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.

Crazy Hazy Days

The weather is definitely changing in Abuja. Firstly, the rains have stopped. As a result, things are dusty and dry. Secondly, I can't see the rocks anymore. Every morning on my way to work, we cross a bridge and looking east, I can see Aso Rock in the distance. The view is magnificent, and really starts my day off on the right foot. Lately, though, I haven't been able to see it at all because the mists hang so heavy in the air. "Mist" is just a euphemism for dust, but it does remind me of fog.

My weekend has been full of school, as usual. As you all know from my previous complaints, Friday was a working holiday at ICS. The kids didn't come in, but we had a day-long meeting and got home only slightly earlier than usual. Then this afternoon, the PTA put on a Family Day Out at the local Palmetium (park/plant nursery). They sold food and had a jumpy castle (I don't know what else to call it!) for the kids. It was even nice to see my students outside the classroom in a more relaxed setting.

On that note, it's still strange to me to be on the flip side of the teacher-student relationship. When I was a student (pre-college), I rarely saw my teachers outside of school. The proverbial "seeing your teacher in the grocery store" scenario never happened to me, but I think it would have been weird. I try to keep that in mind as I interact with my students...how many of them were weirded out by seeing me in jeans today?

This upcoming week is another Muslim holiday, so we won't have school on Thursday or Friday. I'm giving 5 tests on Monday, too, so I really only have to plan lessons for 2 days this week. It might not seem like a big deal, but trust me, these are the simple joys in my life these days.

I'm keenly aware that Thursday is also a holiday back home, albeit for different reasons. If memory serves me, this will be the very first Thanksgiving holiday I have spent without my family, and I'll be missing the fellowship of Mom's kitchen on that day. I'm going to make the best of it, however: Jan and I have decided to host our own Thanksgiving dinner at our flat and invite some of our neighbors.

Planning a holiday meal in a country which does not recognize said holiday poses some challenges, but we're making do. Turkey is almost impossible to come by, but some church friends have access to the U.S. Embassy's recent shipment of holiday turkeys (yep, all the way from the USA!), and we should be getting ours tomorrow. I don't know how big it is, but we're paying $56 USD for it, so I hope it's a good size bird!
Our menu so far includes: mashed potatoes, corn (out of a can; the Minnesotan girl in me just died a little), vegetables, dinner rolls, Jan's homemade stuffing, and an apple pie (we couldn't find pumpkin, but there's nothing as American as...). Mrs. O volunteered to bring Nigerian cranberries and ice cream to go with our pie. If I can track down a can of cream of mushroom soup, I might try a green bean casserole, too. We're also going to pay through the nose for real butter, but I'll be darned if I'm going to make mashed potatoes with anhydrous milk fat and emulsifier!

It may very well feel like going through the motions, because what is Thanksgiving without my family and American football?, but it is still a good practice; I have much to be thankful for this year. God has blessed me with comfortable surroundings, a solid job, Christian community, and the ability to communicate with people back home. Nigeria is definitely at the top of my list. Not getting malaria is a close second, however.

Prayer Request: My work permit/re-entry visa has not arrived yet. I've been told I'm at the whim of the Nigerian government, which doesn't make me very comfortable. Please pray that I will hear back from the consulate this week in regards to my visa. I really would like to go home for Christmas.



3 weeks from right now, I'll be on a plane. But who's counting?