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.

Today

...was a great day!

February is Reading Emphasis month at ICS, and grades K-12 are participating in D.E.A.R. (Drop Everything And Read), in which students drop whatever they're doing and read a book they've chosen (one appropriate to their own reading level). Grade 6 is my most out-of-control class, but today the kids settled right down with their DEAR books and it was silent--completely!--for 20 minutes. I was so shocked I honestly left the class to get my camera. When I came back--still silent! When I took a picture and a video--still silent! I could have cried for happiness.

Next was Grade 12. I've been struggling with this Brit Lit class,--blamed on a lack of interest and respect--but I put on a brave face today, determined not to let their antics ruffle me. A student affected this fake accent just to mess with me, so I mirrored his speech so he could hear how ridiculous he sounded. He gave up. Miss Maggie: 1, Grade 12: 0.

The rest of the morning was spent out of class for Sports Day Practice. I get a little intense about competition (a massive understatement) and my throat is scratchy after cheering on the Red Draco team this morning! We're number 1, not 2, not 3, not 4. We're gonna win, not lose, not tie the score...

The entire morning was punctuated by clobbering hugs from Grade 2 students. Niyi jumped me about 5 times. Feyi, Ugonna, and Seun fought over who got the frontal full-body hug. Getting loved on by 8-year-olds has to be one of the greatest feelings in the world.

As the morning practice wrapped up, one of the kindergarteners tripped and fell. She burst into these choking little sobs and I picked her up to examine her hand. The palm was intact - not even a grass stain - but I kissed it anyway. It totally worked. I'm not even a Mom yet and I'm kissing owies to make it all better. Oh man I love my life.

I can't wait to see tomorrow, because I loved today.

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.

My Heart and the Life Verse Phenomenon

I don't remember exactly when, in my churched childhood, I first came across the idea of "The Life Verse." I must have been young, because I can't recall ever hearing the phrase and not immediately comprehending it.

In my opinion, The Life Verse exists at the place where the church meets consumerist culture. Which is not to say that the concept of The Life Verse is heretical or blasphemous. It's one way that we make Scripture pertain specifically to ourselves as individuals (i.e. "How can Scripture meet my needs?") and another way that Christians succeed in marketing religion back to ourselves. If that statement made you angry, I would be happy to forward you my senior-year thesis on the purchasing of Brand Jesus, which will help you understand where I'm coming from. You could also read Tyler Wigg Stevenson's book of the same name.

The timeline goes as follows: somewhere in my early childhood, I learned that I could claim a Scripture verse to be the theme of my as-yet-unlived life. I could claim it and it could be a guidepost, a veritable memorial stone--just like in Joshua 4--representing the times when God showed up: a testament to enduring faithfulness. Some time after this, I came to see Psalm 37:4 as my Life Verse:

"Delight yourself in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart."

Fast-forward ten years. In the fall of my senior year, during a quarter-life crisis (in which the soon-to-be college graduate freaks out about the impending doom of her aimless life), my very wise roommate Sarah shared with me that my life verse can be understood in two ways. Yes, she said, most people interpret it in the way I had, believing that delighting oneself in the Lord will result in assured happiness, indeed, in the things you most want in life: the deepest desires of your heart. But, she informed me, some read it this way: when you are so deep in the will of God, when His will is the only thing you care to pursue and when His face is the only thing filling your line of vision, you will find that the things your heart wants most are--in an ironic twist--the things HE most wants. Those, she said, are the desires of your heart when you delight yourself in Him: His desires.

Can I get an amen?

It took a few days to sink in, but I cannot be more convinced that this second, newer (new, at least, to me) interpretation is more accurate. The first seems too consumerist to be true: that God would give me what I want as long as I am delighting in Him (whatever that unidentified term delight means). It seems much more probable that in my love affair with a God who knows me better than I know myself, He would exchange what I think I want for what is actually better for me to have. We recognize this today as a mother's love.

This is how I picture it. I was sitting, happily mucking about, in puddle of mud, completely oblivious to my own filth. In comes Jesus Christ, who takes me by the hand and leads pulls yanks me out of the mud. I protest; I kick and I scream. "But I like it here," I say. "I want to stay; I want this - it's fun!"
As He washes the mud from body, he quiets me in a whisper: "My child, you don't know what you want. That is, what you say you want, you don't actually know it. It's mud. You're dirty. I want to give you what I want for you."
It's then that I realize the mud is washed away, pooled on the floor at my feet. I'm standing, shivering, wet, cold, and naked. I can see that the mud is dirty, filthy, wretched and has been drowning me in its filth and making me dirty and wretched. And I want nothing more than to have what He wants to give me: a garment of praise and a crown of righteousness.

