Finally about the wedding

A friend reminded me this week that I never did write about my wedding. Oops. So here's a [somewhat lengthy; sorry!] description.

The week leading up to my wedding, I went to the capital, Abuja (three hours away), twice to pick up travelers. On Monday, Heather and I picked up my dear friend Ruth, the one who'd flown all the way from Korea. On Thursday, David and I went together to pick up my good friend Charisa (from Iowa) on the evening flight and my aunt, uncle, and grandmother on the following morning flight. So we arrived back in Jos in time for lunch the day before the wedding, with the wedding cake we'd picked up in Abuja. Phew!

The two days before the wedding, our neighbour ladies all came together at our house to cook for the reception. They made hard donut cubes called cin-cin and fried the beef first. Then on Saturday morning they all came to cook the jallof rice. And every time they saw me – or David - they uttered a high-pitched nasal cry. (Drove us crazy!)

The night before the wedding, a missionary friend sent over two 8-qt. pots full of soup for my family. There was no rehearsal dinner, as there had been no rehearsal. The soup arrived around 6PM, but before we could sit down to eat, David brought over all of his relatives that had just arrived, including his mother. I hadn't met his mother before but had been told how to behave toward her, so I got down on one knee to greet her and hug her. She doesn't speak any English, and I don't speak any Tiv, so all we could say was “Sannu” (the Hausa greeting). David's family didn't leave our house until almost 9PM, when we finally got to sit down and have dinner! After we ate, my aunt played the guitar for a short sing-along. Then my brother read to my immediate family from The Ultimate Hitchhiker's Guide by Douglas Adams. (It was a special request of mine, as we'd done it the night before my sister's wedding.) We finally all got to bed around 1AM.

The morning of the wedding arrived bright and sunny. I tried to sleep in, but with the neighbour ladies all coming to cook, it wasn't really possible. At 10AM, the bridesmaids, my aunt, and I piled into a LandCruiser (borrowed from our officiant) to take us out to the wedding site, about 40 minutes away. (David and my grandmother got to ride in a Mercedes!) When we arrived, we were greeted by lots of missionary ladies who were helping with decorations. (I'd had no idea!) My friend Kelly (a missionary nurse from Texas), and her assistant Priscilla (an MK from New Zealand) sat down us girls and did our hair and make-up. Then we all got dressed. People kept coming in to ask me details about the ceremony – things I'd thought I'd already made clear. At 1PM, we were almost ready to go to the chapel. But Kelly arrived to tell us that the groom's mother hadn't arrived yet. (The wedding was supposed to start at 1PM.)

So we waited. David sent a message saying that we should start anyway, that his mother didn't need to be there. But that went against all my American upbringing, so we waited. Finally, at just before 2PM, Kelly came to announce that Mrs. Nege had arrived. Finally!

The ceremony was lovely. My aunt played some music beforehand, which I never heard. For the bridesmaids, she played the theme song from Star Trek Voyager. When I marched in with Daddy, my friend Ted (accompanied on the piano by his mom) played “Prince of Denmark's March” by Jeremiah Clark. It was beautiful. Dr. Danny McCain (Uncle Danny) officiated in the ceremony, and his homily made everyone laugh and cry. My sister sang one of my favourite songs, “Only Hope” from the movie A Walk to Remember, and towards the end, my sister, brother, and I sang a song together called “One Voice.” We exchanged rings (the ring boxes had gotten mixed up, and David put on my engagement ring rather than my wedding band! So I just turned it around for the photos.) And then we were married!

The photo shoot was a nightmare. I don't want to talk about it. Noseeums everywhere.

