on friendship

Jan and I were invited to a pool party/dinner party at our friend Bob's new flat. Also in attendance were 3 other female teachers from the American School and another young family from our church. Some were British, some Canadian, some a mixture thereof, some transplants from Zimbabwe to America, some Malaysian, and some good ol' Midwestern Americans. Some older, some younger, some married, some single, some divorced, some widowed. It was a beautiful mix of ages, nationalities, cultures, vocations, experiences, and vocabularies!

It looked a lot like the Body of Christ.

I have so come to love the people gathered together tonight. I love their warmth. I love their openness. I appreciate their humor. I respect their experience. I admire their willingness to invest despite the fact that most of us have spent lives in transient communities, always meeting new people and saying goodbye to others (and then there's me...about to experience it for the first time).

It was a great time to enjoy conversation, pizza, wine, and the 3 lovely children in our presence. We swam despite the threatening rain clouds and I had a blast playing around with the kids in the pool.

It felt a lot like goodbye, too.

In that bittersweet, let's-go-out-on-a-good-note-and-be-grateful-for-each-other kind of way. I think I've figured out (though it should have been obvious) that goodbyes are a time to edify, to encourage, to build up, to bless, and to send off in faith. Parents of college-bound children, take note. The international community has got it right. This is how we say goodbye. With love and laughter. With help and support. With a long list of contact numbers and friends all over the globe. With the promise of seeing one another again, even if it's not in this life.

I am at peace. Amen and amen.

this feels like closure

My first goodbye was on Friday. One of my Grade 6 students traveled early for her summer holiday, and I took her aside, gave her a hug and reminded her how grateful I am for her sweet spirit in my classroom this year. It was such a personalized goodbye, and while I know I can't have one like that with all of my 71 students, I hope I can mean every word I say in the process.

I wrote the following in an email to my Mom, and it feels a lot like closure.

I feel like I've completed what I came here to do. I went all in.

I have no regrets. I've come full circle. And now it's time to say goodbye. Time to come home. Those statements have all been incredibly costly and incredibly tearful, but they are incredibly sincere.

Countdown: 18 days.

on sex, or rather, not having sex

First, the warning: Serious adult themes ahead. Be aware.

Next, the disclaimer: This post is about a book I'm reading and how it's changing my approach to sex, or rather, (as per the title) my approach to not having sex. My opinions may not be your opinions and that's okay. I hope we can share a mutual love and respect anyways.

Now, for the good stuff.

Having grown up in the evangelical Christian world, and having spent the previous 4 years at Wheaton College, that bastion of evangelical higher learning, it should not be a surprise that I have decided to save sex for marriage. I have not, however, kissed dating goodbye. I have more or less "frenched dating hello," as the joke at Wheaton went.

Right, so that's part of my life. I chose the abstinence route and have found it empty and dissatisfying. There has to be a better, more consequential, less teenaged way to describe the commitment I am now choosing to make. I'm drawing a line in the sand right now, at age 22. I just don't know what to call either side of the line, and I feel like I need to identify it clearly as I step.

There's your background. Here's the book: Singled Out: Why Celibacy Must Be Reinvented in Today's Church. The co-authors are both unmarried women, one of whom was actually a brilliant professor of mine at Wheaton (for the record, I worked harder but learned more in her classes than any other!).

This book has helped me define either side of my sand line: Abstinence and Celibacy. I don't mean to say this is what the book says. I mean to say this is a personal conviction to which the book has helped me arrive.

It's like this. What is the chorus of abstinence-promoters? "Wait." Which I will do, of course. But that punch line is predicated on the idea that something is coming next. Namely, marriage. And what's a Christian girl to do when marriage comes later than she expected? Or never comes at all?

The answer then, as I see it, is celibacy. Ah, yes, the term previously reserved for ascetics and that most holy calling of marriage to Christ. ONLY NOT. Celibacy is the new abstinence, people! We're talking everybody from Lutherans and Agnostics and Non-denominationalists and Catholics to those rebels who simply counter our sex-crazed culture are jumping on the bandwagon.

Celibacy (and this idea does come from the book) is a personal commitment you make in the face of the general attitude of life around you. Abstinence is an outward statement, i.e. sign your pledge card, and celibacy is a more mature, internal conviction.

The thing about either short-term or long-term celibacy is that it doesn't really have a place in the evangelical church at the moment. That section of the Church universal is mostly family-oriented. Which is fine, except if you're a middle-age single Christian. Then it could be difficult to truly connect with a group of believers who are, by and large, married with kids. Which is why things need to change.

Personally, I want to be counter-cultural. I enjoy bucking the system (she writes, from her flat in the middle of Nigeria on a laptop running on battery because there's no electricity, ignoring her itchy palms that may or may not be a symptom of tapeworm). See? I like bucking the system. And the "system" I've grown up in uses sex as the primary advertising tool.

Wouldn't I just be the worst consumer in the world if a product's sex appeal did not appeal to me because I was not motivated by sex? What a way to mess with economics. What a way to buck the system!

Celibacy is going to change the face of sexual purity. It's a conscious choice I make, not an unfortunate set of circumstances that has befallen me because I am unmarried. Celibacy is more than just waiting for what comes next. It's not waiting at all. You see, the place I am (which one could call "singlehood") actually has something beneficial to teach me, and if I limit myself to just waiting, or am more focused on what comes next, I might just miss the lesson I have to learn right here, right now.

