nothing like drawing blood in the morning

In an effort to allay fears and to be medically proactive, I had a full lab workup this morning testing for, among other things, parasites and malaria. It's just kind of peace of mind, you know?

Also, I'm sure there's a bet somewhere among friends and/or family pertaining to me and chloroquine-resistant mosquitoes. So, consider the lab result a settled score.

These blood tests are routine to me now - I had them all done in December, too - but the poor nurse this morning hadn't prepared slides like this in a while. Her name tag indicated she was a temp (who knew they had nurse temps?!) and she seemed older to me. While only 6 slides were needed, she probably took 15 trying to get it smeared right.

She asked me about Africa in the way that well-meaning strangers ask me about Africa. It usually goes something like this:
"Oh, wow, Nigeria, huh?"
Yep.
"Did you like that?"
Yep.
"I'll bet that was real interesting."
Did you want me to pull out my slideshow and storybook or should I just let you get back to work?

Okay, I don't say that last part. But I think it.

After a similar exchange with the nurse, she said offhandedly, "You know, that's real neat. I wish my kids would do something like that. They just keep popping babies out. I'm like, 'Couldn't you find another hobby?'"

Nurses say the darnedest things.

P.S. Lab results due next week. I'll keep you posted on this nail-biter.

the eyes have it

You know who's really great? My optometrist.

I've been with the same doctor for years and she is always so excited for me and what's new in my life. She was a saint to introduce me to my favorite contacts ever (Focus Night & Days) - what contact-wearing college student wouldn't be thrilled to have 24-hour 30-day contacts, I ask you.

I remember telling her I was moving to Nigeria and would potentially experience some dusty conditions (oh sweet deluded me, I had no idea what Harmattan would be like). She made me promise to take out my lenses nightly to reduce the risk of corneal infection, which I did, faithfully.

You have to understand, I'm pretty serious when it comes to my eyes. They're probably my most beloved body part. (Oh, come on, you know you have your favorite, too - cute toes, rockin' abs, gorgeous hair, etc.) I've had a very serious relationship with my eyes since I was in 2nd grade. I first got glasses at age 8, went into my first pair of gas permeable contacts at age 10, had my first set of corneal ridges at 15; I mean, I've been around the Eye Care block. When it comes to my eyes, I just don't mess around.

So when my eye doctor tells me to take out my lenses every night in Africa because of corneal infections, you'd better believe I do exactly what she says.

Flash forward to Harmattan season, when my right contact quite literally leaps off my eyeball in the middle of my 6th grade class (awkward). When I got back to the States, I more or less gave up on contacts and have been in glasses pretty consistently for the past week. I went in to see the doctor this morning, and apparently I brought back an extra souvenir from Nigeria!

Turns out, I have developing blisters on the inside of my eyelids. NASTY. These blisters grab at my contact lenses and move them out of place when I blink. My doctor is chalking it up to "environmental causes"...also known as living in Nigeria.

After a week of very limited contact wear, copious amounts of eye drops (yes I'm going to be that girl once an hour for the next week), and a new brand of lenses, my eyes should be back to normal.

It's so nice to know that my eyes are in good hands. Well, sort of.

Some unsolicited advice? If you're moving to Nigeria, wear glasses.

immersion

I went to Target today.

Actually, I forced myself to go to Target after consciously (and subconsciously) dragging my feet all day long. I was scared of the explosion of consumerism. I was afraid I would cry or have an anxiety attack in the middle of Target or something equally as dramatic as wearing native Nigerian dress to Target.

So I went. In jeans and a tshirt and flipflops. I went and I pushed my cart through the aisles (and aisles and aisles). I got the ten or so things on my list and while any other Target run would find me traipsing through the rest of the aisles just browsing finding other things to buy, I couldn't do it.

I was already overwhelmed by all the other shoppers, on some kind of silent race to pull everything off the shelves in 30 seconds or less, all while on their cellphones. (As an aside, when did it become okay to discuss your divorce in the middle of the dental hygiene aisle?) Nobody looked at anybody else. Nobody apologized when the carts bumped into each other. They just beelined from aisle to aisle, shushing children, asking for price checks.

Admittedly, I felt the pangs of anxiety rising as I left the shampoo and conditioner aisle. Firstly, because THERE IS AN ENTIRE AISLE JUST FOR SHAMPOO AND CONDITIONER. Secondly, because I had this urge to scream (unnecessarily, inappropriately, and cruelly), "What are we doing?! Who are we?! Why are we doing this?! What is the meaning of all this?!"

Of course, an outburst would have solved nothing. Mostly it would have aggravated me, because as those silent-but-screaming-inside-my-head questions arose, I realized I was unable to even identify what "this" might be. I ticked through options in nanoseconds: Consumerism? Unavoidable. Going through the motions? Maybe. Keeping up with the Joneses? Probably.

None of those options are satisfactory, though, because none of them are limited to America. So I'm left back at zero. No answers, just silent screaming.

Culture shock is strange. Present and real, but strange. Unexpected.

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.