sadness

It's been a tough evening of missing Nigeria. Lots of tears.

Read more of my "processing" thoughts here.

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.

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.

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...

two in one day...aren't you lucky?

Living 6,400 miles away means I gave up my primary source of community. I feel like this blog and my Facebook account gives me back a part of that community. If that is sacrilege I immediately confess it. But it feels true.

(That is the shortest blog post you will ever read from me.)

Thanksgiving in Nigeria

Thanks to a moon that appeared at just the right time, the Muslim community declared Thursday a public holiday here in Nigeria. Translation: I got to celebrate Thanksgiving ON Thanksgiving.

Jan (my technically Canadian-married-a-British-man-but-lived-in-Nigeria-for-30-years flatmate) and I decided to really go all out. Some friends at the American embassy arranged for us to buy an imported turkey ($58 USD for a 12lb bird)! We hunted for/splurged on apple pie filling, Betty Crocker pie crust mix, corn, real butter, dinner rolls, wine and sparkling grape juice. We invited Mrs. O and her daughter M, Rachel (from upstairs), Jan's son T and his fiance for a quiet dinner at 6pm.

But then my clash with Nigeria/Nigerian culture started. It was epic.

It started with the pie. I mean, let's get real: it was my first pie, and it was out of a box and a can. It shouldn't have bested me the way it did. But we kept the box in the freezer to keep it free of bugs and when I finally took it out, it solidified into a frozen brick. I had to microwave it to break it down, knowing full well the recipe calls for COLD water to create dough that is easy to roll out.
Betty Crocker: 1, Maggie: 0.
So then I had two portions of warm pie crust dough, flour used for making Indian flatbread, and a "rolling pin" (actually an old gin bottle filled with peanuts). My "floured surface" was our granite countertop sprinkled with grainy whole wheat flour and let me tell you, I REALLY struggled to get the darn thing rolled out. It kept sticking to the bottle (even though I floured it!) and much to my baking chagrin, I had to roll it back into a ball and try again, fearing the flour-y, gritty crust I knew would result.
Betty Crocker: 2, Maggie: 0.
Jan walked into the kitchen at this point and asked how me how I was getting on. I was covered in flour, caked in sticky dough, seething with rage at Betty Crocker, and generally feeling sorry for myself that I struggled with a stinking boxed mix. I looked at Jan and told her I was really pissed off. She quietly excused herself and went to visit our neighbors for a while. Smart choice.
Betty Crocker: 3, Maggie: 0.
I finally got both crusts mostly rolled out (after freezing them for a few minutes to get them to cooperate), even though neither circle was big enough for the pie tin and looked really pathetic. I covered some of the "bald spots" on the top of the pie with pieces of dough that fell off when I lifted it off the counter. I sprinkled the top with sugar and hoped for the best.
Betty Crocker: 3, Maggie: 1.

Next it was the turkey. It came packaged in plastic and included one of those handy red pop-up timers, but there was no indication of its weight at all whatsoever. I had to stand on our scale with a bird in my arms to get even an estimation of poundage (kilo-age?). That lack of information paired nicely with our oven's convenient lack of listed temperatures. The dial is printed only with a continuum: the word OVEN at one end and a tiny flame symbol at the other. I guessed.

My clash with Nigerian culture came to a head because of the guests. Jan's son and his fiance were driving in from Kaduna and had trouble getting transport arranged. So we pushed dinner back until 7pm. Then Mrs. O wanted her husband to come, so we borrowed an extra chair & place setting. Then T called again and said they wouldn't make it until 8 and would be really hurt if we started without them. So dinner was pushed back again til 8. Actually, Jan and I got in an argument about that last one. She thought it was funny. I thought it was rude.

Meanwhile, my turkey finished at 5:30...right on time for the 6pm meal I had planned. I called Mom all the way from Africa to ask how to keep a turkey warm for 2.5 hours until guests could arrive. Jan was standing in the kitchen when I was talking to Mom and I had to try really really hard to veil my extreme frustration.

The kicker is that they actually arrived at 7. Which means that I was still cooking the potatoes when they showed up. Awesome. Mr. O never came at all.

