what else?

Surprise, surprise. I'm missing Nigeria. Again. Still.

homesick for Nigeria

I'm missing me some Nigerian kids right about now.

linger

I am definitely back, in all senses of the word, but bits of Nigeria still linger with me.

My body is fighting me to stay on Africa time. No, for real. This morning I was up at 4:30am and awake for the day.

I catch myself saying "sorry," "ah-ah," and "well done" to people who don't understand the depth of meaning in those sentiments.

I spend too much time finding YouTube videos of people speaking pidgin, just so I can hear it again.

The phrases "Well in Nigeria, I..." or "When I was in Nigeria..." have already been worn out on friends & family.

I'm introduced to new people as the girl who just returned from Africa and I'm okay with that identity. I find myself desperate to let people know that I belong in two places in this world, and that is a huge part of who I am now.

God knew that the "homesickness" was creeping in, and yesterday at church, I spotted a woman wearing a traditional gown. My stomach clenched; I just knew she was Nigerian. Even though batik cloth is not limited to Nigeria and even though sometimes I fake myself out with Ghanaian styles, I knew. I think what I actually said aloud was, "Ah-ah. That's Nigerian cloth." My mom, ever the encourager, told me to go talk to her. And I did.

Turns out, she's from Delta State and has been living here for 10 years. When I told her I'd just returned, she replied with the greeting, "Oh, you're welcome" and it sounded like "Ah, ya well-comb." It was music to my ears! My Nigerian accent came out in force and it felt so fulfilling to say "well done" to this woman and mean it in the most African way possible.

I'm very clearly not in Nigeria, and yet her customs, her traditions, they linger with me. It's a comfort - like having a friend nearby if ever I need her.

I guess this is welcome home.

it's the last time

This is my last post from Nigeria. I have been so blessed this year and I am leaving with only good memories to carry me through.

Thank you for reading along with me on this adventure. Your feedback has been invaluable to me.

Blessings from here to wherever you are,
Maggie

what is this, the midwest?

Today was a cold, windy, rainy day, quite out of character for Nigeria. The sun came out just long enough to set, but I'm inside wearing a sweatshirt/jeans, drinking berry tea, & listening to jazz. Except this is West Africa in June, and it's 85 F.

So I guess it's all relative.

P.S. 15 days to takeoff.

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. :)

Hopes and Fears of Coming Home

I've been thinking a lot about what I will take away from Nigeria--figuratively and literally--and what I am prepared to leave behind. It's sobering, but I'm sharing it here so that you, my friends, family, and cheerleaders (HI MOM) can anticipate the changes in me when I step off the plane on June 18th.

I'm going to need closure. Lots of it. This place has endeared me to her people, her traditions, her fashion. Yes, there will be things I won't miss, but they will be grossly outweighed by the things I will carry with me forever.

Some of the things I hope to leave behind include my assumptions about Nigerians, my fear of international travel, my ignorance of the teaching profession, and my innate American-centrism.

I plan to bring back an appreciation for the generosity I have been shown here and a desire to pay it back forward, the self esteem that comes from cutting it in a third-world country, a closet full of Nigerian clothes, and at least 2 bags of pounded yam flour.

By the time I return, I hope to have found the words to describe how blessed I feel to have shared in this life for the past 8 months. I hope to demonstrate my ability to tie a hair tie (no, for real). I hope to testify to the warmth of a people who have been unfairly represented by a greedy administration and foolish religious radicals.

I hope I leave behind my need to schedule everything, my impatience with the speed of life (and the desire to move at break-neck speed in the first place), & my taking clean water for granted.

I hope I will always be willing to drop everything for a friend in need and to express sympathy as genuinely and persistently as the Nigerians do.

I hope I come home a stronger woman with direction and purpose, with compassion and generosity, without rose-colored glasses about life outside the U.S., but with hope and optimism for life in general.

Ultimately, I hope I come back to Nigeria someday.