That lesson, it seems, is that as a single Christian woman, I have a divine, integral purpose in the Body of Christ. My sexuality is a God-given part of me, yes, but it does not make me who I am (i.e. single vs. married or virgin vs. sexually active). Whether or not I get married, whether or not I raise children, whether or not I have sex, I am purposed. As I make the transition from abstinence to celibacy, I may slip up: I may lose my focus on the place I am by looking ahead or by "just waiting". But I don't want to lose sight of that bigger calling, ever. As I stand on the Celibacy side of the line, I need the Body of Christ to support me while I support the Body of Christ.

Bottom line: Read the book. Draw a line in the sand. And if you cross over, let me know. You won't be standing alone.

pretending to know how to play football

It is a favorite ICS tradition to host a friendly soccer (football) competition between staff and students. I was recruited for the female staff game, but declined out of fear: I have never played soccer before. Honestly, I have not.
I only know you're not supposed to touch the ball with your hands. Which seems so ridiculous to me...as in, if the ball is coming for my face, I'm supposed to hit it back with my forehead...yeah, that makes perfect sense. I suppose I'm too conditioned for American football!

In the course of the evening, though, I changed my mind. Partially because this is my only chance to do this and I want to milk these last 3 weeks for all they're worth. Also because I don't get much physical exercise these days: my sense of safety precludes my running around the neighborhood, and I don't get to the pool very often. Soccer seemed tame enough.

Right, so I changed my mind and showed up for the game in shorts and tennies...blissfully unaware that the rainy season has converted our pitch (field) to a mudfest. My students were talking smack from the moment they stepped out. As if it was difficult to guess, I'm not very good at smack talk, so I think I scraped the following together:
"Oh, yeah? Well...I know American football and I'm going to body block you. Yeah. So there....Oh, and I control your grades, so be careful." I know, right? Real smooth, Miss Maggie.

A couple of the boys gave me a quick tutorial on how to kick using the top bit of your foot and not the actual ends of the toes (who knew?!) and how to pass using the inside of your foot. I practiced passing back and forth then took a shot at the untended goal. It went in and all the younger kids (Grades 2-5) that had gathered for the game cheered for me. It was cute, but the real work was just starting.

I wish I had a good memory and could recount all the times I slipped on the mud, or watched a ball sail right past me, or struggled to catch up with my students as they chased all over the field. It was humbling to be sure. I got a couple good passes and discovered that if I scream at the person with the ball as they're getting ready to kick, they get flustered. I don't know if they do that here in Nigeria, but I put my American-football-cheering lungs to good use. It worked a couple of times.

Bottom line: I got my butt kicked by my students. It doesn't bother me, though, because it was actually fun. The ladies on my team were hilarious and encouraging and some of them were REALLY INTO IT. I smashed into a few of my students, got stepped on many times, and took a direct shot to my right kidney (that was fun). The best part was when one of my students baited me into charging her, and at the last second, stepped out of the way for a MALE student waiting on the sideline to completely sideswipe me. I'm going to have a killer bruise on my shin...can't wait for the battle scars to show up in time for graduation!

In the end, we lost 2-1, with the students' winning goal scored in the last 10 seconds. We celebrated with them, had a good laugh, and headed back to class.

Side note: When a very white girl exerts a very large amount of energy in a country very close to the equator with a very high level of humidity, her face becomes very red. I'm pretty self-conscious of my athletic abilities as it is, but imagine my horror at all the small children (and there were SO many) gathered around me after the game, pointing and giggling: "Miss Maggie what's wrong with your face?" "Miss Maggie you look like a lobster." "Miss Maggie, will your face stay like that?!" (and my personal favorite: "Miss Thomas, you were terrrrrrible!") I assured them my face was just part of being as white as I am, and while they believed me, they still stared at me like an exhibit in the zoo.

It was a fantastic afternoon, and while I may or may not be able to get out of bed in the morning, it was so so so worth it.

semester exams & itchy hands

Who has two thumbs and hates semester exams? This girl.

I gave 4 semester exams today. I started Grade 6 with a growing chorus of, "This is going to be a great test. This Is Going To Be A Great Test! THIS IS GOING TO BE A GREAT TEST!!!!" They thought it was a fun way to kick off a 7:30am exam. :-)

It became apparent that my 3 seniors had studied very little before their exam. Nonetheless, I felt really bad about their passing rate (or lack thereof). Unfortunately for them, I didn't see much effort put forth to actually learn the information, which makes me less inclined to curve it favorably. (Teachers can I get an Amen?) I dropped 3 points from their exam partially because I'm such a softy but really because of the 3 questions on which I actually stumped myself. You know it's bad when...
Lucky them, they're taking another exam on Tuesday. I'll try to make that one passable--because I'm nice like that.

Have I mentioned that my hands have been uncontrollably itchy since I woke up this morning? No rash, no bumps, no redness, no new soaps, creams, or jewelry. Still itchy. On the inside. Oh the strange ailments I get in Africa. Honestly...you'd think I was making this stuff up.

fix it.

Newsflash: following a really major screw-up moment, a teacher generally feels compelled to find a way to make reconciliation and restitution (Marcy - thanks for the reminder!)