In America, when someone invites you to an event that is not an open house, you show up. On time. In Nigeria, people run on their own schedules, coming and going as they please. I know I'm in Nigeria, and I know I should be used to this by now, but I'm an American. This was American Thanksgiving. Show up when you're invited.

Dinner was strange. The food was good except the turkey had dried out in some places (go figure). Our conversation was really spastic and besides the prayer, we didn't once mention what we were thankful for. Also it was 10:30pm by the time we finished the meal. (In case you were wondering, the pie turned out all right - everyone liked it. Maggie: 10, Betty Crocker: 3. I win.)

I don't want to hear about how I'm a biblical Martha or how I failed at accepting the host culture. I just want to acknowledge that the food was the only thing to make this Thanksgiving feel like a Thanksgiving and that makes me really sad. Especially because I have so very much to be thankful for this year.

I think I've hit the wall. I just want to come home now, please. 14 more days.

A REAL Update

Since the last two blogs were about chocolate and a hairdryer, and the 3rd contained the phrase "public urination," I think it's time for a more legitimate update.

Teaching is going okay. Teaching ESL is going really really well. My student, G, is 9 years old, as dark as his Nigerian counterparts, drops his s's when speaking Spanish, and hasn't quite grown into his adult teeth yet. The look on his face when he grasps a concept is something I will carry with me forever. Basically, he's a joy to work with and his parents are SO supportive of his learning English.
I learned this week that they are not only making him read in English every night, but they've begun speaking to him in English at home. From a cultural standpoint, I don't know how I feel about this loss of mother tongue, but from a teacher's perspective, he'll learn English a lot faster if it's all he's speaking and reading.
We've discovered that G can read English very well, but he often doesn't understand what he's saying. So today, we did a lot of sound recognition; instead of showing him a picture of an object and asking him to identify it, I read aloud a word and asked him to verify the Spanish translation.
He's learning school-applicable things: the question words (who, what, where, etc.), days of the week and months of the year, colors, shapes, ordinary objects, and simple phrases (how are you, please, thank you, you're welcome). We also study words united by sounds (cat, bat, fat, mat; an, man, fan, pan). We ended the day by walking around the library, pointing at colors and saying them in English and in Spanish.
To be honest, I'm totally making this up as I go along. I have no idea if this is the best way to teach him. I don't know how to teach a child another language. I don't know if I'm helping or hurting his learning with my methods or approaches. But G was happy today. He was smiling and laughing and told me he likes our lessons. And that's a good sign. I'm just trying to focus on G and not worry about compare myself to dwell on my incredible college roommate who is teaching an ESL class of 30 adults back in Chicago and contemplating a future in that line of work. She could teach him more effectively, I'm sure, but I'm doing my best and that's got to count for something.

Another facet to G's arrival at school is that I've adopted yet another set of cultural expectations. Greetings in Latino culture are completely different from American and Nigerian. I've gotten used to the extensive verbal greetings here in Nigeria, but when I saw G's father after school yesterday, he kissed me on the cheek - a perfectly acceptable greeting in Cuba, but unfamiliar in Nigeria! There were Nigerians around us and I think they were a little perplexed!

In other news, homesickness hit like a wall last weekend. I wasn't feeling well--my body has begun resisting spicy food, which is most inconvenient--and for the first time I allowed myself to dwell on how far I've come, literally. It is disheartening to consider the seven-almost-eight weeks I've been here in light of the 58 days ahead of me.
I remember similar feelings during my first semester of college. When we arrived and moved into the dorm, it felt like summer camp; it took a couple months to realize we weren't going home at the end of the summer. It's the same thing here: I've hit the wall, saying, "Okay, I've had my fun, I've learned about the culture, let's go home now." But I can't go home, and this isn't summer camp, and I'm in this for the long haul. God's not finished with me here yet.
So Saturday I just kind of moped around the flat, looking at photos online, letting myself be miserable. Monday night, however, the other ladies in our compound (Mrs. O and Rachel) came over for a visit and asked me to show them all my pictures. It was therapeutic to tell them about my family members and loved ones.
God is so faithful to have built a support system around me whose prayers reach all the way across the ocean. (By the way, you're a part of that system, too! Your comments and feedback on the blog make me feel connected.)