All these hopes come hand in hand with fears, naturally. I fear that I will forget what it feels like to be loved unconditionally by a classroom of 2nd-graders. I fear that my pictures and blog posts have been wholly ineffectual in communicating the beauty of this place and its people. I fear the strange glances when I use the exclamation, "Kai" in public. (Because, I promise you, that is permanently cemented in my vocabulary. No two ways about it.)

Full Disclosure: I fear that my family and friends will not understand the heart and passion and longing I feel towards Nigeria. I fear that I will be tempted to write off this year as a "gap year" between college and the rest of my life. This is my life. It will never not be part of my life. I'm honestly not trying to be melodramatic here, but there's no going back. I can't undo the impact this year has had on me (though I suspect time will lessen it).
I positively THREW myself into this life and this culture and the fact that when I raise my voice in my classroom, it comes out in a perfect native Nigerian accent is not because I'm an actress and faking it but because that is the genuine Miss Maggie Angry Voice. I perfected it here and so that's what it sounds like.
Frankly, I checked my Americanness at the door and have tried to learn this culture by living it. Maybe that's going to make me one mixed-up mess of a returning expatriate, but I wouldn't trade it. I don't want to change it. I'm just afraid that a) people back home won't understand that/have little patience for it and b) I will eventually forget it, too.

I'm pretty sure that the first time someone says to me, "Yeah, but you were only there a year," I'm going to burst into tears (I'm steeling myself for this comment to occur frequently). Because in the grand scheme of my young life, a year is a big deal. Especially one that has changed a lot about me and helped me see who I really am and who I want to be.

So please, I beg you, have patience with me. Cut me a little slack when I cry watching the news, or complain about the availability of papaya, or give into the desire to wear Nigerian clothes for no reason except that a part of me will always feel at home here and I want to preserve that part for as long as I can.

It's been a while...

...but I'm still here, don't worry.

If you're interested in reading my excuses, here they are (if not, skip down a paragraph): I haven't had internet at home for a week, grades were due yesterday so I've been calculating 59 grades in the past 3 days, and there have been no significant changes in my life to warrant a new blog post (based on the last life-altering update).

I'm now approximately 90 days away from leaving Nigeria and am definitely in denial. I experience two strains of thought in some sort of mental inhale-exhale pattern. They are:
1. I can't believe I'm leaving. I am abandoning my students and everyone I've tried to invest in this year. Walking away is the most irresponsible thing I could do. I don't even have a job in the States. I just hope that when I leave, it's not forever. I hope I get to come back someday.
2. I am so excited to go home. I'm so excited to be with people I love, to be known and familiar to people who have known me since before I was Miss Thomas the Literature teacher. I can't wait to read to my nephew, take a road trip with my brother, go on a run in my favorite forest preserve, and experience the change of seasons (Can you say "sweatshirt weather"???).

This is where I am. Some people call it a rock and a hard place. It's not comfortable.

As to the fear of the unknown, a great friend reminded me today, "Look what happened last time you didn't have a job." She's so right - God got me to Nigeria in 5 weeks and I have had some of the happiest months of my life here. He can totally handle the next phase of my life, whatever and wherever that may be.

As another great friend reminded me, He is able.

Getting Flashed...is not what you think

I SO do not have time to be blogging right now, but funny stories take priority over writing tests at this moment in time.

There's a distinct Nigerian cell phone culture here. Everyone's really into getting TV on their phone, listening to music on their phone (kids have music phones as opposed to iPods), abbreviating all possible words in text messages.
I'm not kidding about that last one. The following is a verbatim text I received this week: "They wer al up in ma face bout it. bt I get a secnd chance." Yes, for real. I cn txt jus lyk dat if i rly wnt 2.

We also have this phenomenon called flashing: calling someone and letting it ring just long enough that their phone flashes once. It's technically free, as long as the person you're flashing doesn't pick up. I've been told that flashing means "Hey, how are you? I'm thinking about you."