That's what Psalm 37:4 means to me. It means that all the things I want in this world, all the dreams I can dream up for myself, all the places I want to go, all the plans I make for my future- they are all mud. I think I know what it is I want, I think I understand what I'm asking for, but what He wants to give me is so. much. better. than what I desire. And as I busy myself in my mud, perfectly content with the nearsighted visions that placate me, Psalm 37:4 reminds me that when I delight myself in Him, the things I want fall away and are replaced by the grandiose treasures He desires on my behalf.

Please understand that this new reading of my so-called Life Verse does not, in fact, make my life easier. It's more complicated now. It involves deep internal questions: These things I want, are they what He wants? This situation I'm sitting in, is it mud? That goal I've set, is it too narrow in scope?

In the midst of my questions, though, comes the reassurance that as long as I'm delighting myself in Him--seeking His will instead of living for myself--my desires will align with His until mine don't even exist anymore.

That is worth climbing out of the mud for.

I have a social life!

Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome back my social life! After an extended absence, featuring several instances of lesson planning on Friday nights and various weeks of going only to work and straight home, I'm pleased to announce that my extroversion has made a long-awaited appearance!

All joking aside, I spent Friday afternoon at the home of a lovely American coworker. She's been inviting me over since August, and we finally got around to it! Mrs. C is married to a Nigerian and has two delightful young boys. It was so wonderful to spend the afternoon and evening in the midst of a family. We had lunch - some delicious Nigerian rice and plantain and chicken - and the boys kept bringing me balloons to blow up for them. It brought me so much rest to talk about adapting to culture and staying in touch with family and making long-term decisions that affect everything.

Saturday morning Jan and I made our way to another friend's home. Their daughter is currently at Wheaton (my alma mater) but spent Christmas visiting her parents, who work for the U.S. Embassy. They made us brunch (Waffles and fruit? Sign me up!) and then we spent a delightful afternoon at their pool, chatting and catching up on everything Wheaton.

It was so refreshing to speak with someone who feels such a deep love for all that Wheaton is, as opposed to some of the disillusioned, jaded Wheaton "survivors" I spent the last year talking with. I share this young woman's appreciation for the ways Wheaton has shaped us as individuals and helped us grow, and it felt something like closure for me to reminisce on my Wheaton experience, reflecting on the positive, instead of the negative. The sunshine and 92 degree weather only sweetened the conversation. (Don't worry, Mom, I wore sunscreen!)

This morning was church, and though Sunday mornings look a lot different than it did in August, what with the absence of an official pastor, I know that God is still present in our continually-changing community.
I give thanks today for the blessing of a church family: people who noted my absence and welcomed me back, people who nodded with understanding when I said that leaving home this time was infinitely more difficult than in August, people who asked eagerly if I will return next fall because they want me to come back. People want me to come back. I am wanted here.
As difficult as it is to leave behind the familiar and come back for another 6 months in this place that is not home, it is easier knowing that my presence is desired, and that people will miss me when I leave (and come June 18, I will leave).

On that note, I have not decided yet if I will return for a second year. Some days I lean one way and some days I lean another. Making an objective decision is impossible--emotions are implicitly involved--so prayer is my method. I am praying that God will reveal His plan to me. You may agree with me in that prayer, but I will ask that you do not pray that I will come home (or, conversely, that I will stay).
I'm serving a holy God in a place that makes me uncomfortable, and I'm finding joy and fulfillment in that obedience. Obedience, then, is my primary objective. If obedience means Nigeria, America, or the Galapagos Islands, I will follow where He leads. Pray, please, that I will be obedient, whatever that means for my future trajectory. Thank you for praying. It is sustaining me in this Hot Season.

Give me an antonym for subtle... 'cause that's what this shout-out is

Someone asked me today who my heroes are. I didn't even have to voice a pensive "hmm..." I knew so quickly and with so much certainty. (One who speaks in cliches might add 'beyond a shadow of a doubt' but I'm no longer such a one.)

These folks are my heroes. They are my 3 best friends, my kindred spirits, my might-as-well-be-blood-they-know-me-so-well sisters.
And their husbands, on New Year's Eve (best night of 2009).
Meet L, T&C, A&K. When we were silly high school girls, we gave ourselves the acronym CALM. (I voted for CLAM, personally...) Now we're [mostly] grown-up, some with husbands, one with a baby, all with careers. The Constant, of course, throughout the last 5 years has been our God, who has kept us knitted together against time, distance, and change.