Apparently, love may cover a multitude of sins, but so does pushing the semester exam back 'til tomorrow. :)

I was upbeat and positive as I "gifted" the extra day to Grade 6. I told them moving the exam back is like a big "I LOVE YOU." And, in true kid fashion, they believed my sincerity. I think I'm forgiven.

I spoke with the boy whose feelings I hurt, and we're moving in positive directions - at least he's speaking to me now. I have a feeling it may take every day of the 22 I have left to earn his trust back, but I'm going to continue building him up until he sees how precious he is.

I'm feeling better. Not quite so empty. It is well.

the time i blew it

Failure is supposed to be part of life, right? Failure is supposed to teach us something, right?


Is failure is supposed to make us feel empty, too?


A student who struggles in my class volunteered a very difficult answer today. I was so pleased with his response, I said, "Wow! Did that come from your brain?"

And with that one foolish moment, I crushed him. He put his head down on the desk as the other students began to laugh at him and he cried for the rest of the class period.

Oh, my broken heart, what have I done? I didn't mean it that way. I DIDN'T MEAN IT. Don't cry. Please don't cry. Be quiet, you people. Leave him alone. Let him be. I am so sorry. I shouldn't have said that. You have come so far in the past 9 months. What have I done? People, we have failed in loving our friend today, I have failed in loving our friend today. I am so sorry. I will never make this mistake again. I will never say something which can be construed as anything other than encouragement, than love, than belief in the idea that YOU CAN, YOU DO, and YOU WILL BE. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry.

I made someone else feel like a zero today. It is the worst feeling in the world.

john piper makes me think crazy thoughts

I've been listening to some of John Piper's sermons recently, which strikes me as odd because I am definitely not a 5-point Calvinist (not even close!). It's like I've been wanting something more, and since Piper's on my iPod...well, why not?

All personal theology aside, I've been gleaning some legit motivation from the messages I've listened to. In the midst of my current employment struggle and aimlessness, this guy...he's reminding me of my eternal purpose.

These are the 3 take-away themes I've picked up: America is comfortable and Christians aren't called to comfort, missions and suffering go hand in hand, and relationships matter.

I'm not sure how to make sense of all this, but I've been reading Philippians, and I think God is beginning to call me to what's next. I don't know where that is, or when I'm going, but I do know that something is tugging at me. And I'm EXCITED.

Countdown: 24 days

all i have time for

30 items to write in the next couple days: unit tests, semester exams, reviews, crosswords, lesson plans.

I've worked 19 of the last 28 hours.

All I really want is to be with Adam, Preston, and my old Area 56 youth group at their retreat this weekend. Life Church, I miss you.

in which the students become the teachers

Sometimes, I get tired of hearing myself talk. I grow weary of warning students to stay seated. I'm especially over the whole I'm-saying-this-for-the-tenth-time-because-you-weren't-listening-the-previous-nine charade. And I really, really, hate when I waste time quieting kids down instead of accomplishing my lesson objectives.

So I told Grade 8 that I was done being the teacher for a little while. I told them they would be stepping up. One of my more talkative students shot his hand straight up and shouted, "I'll help you teach first!" Okay, step 1 accomplished: Get them excited.

Our selection for the day included 6 poems from authors of different backgrounds (mostly something hyphenated American), all surrounding the theme of dreams. This group of students is especially imaginative, and I hoped they'd attach to the theme since they all have high aspirations in life.

They paired off, picked a poem, and read their poem for meaning. While they discussed, I wrote a smattering of poetic devices on the board, which they were shocked to discover they had learned throughout the course of the year together. For those who aren't poetry junkies like me, poetic devices include things like metaphor, simile, imagery, onomatopoeia, allusion, alliteration, symbolism, theme, mood, tone, rhyme scheme, etc. Step 2 accomplished: Give them the tools for success.

The students worked together to find examples of the above literary terms present in their poems, then presented their ideas to the rest of the class. I sat in a desk in the back with the rest of the students and listened. Step 3 accomplished: Give them the power to express ideas.

To be fair, the poems were not very straightforward. Although it may have been frustrating for them, I piggybacked on their presentation of basic concepts with some insights of my own (or some insights from the Teacher's Edition...hehe). The students listened--for the most part--and when they didn't, the presenters were free to wait for the others' attention. Step 4 accomplished: Give them the freedom to demand respect.

I tried this method not entirely because I'm tired of always being the teacher, but also because I completed my self-evaluation this week, and allowing students to present their own work is something I fell short in. Today's teaching tactic was just a step in empowering my kids towards self-confidence. Because that's the bigger lesson here. I'm not primarily a Literature teacher. I'm a teacher of confidence, of esteem, of dignity, of respect. If my kids learn those life lessons, something tells me everything else will fall into place.

But learning to identify personification and imagery never hurt anyone, either.

nachos, la ropa, and sucking face

Yesterday was Wednesday: Spanish Club. In preparation, I brought improvised nachos. I was overjoyed to find 3 bags of chili-flavored tortilla chips at the supermarket last weekend...I paid N1450 per bag...about $9.50! (Actually, the students will end up paying it, not me.) I was getting so desperate for tortilla chips, I looked into frying my own from Lebanese bread!

I would have preferred to provide a better nacho experience with onion, tomato, shredded lettuce, cilantro, olive, sour cream, guacamole, salsa, etc., but I'm in the middle of Africa...
I do what I can.