1 Timothy 4:10 "For to this end we toil and strive, because we have our hope set on the living God, who is the Savior of all people, especially of those who believe."

Fill-in-the-blank

In an effort to avoid talking about Obama and the Peace Prize (I thought the "A for effort" philosophy ended in 2nd grade? [Guess I can't avoid the topic entirely]), let's do a vocabulary exercise!

Fill in the blank with the appropriate word or phrase:

Nigeria is __________. Ready? Go!

One-word responses:
Heartbreaking. Vibrant. Breathtaking. Beautiful. Alive.
Broad. Sprawling. Claustrophobic.
Scorched. (And I'm not speaking geographically.)

Two-word responses:
Public Urination. ('nough said.)
Africa hot.
"Ah-ah" and "Sss, Sss." (Both colloquialisms, "ah-ah" encompasses a range of exclamations, from "No way" to "Be careful." The "sss" or hissing sound replaces the American attention-getter "Hey, you.")

3 words responses:
Phone calls home.
A great disparity.
"She's my aunty." (In reference to any older woman.)
New construction. Everywhere.

Phrasal responses:
Having people think I'm related to any other white person simply because I'm also white.
Sticky hot shadows on burning pavement.
Washing dishes and just hoping you don't get salmonella.
Suffering jokes about marrying a Nigerian.
Bad roads and worse traffic.
A row of buildings: bank, restaurant, bank, cardboard house with a corrugated tin roof and open fire, supermarket. (See "A great disparity.")

I could go on and on--and I probably will, when I learn new ways to complete that sentence.

Alignment

I'm not trying to be pretentious when I say that the past month in Nigeria has changed me. I'm not claiming to be enlightened by a new world-conscious perspective or to have acquired a burden for the broken parts of this world. My paradigm hasn't shifted. I haven't lost my personality.

But I'm different. I've changed somehow.

And the change isn't that I've learned how to speak Nigerian Pidgin English or how to bargain in the market or how to live my life without electricity. It is all that, but it's not.

It's loneliness rooted in the fear that no one may ever perfectly understand me now that I've attached myself to a country in West Africa. It's the fear that I will never leave Nigeria and the fear that I will leave Nigeria.

It's being bothered by how much my life has changed and by how much it hasn't. It's easy to say I've become more dependent on God in Nigeria, but did you know that moving to Africa doesn't fix what was wrong or missing in your relationship with Jesus Christ before you left?

It's the alarming disparity between my calloused heart ignoring the lame beggar in the market and fighting tears while singing worship songs.

It's seeing change in places I didn't expect and not seeing change in the places I counted on.

The change creeps in and the change floods me. I'm over- and underwhelmed at the exact same time. I'm brave and I'm a coward. I love my life and I hate it because I could be--should be--living it better.

I ran headlong and face-first, with arms outstretched, to this place because I didn't see any open doors, or forks in the road, or lights at ends of tunnels. I saw an opportunity and I ran. I ran away from life, I ran towards life.

I am two-faced. I am conflicted. I am living with one foot in this life and one in the past next. I feel like Velcro, willingly rending myself from the US and sticking to Nigeria. But when I tear myself away from here, won't there be ripping and weeping? Won't I be caught between then and now and what's next? Won't I always be homesick for someplace else?

I don't know how to explain the change, but I know this is only the beginning.

When darkness veils His lovely face,
I rest on His unchanging grace.
Through every high and stormy gale,
my anchor holds within the veil...
All other ground is sinking sand.

A Day in the Life

Due to popular request, here's a glimpse into my daily life. (Dad, this one's for you!)