Today I got flashed by a number I didn't recognize. I was about to call it back when they flashed a second time. Since the phone was already in my hand, I answered on the first ring. I only had time to say hello before they dropped the call. So then I texted the number: "Who is this?"

This is the text I got back:
"Sorry, i meant to call my grandma nd noticed it was a wrong number wen i heard ur voice...FYI, u got a good voice."

Oh, man, I love Nigeria.

Whatcha Say?

Far and away, my favorite part about moving to Nigeria has been learning a new culture. This aspect was what I most anticipated as I counted down the hours to takeoff on August 21, 2009. The thrill of hands-on learning made my first 4 months here some of the best of my life.

Fellow expatriates and even some Nigerians have commented on how well I adapted, and how quickly. (But for the grace of God. Thanks, but that's all Him.) I believe God gave me the desire to learn new cultures long before Nigeria was even an option, resulting in my relatively smooth transition.

One of the most obvious ways culture has influenced my daily life is in my vocabulary. Over the Christmas holiday, I laughed with family and friends at my own imitation of a Nigerian accent, and caught myself on more than one occasion responding with Nigerian phrases. The local dialect is known as Nigerian Pidgin English, a slang language.

Top 10 Favorite Pidgin Words and Phrases:
1. Ah-ah: Think of the noise a mother makes when her baby has picked a piece of whatisthat off the floor is about to put it in his mouth. We use it here as a general exclamation. I use it when students disrupt my class, when a salesman charges me too much in the market, or when someone tells me something unfortunate or unbelievable.
2. Haba: This is a similar exclamation, but expresses negative feelings. Something akin to "oh, come on" or "yeah, right."
3. Abeg: Literally means "please" but I usually use it in the sarcastic sense, i.e. "Grade 8, sit in your seats and be quiet, abeg!" Hear how it sounds like "I beg"?
4. Wetin dey happon (pronounced "waitin' day hah-pone"): "What happened?" I said this once to a child crying on the playground. He stopped crying, looked up at me incredulously and asked, "What did you just say?!"
5. Ba: "No." Used similarly to abi. "The fruit is ripe, ba?"
6. Anyhow: Description of disordered behavior. "The taxis drive any-anyhow on the roads."
7. Somehow: Can mean "kind of/sort of" or "weird," depending on context. Actual examples from the classroom: "Do you like that singer?" "Somehow." And also: "Her face was somehow."
8. Bush man/Bush woman: Hehe. My favorite term for name calling. It literally refers to an unsophisticated person, or someone who does unsophisticated things.
9. I'm coming (pronounced "combing"): "I'll be there...either right now, tomorrow, or in 10 years." Also means "I'll be right back." You can say I'm coming regardless of whether you're coming or going; it doesn't matter.
10. Kai: My favorite exclamation, like "Oh my gosh!" I use this one alllllll the time.

We have boots and queues (trunks and lines), biros and biscuits (ballpoint pens and crackers), and occasionally, we have light (electricity). When the electricity is turned off, we say "NEPA took the light."

There are plenty others I can't recall just now, but speaking the language lets others know I'm not as out of place as I may seem.

more on culture later...

Now Taking Requests and Making Decisions

It never occurred to me that at some point in this Nigerian Adventure, I would run out of things to say. My last few posts have only loosely connected with my experience in this amazing (and amazingly humid) nation, but nonetheless, I am currently at a loss.

This is good, on one hand, because it means that my life has normalized--so completely gelled that few day-to-day things stand out in that "Oh, the folks at home might like to hear about this!" kind of way.

This is bad, on the other hand, because it means MaggieinNigeria just became BoringMaggieInNigeria. To delay this terrible transformation, please let me know--via blog comment or direct email--if there is an aspect of culture or my life here that I have failed to mention. That's right: this blog now open to suggestions.