While the kids munched on their slacker nachos, I pulled out two bags stuffed full of my clothes. Together, we learned the words for skirt (la falda), shoes (los zapatos), pajamas (las pijamas) and more. I arranged the clothes--la ropa--around the classroom tables, and we played an impromptu version of "musical chairs." When the music stopped, I called on kids to tell me what item of clothing was in front of them. They liked mi vestido--dress--from Forever 21 (hi Ashley!) and rolled their eyes at los calcetines--my [clean] socks.

Things went okay, which is saying a lot compared to the last few Wednesdays. I think the food boosted their spirits, and by the time musical chairs rolled around, they were willing to oblige me. Hey, I'll take what I can get.

Grade 9 and I just wrapped up Romeo & Juliet this week. They took a test on it yesterday and everyone passed. I feel good about their accomplishment. If understanding R+J is the one thing that sticks after I've left, it's enough.

Side note: R+J is very significant to me. I've long claimed it as my favorite Shakespeare play, which all Shakespearean scholars and English teachers know is a copout. But it's true. I read it in Grade 9 with Mrs. Donaldson and the 3 lovely girls who became my best friends. I remember picking up on Juliet's sarcasm in an exchange with the Nurse and thinking, maybe for the first time, that reading not between, but underneath the lines of literature would be my passion. I suppose R+J was the first big step on my road to becoming a Lit teacher.

Back to my current Grade 9: Did we have to pause after every major speech to paraphrase? Yes, we did. Did they sometimes interrupt themselves to ask, "Huh?!" Yes, they did. Did they argue over who got to read the longer speeches? Yep, they did that, too. Did they feel triumphant for having successfully read--and understood--a Shakespeare play? You bet they did. Remember, some of these kids speak English as a second language. Getting through it with some semblance of understanding is all I can ask. I've done my job. Their actually enjoying it makes me deliriously joyful.

In class today I showed 3 scenes from the 1996 Baz Luhrmann version. I chose the meeting scene, the balcony scene, and the last scene, but failed to realize that these scenes contain a substantial amount of face-sucking. There was a lot of "oooooo" and "ugh, again?" from the peanut gallery.

One of my female students sighed dreamily every time Leonardo DiCaprio came onscreen, while the others elbowed her and giggled. I asked her how old she was in 1996, and she replied, "That was the year I was born." (What's that? Miss Maggie feels old? Okay.) The boys especially were confused by the last scene, in which Romeo kisses a "dead" Juliet. "Eww...she's dead!" they kept shouting.

Minus all the making out, I think they appreciated the visual interpretation. I'm glad we read the play first, to get the characters firmly established in their minds, before seeing them rendered onscreen. I've determined that movie adaptations of books are Literature teachers' Enemy Number One. Nothing zaps kids' ability to identify with literature quite like the complaint, "But that's not how it is in the movie!"

Mrs. Donaldson, I think you'd have been proud of me and my kids this week. Thank you for teaching me well so I could teach them.

a verse, an image, a thought

I'd like to share an opinion today. Okay, I guess I do that every day, but I'm raiding the secret archives of my brain and sharing something that I've often thought but never spoken.

A fellow blogger recently called Psalm 139 to mind. While the psalm in its entirety is worth a read (and a re-read, for that matter) it is verse 5 specifically that has always stood out to me:

"You hem me in, behind and before. Your hand is on me."

Simply put, I adore this verse. I love that my God is so personally invested in my life: not in a wind-the-watch-sit-back-and-watch-it-tick kind of way, but in the created-me-knows-my-thoughts-his-hand-is-ON-me kind of way.

I've been aware of this verse for a very long time--years, in fact--and it has always conjured up a certain image in my mind. For self-preservation, I have never shared this image with anyone, because it's kind of girly and a little embarrassing, like having an iTunes playlist called Sad Songs that you listen to for a couple days each month. Wait, what? Did I just admit that? Never mind.

I watch a lot of movies, right? Especially here in Nigeria, where I can buy 15 on one disc and not feel bad about watching them ALL because I have to get my money's worth. Romantic comedies are a personal favorite. I mean, I really like action movies, Bogey-and-Hepburn-type movies, and the ones that make me think, but for brainless entertainment, I'll take a corny romantic comedy, extra cheese.

In most of these fluffy favorites, there's a ridiculously overwrought moment in which the female protagonist struggles against the male protagonist. His arms are braced against her shoulders; she may or may not be crying, screaming, and throwing punches. She carries on like this for a while, but invariably, she surrenders herself, tired of struggling, tired of resisting, just flat-out exhausted. And in the moment she decides she can't do it any longer, she lets herself be loved.

Ladies and gents, welcome to verse 5.

This is what I do. I get all stubborn and pushy. I think I can do God's job better than He can. I try to fake Him out. But He knows me. He knows my thoughts while I think them, He knows my words before I say them. So He holds my shoulders while I thrash around and waits for me to tire myself out. Which I do, of course, and then I realize I am literally caught in the most mind-blowing, deep-as-an-ocean, knows-all-my-faults-and-doesn't-care kind of love I will ever know. Exhausted as I am, I just rest in the knowledge that my life is not my own. I am hemmed in, behind and before, by Love that will not let me go.