I could go on an on about how crazy successful these women are. I could tell you about graduating college in 2 years, graduating cum laude, graduating Ivy League, weddings, nursing school, medical school, first apartments, first houses, India, Haiti, Switzerland, Maine, Minnesota, and the 16-month-old heart-stealer named J. I could tell you all that. Or I could simply tell you how lucky I am to call them my friends. Yeah, let's stick to that. It's less obvious.

I just want you to know that I have the best friends in the world. Underscore on the "God has blessed me richly" part.

As if it wasn't obvious already, I really love and miss these women.

Diving Back Into Life

I've been back in Abuja for all of 40 hours now, and I'm diving right back into life. Routine feels good. So did the clobbering hug I got from my 6th graders when I walked into class. It feels good to be missed, too.

The New Year is a really really big deal here, much more than I expected. Christians go to church on New Year's Day, people set big resolutions, and "Happy New Year" has totally replaced the standard Nigerian greetings. Now I understand why people were so shocked that I left America on the first day of the year!

My 8th graders asked me about my New Year's Resolutions. (I think they were just trying to delay starting class, sneaky little things.) Their query gave me pause because I rarely set New Year's Resolutions; I generally shy away from imminent failure. Now that I've had a few hours to think it over, I've come up with a few small resolutions (lowercase r because I'm still hesitant to declare it with as much finality).

1. Stop using cliches. I've noticed that my blog post are disgustingly and shockingly overrun with the most trite phrases in my vocabulary. If I want to be serious about my writing and be taken seriously, I need to learn how to state things in an original way!

2. Practice more self-control in the classroom. I'm sure this will shock you, but one can lose one's temper patience quite easily in a room full of middle-school children. I don't want to be a teacher that gets red-faced when students won't settle down. I want to be the teacher who makes Literature so alive that my students don't have time to be distracted. I've seen a few "enraptured" moments happen this year, and it leaves me feeling quite triumphant. For their sake, if not for my own selfish pride, I want to see more of those moments!

3. Figure out my passion in life. I feel like, at 22, there is no overarching or uniting theme to my life. I feel very much like an anthology of loosely connected snippets and scraps; the only connective tissue is the grace of God. My life is full of people who know their life passion, and I want the same direction. Being blindly obedient has brought me many blessings, but this whole "I have no idea where I'm going be in 9 months" thing is more than a little frustrating. That being said, I will continue to follow God wherever he leads me, regardless of whether or not I know where we're going. It worked for Abraham...

Little things: It's hot here. KLM lost my bags; I don't have deodorant or a hairbrush. Our whole house is a hot dusty mess from Harmattan.

Big things: God is still faithful. I'm where I need to be. Amen and amen.

Prayer / General Update

For those of you keeping up with the, ahem, "prayer concerns" of my life, I have an update.

5-year-old I has been diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. Her prognosis is upwards of 90%. She begins chemo tomorrow, and will continue treatment for the next 3 years. Thus, our pastor's family will be leaving Nigeria to be together in South Africa for the first part of her treatment. I'm so glad they'll be united as a family, but selfishly, I'm sad to see them leave Abuja Ark. There are many questions (When? How? Who?) that will be resolved in the next few weeks. Pray for I's parents to have divine wisdom, for their 6-year-old twin girls to have understanding beyond their years, and above all else, for healing for little I.

Secondly, please pray for my flatmate Jan. She was widowed a year and a half ago, and she's still walking through the grieving process. She's been particularly down the past few weeks, and I suspect the upcoming holiday season isn't going to help things. Pray specifically that she is able to spend Christmas with her son. (While I'm gone, she'll be alone.) I'm very unsure of what role I'm supposed to take to support her--all I'm doing now is listening and trying to understand, which feels very futile--so prayer for me to know how to comfort her is also welcome.

Lastly, the next two weeks are going to either fly by or creep very slowly. Whichever the case may be, I need grace to make it to December 12th. This Friday is the Christmas program at school, for which I am the emcee (M.C.?). I'm pretty nervous about appearing in front of everyone, just because I am the new kid on the block...I feel like this is my opportunity to prove to the parents that I deserve to be here educating their kids. Not to put too fine a point on it. :) Somewhere in following week, I have to gather all the information for my visa, pack up my stuff, teach a full week of lessons while maintaining patience and sanity, and try to squeeze out 2 more sets of curriculum so that I don't have to bring work home with me. Then I have to jam 30 hours of travel into a 24-hour day, hopping through 6 cities. Weather permitting. (Speaking of which, I have a 7-hour layover at Heathrow...do I have any readers in London who want to help me pass the time?)