The only thing new these days is that I am under an inconceivable amount of stress to sort out my plans for next year. It is impossible to contemplate either outcome (at this point, everything boils down to stay/go) and I can feel myself grasping at life, trying to make it slow down.

A million moments in my day make me stop and consider the life I lead now: how much I love it, how much I will miss it, but also how torn apart I feel being so far from home. When these moments come, I give myself permission to actually feel my feelings (what a novel concept) about staying and leaving.
For example, when Ezugo buries his face in my shoulder when he sees me in the Library, I allow myself to feel love for this precious little boy and appreciation that he & his little tae kwon do uniform are a part of my life. I also allow myself to feel the sense of loss that will be mine when I no longer see Ez each morning.

The same goes for memories of home. I was in an upscale grocery store today and spied a box of SmartStart cereal, which is my Dad's breakfast of choice. I had this flash of Mom instructing me which type to buy - the one with the blueberries on the front, even though the actual cereal doesn't have blueberries in it - before heading out to buy groceries at Cub Foods. That memory washed over me and was quickly followed by helplessness. I can't do that anymore. I'm too far away. I let myself feel the sadness of separation.

Though this coping mechanism can be painful, I would rather acknowledge that making this decision feels like pinching either way and that emotions are an intrinsic part of that process. Giving myself permission to count the emotional cost of either outcome is how I'm trying to make the most informed decision. Maybe that's too analytical for you, but the whole "God will tell you what to do" isn't literal enough for me. I'm trying to find equilibrium here.

In the meantime, sleep eludes me (as does my appetite) and my face looks like a zitty teenager's.
Oh, hey there stress. Good to see ya. Again.

Music Confessions

I've always been a faker when it comes to music: I listened to whatever those around me listened to, whether they were roommates, coworkers, or (more often than not) boyfriends. Mostly, they were people I admired. As if listening to what they listened to would make me more like them...

Living in Nigeria has shown me the ways I am my own person with individual tastes and preferences. Unfortunately, music is not among them. I'm still trying to figure out where I fit into the music-listening spectrum. While I wait for self-discovery in that regard, I use music to ease the intermittent periods of loneliness.

Sara Groves' music reminds me of my introduction to music, in all the innocence of a homeschooled prepubescent. Her various albums later became guideposts throughout high school, and finally cemented as symbols of my relationship with my best friends. I listen to her when I need to remember life before it was complicated, when I need to quiet my worries. Her music imparts the same kind of soul-calm as a conversation with my best friends.

The following artists have places in my iTunes library because of various boys: Ace Troubleshooter, All-American Rejects, Anberlin, Augustana, Fall Out Boy, FM Static, The Fray, Green Day, Hawk Nelson, Hidden in Plain View, Keane, The Killers, Mae, MxPx, New Amsterdams, OneRepublic, Relient K, Snow Patrol, Starting Line, & Stellar Kart. It's quite a list and I won't waste your time by chronicling the person and story behind each & every one. I will tell you that exactly 4 of these artists are, in my un-influenced opinion, pretty good, and I now listen to those 4 for my own sake.

My college roommates had quite a profound impact on my music listening habits. Whenever I need to remember what belonging to the Wheaton community felt like, I listen to Kepano Green, Matt Wertz, Paul Wright, Iron & Wine, Amos Lee, Ali Rogers, Juanes, The Format, Jamie Cullum, Jack's Mannequin, and the soundtracks to Pride & Prejudice and The Holiday. They bring back the good memories and the overwhelming presence of estrogen.

Belonging to Life Church profoundly shaped my college experience, so now I listen to Asher Lev when I want to remember what it felt like to be part of the body of Christ.

There's a playlist on my iPod entitled "Dad's Music." My father is a particular man when it comes to music and is impossible to pin down to a particular genre. He's a song man, meaning he latches on to particular songs more often than to artists or albums (which must be where I get the habit). He likes sad songs and songs that tell stories. I love John Prine, Van Morrison, Steve Goodman, Simon & Garfunkel, Johnny Cash, Tom Waits, Billy Joel, Harry Chapin, Bonnie Raitt and Frank Sinatra because I grew up listening to their songs in the car with Dad. "Dad's Music" is the most-played playlist on my iPod.