Amen and amen.

squatters and sadness

Some of you have heard me talk about the Mechanics' Park next to our compound. Technically, the land surrounding our house has been set aside for a city park (a treeless, grassless park, but I digress...). Instead of cultivating some kind of welcoming oasis, the city has allowed the park to remain vacant, and as the story goes, squatters moved in, erecting tiny shacks made of plywood and corrugated tin roofs. The little village has really expanded, and is home to a dozen or more little homes, which belong mostly to taxi drivers and car mechanics.

I've gotten used to the sights (but mostly sounds) of my neighbors. Car horns, dogs, and crying babies are the most audible, but my favorite is the Sunday morning soccer game I hear while getting ready for church. There was a traditional wedding there a couple weeks ago, and they were singing until 3am! Have I mentioned that Nigerians know how to celebrate?! Even though I don't know my neighbors individually, I see them often: when I take out the garbage, when I walk over to buy phone credit, when I go to church. There's a food stand as well, and I've had really good pounded yam and egusi soup from there.

We arrived home this afternoon to see 5 huge transport vehicles full of armed policemen. Our driver asked a bystander (in Hausa) what was going on, and he translated it back to us: The police arrived with a demolition crew and tore down the entire park. Every house, every shop, every little building is gone. The residents were more or less chased off the grounds.

I stood on our back step and sneaked pictures of the aftermath. Some of the women just stood off to the side and watched. (The lack of outward emotion of Nigerian women is very intriguing to me, but probably a topic for another day.)

It has been eerily quiet around here since yesterday afternoon. I don't know where the residents will move to now that their homes have been destroyed. This Sunday, I won't hear the soccer game, and it really grieves me.

Part of me hopes that if the city bothered to tear everything down, they'll now make an effort to actually build a city park. Part of me hopes that the squatters return and rebuild.

photo gorge

Too much of a good thing? No way... these were taken around town.

First is an elevated view of Wuse II, home to ICS, our beloved Chicken Republic, the ever-reliable Bomas Supermarket, and, yes, Coomy Automobiles. Amanda, remember looking at GoogleMaps and trying to figure out where the school was located?! I thought it was "Woos 2" but they quickly corrected me - it's "WOO-say 2."

Next up is the Fortress herself...the American Embassy. On a semi-related note, can someone advise me on the legality of posting this picture? I'd hate to get pulled by the Feds for this.

Lastly is a picture of the omnipresent Abuja construction. The red and white barricades signify a Diversion (American "Detour"). And that's a Toyota Hilux, a very popular truck here. Note the legit speed bump in the foreground. They spent 40 million Naira putting those in all over the city, and now they're spending 60 million ripping them up again. Oh, Nigeria...

let me be brief

I sang on the worship team at church this morning...that's a new one. It went just fine...we sang and danced to Days of Elijah!

Also, it's 8:30 and I haven't even made a dent in my lesson plans. Why, yes, I am changing my name to include Procrastinator. Is there such a thing as senior slide for teachers???

hackin' it

You guys, I can totally hack it here in Abuja. If I didn't believe it before, I believe it now.

Today, I volunteered to do our weekly shopping. Our reliable driver, Obi, took me around town. Safety Disclaimer: While I was technically alone, Obi was never far away. He is very protective of me. (Don't worry, Dad!) Shopping is...a bit more involved here, due mostly to availability.

I felt so empowered that I knew exactly which shops had the lowest prices on our everyday items. Which, if you're interested, include: Bonux Laundry Soap, Morning Fresh Dish Soap, Dano Powdered Milk, Funtuna Eggs, FarmFresh Yoghurt, Amigo Wheat Bread, and Emborg Cheddar or Gouda Cheese.

Shopping for fresh produce is my favorite. I went to my favorite local open-air market, Maitama Farmer's Market. Today I got lettuce, red and green onion, garlic, cucumber, avocado, fresh green beans, pineapple, 20 mangoes (4 varieties!), bananas, plantains, and I splurged on 6 apples (imported from South Africa). I bargained like a maniac, and got all that for about $30.

See? I shop just like your family. I may have to go to 4 different grocery stores/markets to get all my stuff, but my shopping just takes a bit more effort...you try negotiating with a man who speaks a tonal language and has half his teeth!

On the final drive home, I was struck again with gratitude, for what I have, for where I am, for who I know. This place is so special to me. Praise God from whom all blessings flow.

on being crazy

Spirit Week culminated todaywith "Crazy Day." A panel of judges voted for the King and Queen of the crazies...we even had some cross-dressing boys! I wore a long skirt as a dress (your skirt, Laura!), mismatched flip-flops, painted my nails 5 different colors, and did my hair in Princess-Leia braids!

Great way to end the week. This weekend, I hope to make major strides on the domestic front. Mainly, laundry and cleaning my room. Some things never change...

5 weeks from today, I will be in the US. Let the countdown begin!

i promised pictures

Here are a couple photos of my 60s look from Tuesday. Excuse the shameless self-portrait I took at my desk, but note the cateye makeup. I'm quite proud of that.

pictionary

Time for two new(er) pictures. I briefly considered deleting the captions and letting you guess, but that game of Pictionary might just be too difficult.

These pictures are from a recent trip to Kubwa for a coworker's wedding. In the white bathtubs above are various assortments of flopping, gasping fish. For real.

A fruit stand in Kubwa: in the back are oranges, then pineapples, papayas (pawpaw) under the burlap cover, watermelon and mangoes in front.