I am so thankful for this chance to be reunited with my WHOLE family (both sides of extended family, too!), get my fill of friends, watch movies with my brother, and generally stock up on some American love for the next 6-month push. I also can't wait to know what it feels like to miss Nigeria. In August, I felt a pull towards this mysterious place, and now that I know all the life that it entails, I can't wait to feel a pull towards familiarity.

Thanks in advance for your prayers. Can't wait to see you!

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?

My life be like...

Not every day is adventure-filled. Not every day is boring.
Here are some highlights from recent days.

1. Remembering that my monthly internet subscription runs out at midnight tonight. If I switch ISPs now, I just might be able to use Skype Video. Hmm...to switch or not to switch?

2. Science experiments in 8th grade. They've been reading a short story by Jack London, in which the main character dies of frostbite. Since most of my kids have never seen snow, they had a really difficult time imagining what bitter cold is. Converting Fahrenheit temperatures to Celsius wasn't enough for them; they still didn't understand how fingers can burn from being so cold.
Being a good Minnesotan, however, I decided to give them a taste of winter. I spent my weekend stockpiling ice in my freezer, and then transported it to the freezer in the science lab at school. When class time came around, I appeared with bowl full of ice and nearly-frozen water, and the kids couldn't wait to play my game.
"Stick your hands in," I told the first brave student, "Just take them out when they feel cold." After only a few seconds, he looked up at me with wide eyes. "I can't feel my hands!" When he finally pulled them out, I told him to tie up his shoelaces--he couldn't. One by one, they took turns freezing their fingers and trying to write their names or tie their shoes, or having competitions to see who could last longest in the subzero water.
Point made.

3. Discussing the Civil War with a Nigerian chemistry teacher. He asked me who fought in the war. "Americans," I replied.
"But they weren't originally from America," he countered. "Where did they come from?"
"Europe, mostly. The first ones came from England," I told him.
"Ah-ah, so the soldiers were British!" he concluded.
"No, they were all Americans, just from the North or the South."
"But who was more American, the British in the North or the British in the South?"
"No, Mr. Joseph, no British. All Americans. From America, both the North and the South."
"But I thought they came from England!"
I'm telling you, I was fighting a losing battle.
It's actually not the first time that's happened. Nigerians I've talked to don't seem to get the "melting pot" concept, like they have trouble differentiating between ethnicity and nationality.
Earlier this week, one of the ladies in Accounts saw my ring (a traditional Irish symbol I purchased in Ireland 4 years ago), recognized the origin, and exclaimed, "Oh! You're Irish!" When I responded in the affirmative (it was easier than answering "1/4 Scot-Irish, actually"), she said, "Okay, so which one of your parents is American?" She had trouble understanding how I was Irish in ancestry, but American in nationality.
Sometimes, a smile and a nod is easier than trying to explain.

4. Going to a Nigerian club. The boys upstairs took me to a local hangout for a drink last weekend. (She drinks alcohol? Yes, I do.) I had to explain to the bartender to how to make a rum and Coke (the finished product was definitely more Coke than rum) and nobody was carded. Not once. Toto, we are for sure not in Kansas anymore.

5. Meeting new people. Today at school, a parent I had never met before asked me if I was "the new one Mrs. O brought over from America." Why, yes, I am the nation's newest import. Good to know I already have a rep at this school. Just wait until the Christmas program comes around and I'm the Master (Mistress?) of Ceremonies. Putting the white girl on stage, indeed.

I love my life. It's crazy and full and sometimes a bit illogical, but I love living it. It makes me feel so alive.

Daily Grind

Yesterday, my parents asked me what's new in my life. It's a harmless question, especially considering that I now live on a different continent, but I honestly couldn't think of an answer.

See? It happens, even in Nigeria. Life settles into a daily grind, and monotony creeps in.

Instead of choosing to be bored, though, I'm going to be thankful. I think I prefer routine to the other more dangerous ways life in Nigeria can be "interesting."

So I'm going to keep planning lessons, as I am wont to do every Sunday afternoon. And tomorrow, like every weekday morning, I'm going to get up at 5:45 a.m. and take my vitamins and eat my oatmeal and go be Miss Thomas, the baddest Lit teacher there ever was.

It's a routine, but it's my life. I am so lucky to be living it.

First Quarter and Answered Prayer

The past 8 weeks have been baptism by fire, for sure. As of today, I've survived the 1st Quarter marking period and lived to talk about it. This is a specific answer to the prayer that God would equip me for this career.