This leaves only a handful of artists I listen to because I decided I liked them: Coldplay, Switchfoot, John Mayer, Colbie Caillat, Train, Norah Jones, and most recently, Owl City. I listen to them for a host of reasons, but also because nobody handed me their CD and said, "Here. Try this and let me know what you think."

So there's my confession: I am a music faker. But in their own way, these artists help me cope with the loneliness that plagues me in Africa. I suppose there are plenty other ways to cope, but most of them would be unhealthy, and few would comfort me the way my music's emotional weight does.

I'm Maggie and iTunes helps me keep it together.

My Heart and the Life Verse Phenomenon, Part II

I have a confession:

Africa was never the desire of my heart.

Which, in a 20/20 hindsight kind of way, is how I know I'm exactly where God wants me to be.

Let's examine the reasons I never wanted to move to Africa:
1. I speak Spanish. I love Spanish. Why would I move to a continent entirely incompatible with 8 years of linguistic training?
2. I generally enjoy living in a nation with a stable infrastructure & an organized government, and without an international reputation for scams.
3. I bargained with God at the age of 9: I would go wherever He wanted me, except Africa.

Oh, sorry, you thought bargaining was only something adults do in the 4th stage of grief? Nope, kids do it, too. Here's how it went down for me:

I have a distinct memory of reading a collection of missionary stories which told about some place in Africa that had these killer ants that sting and bite their way into your ears and wreck your brain. Or something like that.

I sat on the floor of my basement reading about these ants and saying to God, "Okay, buddy, look. You can send me anywhere you want. But I am not going there. Got it?" We learn to bargain with God at such a very young age.

I toyed with the idea of mission work for the better half of my young life, and by my last semester at Wheaton College, my perception of mission work had changed drastically. I'm more in tune with the Humanitarian Work + Jesus model.

As in, "Yes, I'll build a well for your village, supplying you with safe drinking water that will potentially extend your life expectancy. When I'm finished with the well, can I tell you about some Living Water? It extends life expectancy, too." I'm all about that approach.

By May 2009, the "Reasons Maggie Never Wants to Live in Africa" list had grown:

4. I have a bunch of student loans, and few missions organizations will sign on full-time missionaries with debt.
5. I spent all 4 years of college answering the question, "What are you going to do with an English degree? Teach?" with an emphatic "NO WAY, NOT ME."
6. I need a salary. I'm not comfortable taking a job that requires me to itinerate support.
7. My brother Jake moved to Wheaton, and frankly, I want to be in the same state after a 4-year separation.

The list was getting longer, you see. But as I added bullet points to that list, another list was forming: The "Reasons Maggie Will End Up Moving to Africa" list:

1. The economy tanked. Any job is a good job.
2. My English degree does allow me to teach in private schools. Talk about keeping options open.
3. 6-month and 9-month grace periods on federal student loans have this tendency to creep up on you.
4. As much as I love my parents and appreciate their hospitality, the whole being a jobless bum thing was really unflattering. It was the first time I'd been unemployed since the 8th grade, and I hated it. I wanted out.

I have a feeling God knew I would flake out on the living overseas thing. I spent 13 years second-guessing, doubting, questioning, evading, avoiding, ignoring, making excuses, and running in the opposite direction. I imagine God was shaking his head, because I played the part of Israel perfectly.

In Hosea 2, Israel was unfaithful to God like a wife returning to a life of prostitution. God's response?
6 Therefore I will block her path with thornbushes;
I will wall her in so that she cannot find her way
7 She will chase after her lovers but not catch them;
she will look for them but not find them.
Then she will say,
'I will go back to my husband as at first,
for then I was better off than now.'