For the record, I've been attempting to post this for over a month. Uploading photos is a constant challenge here. Enjoy...in spite of the delay.

when it rains it pours

Oh-ho-ho but the rainy season has hit. It rains almost daily now, with the inevitable loss of power, too (we're on generator as I write).

I woke up last night to the most powerful wind I've ever heard. If we'd been in the States, I'm sure it would have been tornado weather. The wind was absolutely screaming through the flat. The pressure changes even blew my bedroom door open.

You guys, I was terrified. (Shh...don't tell anyone.)

I'm not a big fan of storms to begin with. Thunder is fascinating and all, and I've seen some pretty incredible lightning storms since moving here, but I still prefer to be inside, warm and dry.

I huddled in the fetal position--my usual, but nonetheless comforting, sleeping stance--and honestly prayed that God would calm the storm! I even scoped out where to go if the wind started shattering windows. When I felt brave enough to look at the clock, it was 5am...nearly time to get up. The generator started soon after that, and the wind and rain died down as it started getting light.

When we left for school, we learned that the outdoor gazebo on the other side of the compound had blown down, part of the roof had been lifted off, the basketball hoop was ripped out of the ground, and the upstairs parts of the compound were flooded (our ground-level flat was completely spared!). Some of the shanties next to our compound blew down, too. We saw trees down all throughout the city, and a cement post fell on a parked car across the street from the school.

Mrs. O said she imagines this is what hurricane winds are like...and she said she prayed that God would calm the wind and rains, too! Glad I wasn't the only one.

Here's to crazy storms, protection, and staying dry!

beehives & cateyes

It's Spirit Week at ICS. I forgot about Monday's Color Riot (clashing colors), but I was really ready for today's 60s/Nerdy Day.

I did some research on 1960s hairstyles and makeup, raided my closet (which is now a pile on the floor of my room) and stayed up until 11:30pm getting it just right.

Truthfully, my beehive hairdo and cateye makeup looked pretty legit! My outfit was rather haphazard, but what are you gonna do...my options were pretty limited. At least I rocked the boatneck and the earrings. Everybody loved it...not many of the teachers dressed up, so the kids thought it was great.

I'm working on pictures, but unfortunately, my connection is really bad today. I managed to get a new pic up on Facebook, however, so check there.

thought for the day

Sometimes I worry that my life will never be as exciting as it is right now. Not that life in Nigeria is glamorous, but I am anticipating some letdown, at least initially.

Today I found myself a little piece of two-penny wisdom:

Your life is an occasion. Rise to it.

I will not let myself forget that every inch of my life matters, not just the overseas parts.


For the record, that quote came from the illimitable genius of Dustin Hoffman in "Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium." Yes, occasionally I watch kids' movies. I'm a teacher. Don't judge me.

the ugly truth

There's not enough honesty these days. Let's start a revolution. I'll go first, okay?

1. I eat when I'm bored. It's not such a problem here in Nigeria, where the readily-available snacks include peanuts and mangoes, but it might be a problem when I move home.

2. Every day I become a little bit more like my mom. Happy Mother's Day, Mama! I love you!

3. I hate chalk. My students find this hilarious. I wrap my chalk in masking tape so I don't have to touch it. Interestingly enough, I can scrape my nails down a chalkboard--no problem--but chalk dust gives me the shivers.

4. My full name is Margaret Emma, but I never met either great-grandmother whose name I bear. I wish I knew more about them.

5. The astronomical maternal mortality rates in Nigeria really bother me. I wish I had a background in medicine or nursing so I could make a difference in that area.

6. I always cry in the first 2 minutes of Love Actually. The Heathrow Airport arrivals gate scene gets me every time.

7. Given the opportunity, I would share just one message with every teenage girl: You are beautiful. I feel like this world would be a different place if every girl believed that about themselves.

8. I am judgmental. I think it is my ugliest flaw, and the most stubborn one to ditch.

9. I'm very aware of how other people see me and I worry what others think of me. It is grossly unhealthy and quite hypocritical. See #7.

10. Someday I'm going to own a yellow Labrador. I hope this is sooner rather than later.

Okay, your turn. Leave a comment and tell me something true about you.

wheaton, bubbles, and the experience formerly known as graduation

A year ago tomorrow, I wore a ridiculous hat, walked across a platform chanting internally "don't trip, don't trip, don't trip," shook the hand of a man I'd never met before, and received a piece of paper covered with a whole bunch of cursive writing.

Graduation sounds so absurd when you put it that way.

I've had a lot of time to reflect on the end of my time at Wheaton...a whole year, in fact. As grateful as I am that I had 4 years there to grow and mature, I wish I'd had the wisdom to anticipate the transition out.

"The Wheaton Bubble" is what we named the insular nature of our college. I'm sure other Christian colleges had their own bubbles, so we're not special in that regard. Wheaton doesn't have a monopoly on community, either, but there's something about the Wheaton Bubble and the Wheaton Community that alums carry with them.

While I was still a part of both, they were simply punch lines. What does one do on a Friday night? The options are pretty limited, thanks to the Wheaton bubble. And good luck keeping secrets in the Wheaton community.

Except now that I've left, they aren't punch lines anymore. I genuinely miss belonging to both the bubble and the community. I find myself willing to overlook all the unhealthy habits, all the backbiting, all the gossip, all the ways we ignore and hurt one another when we (women in particular) live together in community. Dwelling on the negatives helps me feel better about being out and very very far away from the people that defined "Wheaton Community" for me. Remembering the positive, helpful, beautiful things about the Wheaton community stirs up an intense longing, though.