I had some tough spots this week, including:
- Grading 26 Rough Drafts and Final Drafts (that's a total of 52 essays graded in the past 3 days!)
- Reading Devouring Redeeming Love in 2 days (making said grading very procrastinated difficult)
- Really sporadic electricity (resulting in a candlelight grading session on Sunday night)
- Adding a second ESL student (G's older sister, I)
- Giving a student an F in my class (It really was harder for me than for him, I think)
- Coming down with a nasty cold, complete with cough and congestion

On Sunday night, I prayed a very impassioned prayer, pleading with God to heal me of this cold. I know it's just a cold, but it arrived at the worst possible time of the Quarter. I prayed James 5:15 over and over ("And the prayer offered up in faith will make the sick person well"), believing that God would heal me. I even promised that when He did heal me, I would tell all my students about it. (Some people call this tactic "bargaining.")

I've had the cold for 5 days now. No healing.

My energy is nonexistant. My appetite is gone. Cramming in all these grades resulted in a string of late late nights - I slept 4 hours yesterday. I fell asleep at my desk during recess today.

But HOLY TESTIMONY, BATMAN! It's almost Friday, I've computed all my grades (59 students!), graded all the catch-up work from the past 8 weeks (by candle, no less!), and I didn't have to miss any school! I wasn't healed of this cold, but I have proof of Philippians 4:13: "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me"!

Sometimes the answer to prayer isn't the Sunday School refrain of "Yes," "No," or "Wait." Sometimes the answer is: "I will strengthen you."

And for THAT, God deserves the glory.

Today, while struggling to make it through my 6th grade class, a student raised his hand and said with concern, "Miss Thomas, can you please sit down?" God love him, a 12-year-old boy cares more about my health than I do.

Lord, thank you for answered prayer.

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?

Pictures

this is the compound I live in, as seen from across the street. It is beautiful:


This is the gecko that lives in our flat:


This is the national mosque, one of the most beautiful buildings I have ever seen. This picture was taken from a moving taxi, my apologies for the tilt.


This is the door to my classroom! I did all the lettering freehand:


And lastly, this is what I look like when NEPA blows just after I've gotten out of the shower. Jan just shakes her head and calls me a dork:

Final Goodbye

This is my last blog stateside until I am settled in Abuja. I am all packed, with 3 suitcases weighing in at 49.2, 48.5, and 48 pounds respectively. I also have a jam-packed carryon suitcase and a backpack!

My best friend Laura came over last night to assist with the packing endeavor. She ended up asking me all the tough questions ("Mag, do you really need this?" "Can you surivive without that?"), which was great because I was trying to take way too much. I halved all of my food supplies, which cut down significantly on weight, and will bring the rest at Christmas if necessary. It's amazing to me that when you get right down to the nitty-gritty, your perspective changes about what is really essential.

So here I am, 4 hours away from leaving for the airport. God is still faithful. I'm moving to Nigeria.

Setbacks and Blessings

Choosing obedience is never the easy path. I knew my West Africa adventure had more to do with being obedient rather than a job opportunity, but I'm feeling the pinch and discomfort of that decision this week.

Apparently, preparing to relocate to a new country is an expensive process. I'll be very honest and say that my credit card bill this month is the largest I have ever seen. Between doctor's appointments, supplies, passport fees, and vaccinations, my personal savings is all but gone. I didn't stress about it, however, because these expenses are all necessary, and I trust the Lord to provide for me. But sometimes it's hard to see, even with the help of the Almighty, how I'm going to dig myself out of this one.

I still can't move forward with my visa without some key documents from the school's superintendent. Unfortunately, their email servers have been down for almost 2 weeks. [Normally, I would post the link to the school here, but, alas, the website's down, too.] The visa is absolutely essential, so I stayed up Sunday night to call the school. I called at 2:30am, 3:30, 4:30 and 9, and the line was unavailable every time.

Routine setbacks spark doubt. Yesterday was a doubt-filled day. I wondered if I could make it to Nigeria on time. I questioned the legitimacy of the entire offer. I wondered if the money I've spent will even be worth it. Combine these doubts with the ever-present questions I have about moving to a new country and beginning an entirely new profession, and I was pretty depressed last night.

But my God is a God who provides.

Right before I went to bed, I opened my mail. There was a royalty check from Disney, for satellite TV and Pay-Per-View airings of The Parent Trap. The amount was almost exactly the amount of my credit card bill--in fact, it was a shocking $30 more. The Lord orchestrated that film opportunity for me as a 10-year-old and it was beyond my understanding then. Almost 12 years later, He's still using it to bless me. It's funny to me that I am continually surprised by God's provision. I should be used to it by now.

Lesson for the week: Obedience allows God to bless us.