I was so content in my mud that God had to frustrate me relationally, economically, professionally, physically, financially, and emotionally just to get my attention.

All the while, Africa waited.

God was blocking my path with thorns, backing me into a corner with job loss and breakups, making sure that when I tried to get out of my corner, the open path was Nigeria.

Honestly, I feel that all the events of the past 15 months of my life occurred if solely for the purpose of getting me to Africa, which is both terrifying and relieving. It's terrifying because that means that "such a time as this" is really important. It's relieving because for all my wandering and wrong turns, God still brought me to this place. I didn't screw it up. God is bigger than my ignorance.

For 13 years, Africa was not my desire, but it is now.

That's how I know I'm not in the mud anymore.

Tough Stuff

I saw a dead body today.

Yes, I really did. We were driving home from school and we came upon this little accident between two cars (seriously, that's nothing out of the ordinary around here; we didn't even slow down). Then as we crested the next hill, we saw a throng of people trying to cross the highway and all these cars stopped on the sides--and even in the middle--of the road. There was tons of dust in the air, and as we neared what we all assumed was a collision, the driver started clicking with his mouth (a cultural habit that would translate to nonverbal "uh-oh" or "oh my gosh").

And then I looked just to my left and saw a piece of burlap covering a woman's body, but her head tie and her feet still showed from either end. Before I could even reach out to shield my young friend (the Alvin and the Chipmunks one) from seeing, she gasped, turned her face into my shoulder and burst into tears. I put my arm around her and felt my face twist into shock - I honestly couldn't believe what I was seeing.

You guys, it was surreal. The woman must have been hit while crossing the road, because we didn't see any cars for her to have been pulled from. And I know that nothing about this tragic accident has anything to do with me, but these were my immediate thoughts, and they're ugly at best:
1. I've seen worse on CSI.
2. I was expecting more blood.
3. Too bad I didn't see it happen.

It wasn't until after I thought all these perverse and disgusting things that I silently prayed, "God, have mercy on her soul" and got around to wondering if the woman had any children. You can't tell me desensitization doesn't exist.

This all happened about 20 minutes ago, so while I'm still processing it, this is the temporary conclusion I've reached: I think God has been protecting me from seeing things like this until He knew I could handle it. Which is why I was able to comfort my friend (although we instantly assumed our teacher-and-student roles in that moment) while staying glued to the side of the road.

Kýrie, eléison; Christé, eléison

Today, I am frustrated.

There's a sad sort of complacency that has crept in these past few days. I'd like to ignore it and say it's just the result of finding a routine, or to blame it on the fact that I'm finally feeling comfortable here in Abuja. But although there is a chair in my living room that has been contoured to fit my bum and my slouchy back, and although I have a weekend routine of laundry and lesson plans, and although getting ready for bed is so familiar I did it in the dark last night (even a loss of power does little faze me these days), there is still this foreign ache in my heart, this feeling that something is amiss.

I feel the ache most when I bristle at my flatmate, when my students bicker, when I check out from the sermon in church, when I grow frustrated with colleagues. I ache when I talk to my best friend on the phone and the delay frustrates me more than the fact that I miss doing life side-by-side with her. I ache when my heart is so full with love for this place and simultaneously emptied by the despair of everyone I left behind.

I think the ache is just me. As in, I think the ache is my Eve nature surfacing again. I have two faces, two Maggies I pull out and put on. Sometimes the switch is so imperceptible I surprise myself. Some days I can ascertain which Maggie will reign based on the number of times I hit the snooze button. That frustrates me - do I honestly lack so much self-control that I can resign myself to being an impatient woman the moment my feet hit the tile floor? It's like self-fulfilling prophecy: I am tired, therefore today's going to be a long, bad day...therefore I'm going to deal with today being a long, bad day by putting on my angry Maggie face in protest.