The truth is, I don't do transitions well. Had I chosen a college closer to home, I probably would have shown up for high school drama performances and home basketball games until someone gave me a weird look and said, "What are you doing here?" Except not basketball because I hate basketball. Given the chance, I definitely would have been that kid.

So it's good that I chose an out of state college, and it is also good that I spent my first year out of college on another continent. It forced me to transition (the "over-and-done-with" verb, not the "complicated-and-lengthy-process" noun), and while I've experienced the full spectrum of feelings from "Screw community who needs it" to "Please I need some place to belong," I think I've learned how to be an adult, not because I had the option, but because I did not.

As the class of 2010 walks tomorrow, I wish them both a peaceful transition out of Wheaton and another source of community, and the wisdom to tell the difference.

bugs, bugs, and more bugs

I got to talk and pray with my dear friend Amanda this evening! What a blessing. She laughed at the following stories, and I hope you will, too.

1) Earlier this week, we discovered small piles of shavings underneath our kitchen cupboards, a sure sign of wood mites. I walked into the kitchen after school today and spotted a gecko on the wall. I actually spoke out loud to it and commanded it to go behind the cupboards and eat all the mites, which it promptly did. In response, I audibly exclaimed "Yesssss!" You know you've adjusted to Nigerian life when...

2) The rains have once again returned to Nigeria, and with them, the flying termites have come out of hiding. Imagine the body of a carpenter ant with the wings of a dragonfly. Two dropped down around me in the living room last week. I freaked and stomped on them. Then on Wednesday, I walked into the kitchen at school and found one of the cleaners frying a panful of wingless termites. And next to her was a huge 5-gallon bucket of them, fried and salted. You guys, they eat them here for the protein. As Hannah would say, sicknasty.

3) I bought a box of macaroni & cheese at the supermarket this week. It was expensive and it wasn't Kraft, and the macaroni was neither fun-shaped nor individually packaged, so I should have anticipated what came next: As I emptied the pasta into the boiling water, I watched a bunch of tiny black flecks pour out, too.
Oh yes, my good friends. Some kind of small bug (fruit fly, perhaps?) had infested the pasta, laid eggs, and were in various stages of development when I decided to cook my mac&cheese. I scooped out the fully mature bugs while it was boiling, and strained out all the tiny larvae, too. But some of them had worked into the holes of the pasta and hatched there. Those suckers got boiled, salted, milked, and cheesed along with the pasta, and I ate it, bugs and all.
I told my flatmate and she said, "Wow, Maggie, you have become a true Nigerian!" Thanks, I'll take that as a compliment.

remember this day

President Umar Musa Yar'Adua passed away last night. He was 58, and had struggled for several years with kidney problems and, more recently, pericarditis, for which he was treated in Saudi Arabia last November. (Is this reading like a BBC report to you?)

On some levels, this has been expected. On some levels, this was hoped for. As Yar'Adua was failing physically, Nigeria was stagnating. According to a few local sources, he refused to relinquish the presidential duties to his vice president, Goodluck Jonathan, until the Congress voted him Acting President.

That was back in February. It's now May, and while President Yar'Adua has been alive since then, it feels as though Goodluck Jonathan has been the (I almost wrote "our"...weird) president the entire time. I anticipate a smooth transition as former President Yar'Adua is buried in Katsina State today and as Goodluck Jonathan is officially sworn in.

Nigeria will continue with its regularly scheduled presidential elections next spring and President Jonathan will finish out the term until that time. (Phasing out of reporter mode in 3, 2, 1...)

I hope that together, Jonathan, his new deputy, and the next President can move Nigeria forward, in every sense. This is a beautiful nation, with 150 million natural assets, and by working together, I truly believe Nigeria can become a true force.

As a result of this news, school was canceled today. We did our market shopping and are off to dinner and movie with some fellow school staff members.

To end on a cuter note, here's a written apology I received Tuesday from a student who, together with another boy, was so disruptive during my class, I walked them both to the principal's office. The second boy was suspended, and I received this note from the first:

4/5/10 Sorry Miss Thomas

Sorry Miss Thomas for makeing noise in your class time. I will never make noise angin. If i do i will be going out of the school. I am very sorry plezz plaese please please forgive me.

Of course, he did make noise the very next day, but I went a little easier on him.

el cinco de mayo, skype, and coomy automobiles

Due to the public holiday on Monday, I totally spaced out that today was a Wednesday, in which we have clubs after school. I run Spanish Club, which started out really cool, but has gradually gotten lame. (Which is completely 100% my fault, I realize that.)

Right. So I totally spaced that today was club day and forgot to plan a "lesson."

Then I remembered: Today is CINCO DE MAYO.

Excellent. Thank you, Internet, for your vast teaching resources related to Cinco de Mayo. Thank you for your word finds and your word games. Thank you for saving my butt. And thank you, Wikipedia, for reminding me that Cinco de Mayo is not actually Mexican Independence Day (or even celebrated throughout Mexico [hello, Americanized holiday!]).

Two word finds and a game of Guacamole later, I survived Wednesday.

After clubs, I joined my flatmate Jan in her classroom as we waited for the kids' parents to come collect them from class. I called my mom and promised her a million dollars if she would sign on to Skype (I may or not be paying that). She's a great sport--I just wanted her to "meet" the kids of Jan's class (who are my favorite kids EVER).

