation in the galley.
- We will also be relocating/rewiring the light switch for overhead galley lights.
The work on the galley rebuild has begun!! This is a very large project and will be completed in stages...
- The first thing was to replace the overhead section torn out during the termite war last year. It was taxing on Eric's shoulders which do not like overhead work, but thankfully, is now completed. An opening in the center will accommodate the vent for our future oven range hood and also a drain for the upper deck and wire run.
- Next stage is the rebuilding of the A/C area behind the stove. This will entail adding a vent to cool the galley, some re-wiring and re-plumbing, building a new wall and door with access panels.
- A couple small projects were completed during the first week of the month with help from Jared Waipouri (Thanks Jared!!) He detangled, coiled and stored in the aft lazarette some donated line as well as several large coils that had been on the aft deck. He and Eric also wired and installed our second red/safety stair light.
- Our raw water engine room A/C pump has been rebuilt/re-wired by DEMCO (A local company).
Just wanted to share this article written by Jared Waipouri.
This is our goal, our calling to be part of the answer to this. This
is what it takes to bring care and hope to remote island people! The
ship that was working there has relocated to another region, we hope to
help fill in the gap!
Why Ships?
It seems like a simple
question, with a common sense answer to those of us who’ve been involved
for a while. But to paint a picture for those who may never have been
out on the ocean, lets consider an outreach in the nation of Vanuatu.
Preparations begin months before each outreach, with advance workers
scouting probable locations based on tips from other NGOs, government
workers, and a healthy dose of prayer on the part of the leaders of
Marine Reach. Scouting the locations is, in itself, no mean feat. First,
we need to get to the part of the country we’re thinking about taking
the ship. This often happens using domestic flights, whose schedules are
far from reliable, and whose destinations rarely get us to where we
need to be. That is not to say they take us elsewhere, but simply that
the topography of Vanuatu’s islands limits where airports can be in
relation to populations.
After landing, we’ll often hire a truck
or local water taxi to take us to our intended destination. Sometimes we
need both. Because fuel is shipped to the island in drums, it usually
costs a lot more than other parts of the country: sometimes up to four
times the normal price.
As quickly as protocol allows it, we’ll
be visiting with the community chief, elders and medical personnel. With
their blessing, we continue to search out the best spot to bring our
ship of hope. This next stage is where things get interesting: we need
to confirm that the ship can actually stop safely at the island we’re
hoping to visit. So we’ll jump into a boat and trundle around, looking
at the anchorages the locals recommend. We’ll be thinking about what it
will be like to drop the anchor: is the water the right depth? Is there
enough room for the ship to swing when the wind and tide do their thing?
Is the swell going to make life uncomfortable onboard for our dentists?
Is it going to be safe to get people from ship to shore, and to unload
supplies if we bring them?
Next, we’ll look at the medical
facilities in the area: is there a hospital, a nurse, a doctor, or only a
minimally trained community health worker? If not, is there a community
building suitable for us to run clinics? Last, we’ll consider the size
of the nearby community: is it so big that we’ll be overwhelmed, or so
small that we will run out of patients in a day? Do we need to send
transport to other communities to give them access too?
If we’re comfortable that these details work together, we will recommend to the ship directors that we run an outreach there.
Once outreach locations are set, we begin the unenviable task of trying
to estimate how much, and what type of supplies we will need. We also
begin communicating with our partner organisations, who may wish to send
construction supplies to a nearby project, or support specific aspects
of the outreach.
A week before our volunteers arrive, we’ll be
found at anchor in Port Vila, making sure that supplies are onboard,
food and fuel has been purchased, medical registrations finalised, and
last minute maintenance is done. Before we know the week has passed, our
volunteers will begin arriving in the warm, sticky, often bustling Port
Vila international airport. With only a few international connections,
this the less costly of two places people might fly into Vanuatu.
From the airport, we bundle our volunteers into the back of our small
truck, and set off on a 20 minute potholed ride to the middle of town,
where we clamber into one of our small ship’s boats. Known as tenders,
these small boats are the connection between ship and land; the few
wharves that exist in Vanuatu are rarely where our outreaches occur, and
even more rarely available for us when we need them.
As we draw
near the ship, our new volunteers begin snapping photos, excited for
what is to come, and probably unsure exactly what to expect. In a few
hours, having introcduced them to the vessel, her safety features, her
quirks, her community living challenges, and her safety obligations,
we’re eating in a very full, very energetic mess hall. A few more hours
and we’re heaving anchor and heading to sea.
The next morning,
having been at sea for 12 hours, we are drawing near to our outreach
destination. Volunteers and crew jostle around the decks to see a
mountain peeking through the clouds as we round the point into our
anchorage. We’ve just arrived in a location whose nearest airport is a 2
hour fast-boat ride away, and where roads take the form of rugged,
rutted, muddy tracks cutting their way through dense jungle and over
impossibly steep hills. The roads are not connected to the rest of the
island, but provide connection within a 10 mile radius of the less
mountainous parts at this end of the island. Their impact on the
vehicles means that most are driven with utmost care to prevent
unnecessary damage.
This is isolated.
Many people have never left their island, much less visited the capital city, Port Vila, some 150 miles away.
So why ships?
Well, the planes flying in and out of the airport, the one that is a
two hour boat ride away, they’re little 20 seaters. Not the kind which
equate to cheap airfares, or large quantities of baggage.
The
local ships which call here are’nt designed for passengers and are
painfully slow, sometimes taking days to reach the capital city or
Luganville, the nation’s northern hub.
These factors, along with
an incredibly limited number of medical professionals nationwide, mean
that the most effective way to deliver healthcare becomes a ship. A ship
carrying tools, equipment and people to provide everything in a
self-contained kind of way.
Slowly, dental clinics are being
established in parts of the country, reducing the need for a ship to
call there, though they are rarely permanently staffed.
—
Though this description draws on experiences in Vanuatu, the reality
across the Pacific remains very similar: limited infrastructure, even
more limited trained personnel, and frustratingly underwhelming
transportation links result in a profound need for medical and community
development ships. The fact is, the need for ships carrying hope and
mercy in the Pacific is as acute as it has ever been.