I read this week that the word essay comes from the French word essai, which translates to an attempt, or a try. The essay itself used to be a collection of thoughts with no apparent conclusion. It was just an attempt at some cogitation and conclusion, and didn't require the latter. It has since morphed into a higher art form, in which the author has an objective and establishes the main points with solid supporting evidence (two words: lit. teacher.), but today, this blog post falls under the category of essai.

Just questions. No answers. Not today.

Snapshots from Today

"Miss Maggie, you a fresh-lookin' girl. [About 5 minutes later:] You know you're my favorite teacher, right?"
That's from one of my 6th-grade students. A male. Obviously.

"Miss Thomas, today is the last time you will see me. I'm moving back to South Africa tomorrow. Thank you, Miss Thomas."
A different 6th grade student. Energetic and full of life, his absence will definitely send shockwaves through our classroom.

"Everybody shout big hawewuyah."
This is from the 2-year-old son of a colleague, whose father, not surprisingly, is a pastor.

And finally, this memo, received just minutes before our early release (11am):

"To: All Staff
From: Mrs. O
Re: Security Alert

Don't read this loud of leave it where students will see. Also don't show signs of panic.

Today is Armed Forces Remembrance Day and there is a big gathering at Eagle Square. Roads to that venue blocked from all directions. Also some unrest over the political situation. Also avoid going near the central Mosque, mosque at Maitama & the one near Banex. Some protesters are there.

Lastly, be extra alert in case we need to do lock down or safe haven, and be sure all students are picked from their classrooms at 11:00 a.m. None are to be found in the hallways. Thanks."

It should be noted that I am safe here in the school, working on lesson plans. All my students have left securely with their drivers, and the one who takes a taxi to and from school has a safe route to her house. Nothing out of the ordinary has happened here, and yet it's the first time the Nigerian-ness of Nigeria has intruded on my everyday life. It's a weird feeling, but I'm thankful for my continued safety.

Let's talk about terrorism

As an American currently living in Nigeria, I feel particularly caught in regards to the 25 December attempted terrorist attack by the Nigerian Umar Farouk Abdul Mutallab.

Furthermore, I am deeply disturbed by this morning's reports that Nigeria has been added to the United States' "countries of interest" list, a poorly veiled euphemism for "Countries that Pose a Threat to National Security." Let's call a spade a spade, shall we?

My students and I had several fruitful discussions on the topic this morning, and hearing their reactions (as most of them are Nigerians) has opened my eyes to the singularity of this Nigerian man.

From what I can gather, Nigerians here are ashamed of this man. He is not being claimed as an apostle of truth by Nigerian Muslims; he is not being lauded as brave for his religious conviction-based behavior; he is not even being acknowledged as an average Nigerian. My students loathe this man. They cannot believe someone would dare disrespect the name of their country in this way. In their eyes, it is a serious offense he has committed against all Nigerians, regardless of whether or not his terrorist attack succeeded against America.

In the wake of today's "blacklisting," as my students are calling it, the Nigerian Senate has threatened to sever ties with America if they are not removed from the list by week's end.

Not that anyone's asking, but because I'm just that self-centered: How does that make me feel? Grieved. Deeply saddened. Like the two countries that are most important to me are fighting. (oh, wait...)

I cannot say it any better or clearer than Ayogu Eze, the Nigerian Senate's spokesman; so I let him speak for himself:

"For them [America] to embarrass the entire country with this type of classification without justification is totally unacceptable. The American president himself clearly admitted that this was a failure of system and the manpower of Americans...This is just one instance of a Nigerian who, it is clearly established, had no links with any fundamentalist group or any interest group within Nigeria, not even with his own parents....This was a boy whose disappearance was reported to the security agencies, the American authorities and all the relevant authorities; and America did nothing. For them to turn round and punish Nigerians for the sin of an isolated case like this is very unacceptable to the Nigerian government and unacceptable to the Nigerian Senate." (emphasis mine)

A final note: Mutallab's education (both academic and religious) came from outside Nigeria. It wasn't until he left Nigeria that he began to cultivate his extremist views. Surely this must count for something. For the love of diplomacy, America! Please remove Nigeria from the List!