Monday-Friday:
6:00 Alarm goes off. Snooze.
6:04 Crawl out from under the mosquito net and get ready.
6:40 Make breakfast: mix up a cup of milk (powdered is the only option here) using refrigerated, bottled, filtered water. Water straight from the filter = warm milk. Only made that mistake once. :)
7:00 Leave for school in Mrs. O's car.
7:10 Arrive at school, sign in, head to my classroom.
7:30 First class begins.
9:30 First Break: students break out the lunch food (Jollof Rice and Chicken is my students' favorite). There is no noon-hour lunch period in Nigerian schools. Students eat a meal at 9:30, go for recess at 11:50, and eat lunch after school at 3pm.
11:50 Recesssssss
2:40 School's out. Grade papers or do lesson plans. Bring lots of work home.
3:00ish Hail a taxi using the following words: "Good Afternoon. American School. 300." The American school, AISA, is well-known landmark near our compound and 300 works out to less than $2 USD. I'll be darned if that doesn't work 9 times out of 10. Jan used to do all the bargaining, but I've become quite a hardnose if I do say so myself, so I get most of the "public" these days.
3:30 After-school snack: Bottle of water and cup of tea [Lipton Yellow label] and a combination of the following: fresh fruit (custard apple!), cashews, peanuts [called ground nuts here], raisins, Luna bar.
4:00 Jan takes a nap; I get online.
6:30 Jan wakes up; we cook dinner.
8:00 Dinner & dishes finished, settle down to work (this week I'm writing tests).
10:00 Shower and get ready for bed.
11:00 Tuck myself into my mosquito net, asleep before my head hits the pillow.

(Tuesday night is Church Bible Study. Wednesday is expat night at Protea Hotels. Friday evening is Bible Study with Rachel's friends.)

Saturdays:
10:00 Wake up, have breakfast, sweep, mop, do dishes
12:00 Call Abdul, our trustworthy taxi man.
1:00 Go to the Maitama fruit market, Zartech Meats, or Park & Shop to do grocery shopping. Wuse Market, Garki Market, Artisan's Village Market (tourist trap) for everything else.
4:00 Home, rest, relax, make tea, cook, visit our neighbors in the compound.
***procrastinate on work***

Sundays:
10:00 Church across the street at AISA.
12:00 Home for lunch.
12:05 Start laundry (on-site washer and dryer, praise God!)
1:00 WORK, consisting of lesson plans and grading; stopping for snacks, laundry, and dinner.
10:00 Shower and bed.

You know, when I type it all out, it doesn't seem like my days are all that full. Maybe its just that life moves at a different pace here in Nigeria. I always feel like my days are brimming with things to do, and I'm usually exhausted but fulfilled when my days finally end.

I love my life. Have I mentioned that yet?

Taking Things for Granted

(Note: This blog post was written 2 weeks ago)

Per the title, this update will chronicle the major blessings and deprivations that so contrast my life now from my life in the States. This is not a rant of frustration; neither is it a complaint. Rather, this is just an illustration of the way my life has changed—for better or worse—in the past week. And let me preface everything by saying that I LOVE my life here in Nigeria. I love it.

Item One: Power
As I write this, I am enjoying my first taste of electricity in 16 hours. NEPA (Nigerian Electric Power [nep’ uh]) lets the power go without notice, and depending on the time of day, the owners of my compound (Mr. & Mrs. O) will turn on the diesel-run generator. It’s happened a lot in one week, and now Jan and I just rejoice when NEPA comes back after a long break. I’ve got my trusty headlight (even though I look like a dork wearing it, I’ve got a picture for your viewing pleasure) which I hang on my doorknob so I always know how to find it in the dark. Our stove is gas-powered, so we can cook when the power goes off, but generally, we try not to open the fridge or freezer when there’s no power. It never stays off too long (if NEPA doesn’t come back, the generator will), so our food doesn’t spoil and our freezer doesn’t de-thaw. Even today, which was the longest I’ve gone without power, our perishables did not perish, praise God!

Item Two: Water
Today I took a cold shower that dripped. I have never appreciated water pressure more! Thankfully, the water heater that hangs just above my shower works fine as long as we have power. Also, I’ve been so happy with the taste of the water here at the house. I have not had to flavor it at all. The water at the compound is cleaner than city water because we have a separate well system that goes very deep into the ground. It does smell like rust, but I only notice that in my bathroom; I think the Katadyn water filter takes out the rust taste from our drinking water.

