In 1965, as I understand it, going by ship wasn’t much more expensive than going by air. It just took longer. Mom and dad were tired from all the traveling and stress from raising support, sleeping in many different beds. They had planned to travel on ship to have a kind of vacation. We travled on the SS Independence from New York to Italy, and we were to take a ship from the Lloyd Triestino line from Italy to Kenya.

It turned out mom was more tired and stressed than we knew. Perhaps she thought she just had a cold when we left, but on board the ship, it became clear to my father that she was seriously ill. Dad said later

that he was very frustrated with the doctor on ship from New York to Italy. He felt the ship doctor was a drunk and wouldn’t come to see mom because he was afraid that she might have TB and get the ship quarantined. She did have pneumonia, and dad found out in Italy that the infection had spread to the lining of her lungs as pleural pneumonia.

I believe mom and dad protected us and didn’t tell us much. I did know mom was sick and had to rest in our cabin, but I thought it was kind of like a flu or cold. Dad stayed with Mom. and my sister and I had very little supervision. The weather was warm and lovely.  I remember talking to sailors as they chipped paint. Going through the barriers to sit in the huge ropes coiled near the bow of the ship and staring into the wind at the far horizon. We were in steerage class, but my sister and I went through to the big first-class playroom. The staff soon knew us and were kind. I loved the huge horizon! The endless sweep of the ocean! The thrumming of the engines was deep and rhythmic like a huge heartbeat.

A young Japanese man took us under his wing. He taught me to play chess, and to write some Japanese letters. Several years later, I got a letter from Japan from him and dad gave me the letter with a very puzzled look on his face since he hadn’t remembered the man at all. It must have been an incredibly stressful trip for mom and dad. In Italy, we connected with missionaries who helped mom find a doctor and treatment. We were in a small Italian town. I remember stone buildings, cobblestone streets and incredibly good bread. Mom kept saying she was sorry she was sick so we couldn’t do all the planned things. She began to get a bit better.

With a treatment plan and medicine, we continued our journey as it had been booked. We sailed from Italy through the Suez Canal and down the east coast of Africa on one of the Loyd Triestino freight and passenger liners. I don’t think we stopped in Egypt, but there was a boat taking a tour ashore. I wanted to go, but since mom and dad weren’t able, dad said no. Not even when an older couple I’d made friends with offered to take me. So frustrating! Little boats came to the ship and people were selling things. With my own pocket money and dad’s approval, I bought a thin blue leather wallet with a silhouette of Nefertiti and felt much better.

In the Suez Canal and off Somalia, the weather was baking hot. The living area was air conditioned, but stepping out was like stepping into an oven. During the day, the crew would fill a swimming pool. It was a space over a huge waterproof hatch into the freight hold. In the morning, it was shallow, but as they pumped water in each day it would deepen. The ship was often rocking so the water sloshed back and forth. We could “swim” across the deep water in two strokes if we timed it right. If we missed our grab on the far side we’d get swept back. Great fun. The baking Sahara air evaporated the water quickly, so over the day it got saltier. One morning I woke up and could not open my eyes!  Terrifying!! It turned out that my eyelids were stuck shut with a crust of salt. Dad gave me a wet washcloth to soak of the crust.

Wandering on the ship unsupervised, I found a door marked with a cross, maybe a church? Slipping in, I stared with wide eyes at the dark space. There were streaks of dim red light through wisps of smoke: incense and stained glass were new to me. I backed against the wall staring at this strange place, I was mostly just curious and cautious until a huge black hooded figure strode toward me out of the gloom talking in a deep voice in a foreign language.  I turned and ran. Clearly not all churches were the same! Being an Italian ship, it had a Roman Catholic chapel. I think if I had understood better, I might have lit a candle and prayed for mom.

When we crossed the equator there was a big party. The steward asked dad if I could be the “princess” for the party on deck. Dad said no.  We did watch for a little while.  Anyone at the party who hadn’t crossed before got covered in shaving crème and thrown in the pool. Looked crazy! Balloons and shaving crème, decorations and screaming and lots of alcohol. No wonder Dad had said no!

Once in Kenya, although she was better than she had been, I believe Dad took mom straight to the hospital at Kijabe. I didn’t realize until some years later that she could have died.