What's in a Name?

Forgive the Shakespeare reference in the title, please. I AM a Literature teacher, after all.

There have been 5 babies born at ICS this fall, and I think we're expecting 4 more before the end of the January. It was a group effort, but seriously...I wonder what's in the water?!

Mrs. N, one of the teachers who leads Drama Club with me, had a baby girl last week. This is girl #3, and when I saw the big sister, E, I congratulated her and asked her sister's name. E frowned up at me, arms encircled around my waist, and said, "I don't know yet. Duh."

Okay, so actually, she didn't say "duh," but she might as well have by the tone of her voice.

Sensing a need for some culture-divining and quick, I stopped by the Science Lab to talk with Mr. D, Mr. J, and Mr. L. They were happy to inform me that in Nigerian culture, modeled after the biblical tradition, babies are not named until the 8th day. On the 8th day, a naming ceremony takes place and the child is given names by their parents, grandparents and other important family members. I suddenly understood why my students distinguish between their 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and sometimes 5th names.

Yesterday was the 8th day and I was so privileged to attend the naming ceremony. The parents and grandmother were decked out in lavish Nigerian dress, big head-ties and all. I felt like they were sharing a secret with me: a piece of culture so foreign to me yet so significant to them.

After an hour of praise & worship African-style, the family distributed small slips of paper with the baby's name printed on it. E (the big sister) was sitting on my lap when the slips reached us. She was so excited to finally read her sister's names. I got really excited, too!

Mrs. N's baby girl is named Ogochukwu Chioma Keren-Happuch Precious Emenike.

The names all mean different things, but the theme is God's goodness and preciousness. Obviously, 2 are Nigerian but Keren-Happuch is Hebrew (it's the name of Job's youngest daughter born after his trial).

After we heard the explanations of the names, E smiled up at me and told me she plans to call her baby sister Keren. I think she'll be outvoted - everyone kept referring to the baby as Chioma after the initial announcement.

Then the most marvelous thing happened. They prayed each name of the child as a blessing over her. It was like the West's baby dedication, but it was all tied up in the significance of the names. I've never seen anything like it and I can't really do it justice but it totally choked me up.



That same evening, a Nigerian friend of ours stopped by. He's been instrumental in furthering my understanding of culture, so I was telling him about the naming ceremony and he taught me how to properly pronounce the Igbo names (i.e. the w in Ogochukwu is silent). I asked him for Nigerian names of my own and he was happy to oblige:

Enemi and Agifa.

These names, pronounced ey-ney-MEE and ah-gee-FAH, each have special significance. Enemi is a true friend or companion. Agifa refers to that which is precious, like a pearl. (I had previously told him that my name is Greek for pearl.)

I'm not going to change my name while I'm home Christmas or anything, but these names are really special to me now. It really helps with the whole cultural-adaptation thing.


For those of you keeping track, we're at T-52 hours and 10 minutes until takeoff. Just sayin'.

Delay does not mean Denial

It appears that Mrs. O and I received incorrect advice for the proper way to go about becoming a legal foreign teacher in Nigeria, and as a result, I have been refused the Temporary Work Permit I've applied for.

The Nigerian government has asked me to return home at Christmas and to reapply (from scratch) for an STR visa: Subject-to-Regularization. Once I have this type of visa in my possession, it will be possible to convert that to a Temporary Work Permit during spring of 2010.

In that moment, though, when Mrs. O told me there had been complications with the visa application, I was overwhelmed with fear--not that I would be unable to go home for Christmas--but that I would be unable to return to Nigeria in January. Nothing like the threat of not being able to return to make me realize how much I really want to be here.

To make a much longer and detailed story short, I will be getting an extension on my tourist visa, which will allow me to leave as scheduled on December 12th. Then the school will pay to rush my application for a new visa in order for me to return as scheduled on January 1st.