Thus ensued the most epic Skype session ever attempted from Nigeria. Mom met Muka and Anisa, the girls who are enthralled with my long hair. She met David and Ibrahim, who stopped their wrestling match long enough to say hello. She met Mercy and Naomi, my two closest Nigerian friends. I wanted her to see me, to see us, as we move, as we talk, as we interact, as we are.

It goes deeper than that, of course. I want you all to see me as I am in Nigeria, as I live and breathe this culture, as I become someone I've always wanted to be. Not that Skype can communicate that, of course, but the pictures just will not do it justice. I know that.

On the ride home this afternoon, I saw the familiar sign for Coomy Automobiles. I don't know why but this name has always cracked me up. I think of cars in cocoons. Yeah, I know...weird. Anyways, I saw that sign and got a twinge of sadness.

You will never know what Coomy Automobiles looks like. You'll never see the luxury cars that Mercy and I promised to buy each other for our birthdays. You'll never know what that intersection sounds like or looks like at 3pm on a weekday (actually, I'll tell you: it's absolute CHAOS).

It's such a tiny minuscule part of this whole experience, but it's so sad to me that the people who matter most to me won't be able to share it with me.

Hopefully you can put up with me telling you stupid stories about places like Coomy Automobiles as I try to help you share in the greatest experience of my life. Yes, the greatest. It passed up Parent Trap a long time ago. :)

i can't handle this

I'm leaving Nigeria in 6 weeks.

Somebody hold me.

in which the author steps on toes

Get out your steel-toed boots.

No feelings were intended to be harmed in the making of this post.

I generally avoid discussing politics, because in my limited experience, there is no faster way to alienate a portion of one's readership than to bring politics into the fray. While the same cannot always be said for religion, it's along those lines. (Although, when it comes to talking about my faith on this blog, I'm not one to tiptoe. I stomp around here as I please.) Today, I'm breaking my self-imposed rules.

If you're friends with me on Facebook, you'll note that I recently changed the Political Views and Religious Views of the Basic Information section on my profile. I'd like to explain and defend my changes.

Until now, I've left Political Views blank. Mostly because I'm young, and green, and inexperienced, and still "sorting myself out," as my British/Canadian flatmate would say. No use defining myself with labels I find insufficient. I'll choose my own labels, thankyouverymuch.
In the past, I've listed my Religious Views as everything from "Christian" and "Evangelical" to "Micah 6:8" and "I'm in love with this Guy" (that one lasted about 5 minutes).

If we're friends on Facebook (and if we're not, click here), see that my Info tab now reads:

Political Views: Arizona's SB 1070 is wrong.
Religious Views: Faith without works is dead.

(I did tell you to have your steel-toed boots at the ready, yes? Good.)

You see, dear readership which may or may not drop after today, I am convinced that even more than the United States needs health care reform, the Church needs reform, too.

Because here's the problem: My generation--the Millenials--is really really good at pointing out things wrong with society, or government, or Church leadership. What we're not really really good at is expressing how to make those wrong things right. It's like this: "I don't like [fill in the blank]. The whole system sucks. We need a change. [End of discussion.]"

See how nothing was resolved there? It was just a complaint, an open letter to the gods of democracy and big business and nongovernmental organizations to fix what we deem is dysfunctional without offering any suggestions for making [fill in the blank] functional again.

AND I AM PREACHING TO THE CHOIR. See, watch this:

I'm not a big fan of Arizona's SB 1070. Mostly because this bill just made it illegal to drive an undocumented immigrant family to church on Sunday mornings in the state of Arizona. Being caught doing so is met with the risk of being arrested for "transporting or harboring" undocumented immigrants.

I recoil from this with the command of Christ to welcome the stranger. I recall the word of the Lord in Jeremiah 22:3 to the people Israel:

"Do justice and righteousness, and deliver from the hand of the oppressor him who has been robbed. And do no wrong or violence to the resident alien, the fatherless, and the widow, nor shed innocent blood in this place."

As convinced as I am that SB 1070 is wrong, I have no suggestion to change it. So maybe I ought to just keep my trap shut. But I want you to understand why I think it is wrong, even if I lack the brain power sufficient to make it right. (Hi, Dad.)

In regards to the Religious Views, I find James 2:26 to be a perfect summation of my struggle between faith and works. It's not that I think I can earn my salvation: I'm a terrible person. I am wretched. I am mean-spirited. There is no hope that I can earn my way into heaven. Thus, I am eternally grateful (pun intended) for grace that is bigger than my mistakes.

But I also have a problem with the "once a Christian, always a Christian" doctrine. If your my faith is as life-altering as you I profess it to be, then shouldn't it be backed up by your my actions? Shouldn't there be evidence that you are I am the redeemed child of God you I claim to be?

Don't get me wrong: I'm as sola fide as the next evangelical. It's just that James says that kind of faith (the kind without works) accomplishes nothing, and ultimately, it cannot save you. The idea here is that my works exist not outside of or instead of faith, but because of and alongside my faith.

So you'll forgive me if I have a problem with claiming to "welcome the stranger" and yet making it illegal to drive said stranger to church on Sunday morning.

If your toes are broken, I've got a great Pakistani doctor here in Abuja I can recommend.