Item Three: Bugs
Right before I left for Nigeria, I killed a spider on the wall with my bare hands, and my friend patted my arm and said, “Oh, you’re gonna do great in Nigeria.” I’ve never had many problems with bugs I can see, and it’s a skill that’s benefiting me well here. The first night as I was unpacking the plastic-wrapped pillow provided for my use, I saw tons of tiny, almost-transparent red ants inside the plastic and crawling around the pillow. Not joking, I got that creepy-crawly feeling and threw the pillow across the room. The second pillow did not have ants but got zippered into a hypoallergenic case anyways. Then I discovered them on my mattress, on the walls, on the floor, and in my furniture. And not just ants: black bedbugs and tiniest little flea-like bugs you’ve ever seen. (I’ll admit that I don’t actually know what any of these bugs are, I just imagine what their American equivalent might be.) Oh, and let’s not forget my favorite: what I call the Cinnamon bugs. These hard-shelled beetles give off the distinct smell of cinnamon when touched or crushed. We have these only in our living room, thank God, because I don’t think I could get used to them crawling on me when I sleep.
So I’ve made friends with all the bugs that live in my room and just brush off my sheets before I get under the covers at night. I heard once that you eat about 8 spiders in your sleep in the course of a lifetime; I’ll probably have eaten twice as many bugs by the time this school year is over!
Here’s the principle by which I now live: Life in Nigeria is one eternal picnic. If you put down a pair of jeans (on the floor, bed, or folded in a drawer, it doesn’t matter) there WILL be bugs on it when you pick it back up. If you leave food on the counter, or scraps on a plate, there WILL be fruit flies or ants on it in about 30 seconds. The solution is simple: shake out all clothes before putting them on and seal all food scraps in plastic before throwing them in the garbage bin. Easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy.
Addendum: Cockroaches, geckos, and lizards have now joined the fray. Cockroaches were promptly attended to with insecticide. Lizards and geckos have been left alone, since they eat the other bugs. Our gecko I’ve named Geico, obviously. The female lizard that lives in my room I’ve named Lizzie for two reasons: firstly, it is the name of the lizard in the Magic School Bus books I read as a little girl and secondly, it is the nickname of Elizabeth Bennett of Pride & Prejudice. Now that I’ve named them, I can seem them as pets and not be bothered by them. It’s all a psychological coping mechanism, really.

Item Four: Fruit
And now, the part of the update where I get to revel in the glories of Nigeria. I love fruit. There aren’t many fruits I won’t eat, honestly. Apples with peanut butter was my favorite after-dinner snack in the States, but I’ve discovered that apples here come from South Africa, so they’re very expensive to import.
Enter the Custard Apple. You haven’t tasted fruit until you’ve tasted the Custard Apple. I don’t know what it’s called in the States, although I’m sure I’ve never had it before, and I don’t know the “real” name, but I know that eating one is the closest I’ve been to bliss here in Abuja. It’s like a prickly pear on the outside, all bumpy and green, but when you peel it open and eat the white flesh, it has a thick, custard-like juice that tastes faintly of apple, with big black seeds encased in the flesh. I bought 2 more at the market yesterday and almost made myself sick from eating an unripe one last night.
My new favorite snack is a fruit salad with watermelon (which is pretty much the same as home, only smaller), papaya (which my roommate Jan calls pawpaw—she grew up in Guyana), and pineapple (not as sweet as the ones at home). The fruit is glorious, let me tell you. Jan just rolls her eyes and laughs when I eat custard apples, but honestly, it’s the highlight of my day.
Addendum: We recently bought white guava and coconut. And we’re anticipating the Mango Season.

To reiterate, I love, Love, LOVE my new life. It’s taking some adjustment, certainly, but I love the landscape, the vitality, the rawness of life here. My life is simpler and I love that, too. I’ve given up trying to keep my feet clean, my hair straight, and my face not-shiny. In doing so, I’ve given up feeling self-conscious, and I feel more beautiful now than ever.

Blessed Assurance, Jesus is mine.