The reception was almost as bad! After the photos, some Tiv ladies took me back to the bride house to put on a Tiv outfit. I lost it. I just bawled while they were pinning my headtie on. (Good thing the formal photos were over!) I was just so stressed out, and David was waiting for me, not having any idea what was going on. Finally, I was ready to go. David and I moved to the reception site – a grassy area just outside the chapel – and were seated under a canopy. A few minutes after we sat, someone came to us and informed us that we had to switch seats so that I was on David's left. Ridiculous! So we very obtrusively stood up and switched seats. There was a little bit of a program that seemed to go on much longer than we'd wanted. Oh, and the guests were all seated in five or six rows of chairs facing us instead of in clusters as we'd wanted. We hated that. After the welcome and intro of family, we cut the cake (which was really hard because the frosting was crusty; it had to be in order for it to travel from Abuja to Jos!) and fed each other tiny bites. (I'd asked for forks; no forks.) After that, one of David's relatives formally dressed us in Tiv attire (not knowing ahead of time that some ladies would already have dressed me in Tiv garb!). Then, finally, after a brief few words, we took a few wishful looks at the food we were leaving, and zipped away before anyone could stop us. Uncle Danny's driver took us in their LandCruiser to the honeymoon, and...

So that's the story of my wedding! Pretty crazy and chaotic. But it was nice, and all the guests said they had a really good time, so I won't complain. After all, I'm married to the world's most wonderful man, and that's what matters.

My baby brother

Luke came running to the door last night to meet us.

"Hi, Dr. Dennis!" he yelped, giving my husband a huge hug around the legs. I was taken aback.

"Hey, what about me?" I asked. Luke laughed, and then he came to give me a hug.

"Hi, my sister. I love you."

Have I mentioned my baby brother before?

We got Luke when he was a baby, over seven years ago now. Our neighbour called on Thanksgiving to ask if Mom could take care of an abandoned baby boy named Aliyu. Mom said she'd take him after the weekend, and that's how it all began.

Luke was born about February 26, 1999, and was abandoned by his parents at a sort of homeless shelter in town, "House of Hope." He was so developmentally delayed - and small - when we got him in November that year that Dad suspected he was three months old instead of nine! We renamed him Luke a few days after he came to us. Luke has mild cerebral palsy. He couldn't walk until he was about two, and he didn't talk for a long time either. But, as Dad says, "Once he started talking, he just wouldn't stop!"

National law doesn't allow Mom and Dad to adopt Luke (no foreigners can adopt Nigerian children), and the U.S. won't let my parents bring him into the States unless they have legal custody. (Well, who here has heard of such a thing as "legal custody," anyway?) When my parents furloughed in the States in 2003, they had to leave Luke behind for the whole year, with a neighbour missionary family. Luke is eight now, and it looks as though they'll have to do the same again.

People have asked if David and I will take care of Luke while my parents are gone. The answer is, "No." Sure, I'll be a big sister and babysit and visit. But he's an energetic, rambunctious (often troublesome) little guy - full of life - and there's no way I could raise him and still be able to work. Does that make me an ogre? I just think it's best for my new marriage to not have my baby brother thrown into the equation. Call me calloused and hard-hearted, but there it is. I love Luke to pieces, but I can't be the mom that he needs.

The other big thing going on in Luke's life right now is his schooling. He didn't get accepted into first grade at our missionary kid school, Hillcrest, so in the fall he had a tutor who worked on campus with him. That way he got to attend P.E., music, art, and library classes with the 1st graders. In December, his tutor had to return to the States because of a family tragedy, and now Luke hasn't got a school plan. Dad's been teaching him at home in the mornings, but honestly, Daddy needs his time for other things. But what can we do?

**Luke needs a teacher.
**Luke needs to be legally adopted.

And in the meantime, we'll just keep loving him and laughing at his silly stories. (And laughing when we remember his leaving shaving cream in the sink, pulling out all the tissues in the box, smearing lotion all over the new kitten, spilling an airline box full of styrofoam packing popcorn all over the hall floor, or flooding the bathroom by leaving the hand-held shower on... on the bathroom floor!)

Remember Luke and laugh.

Zoë's mishap

I heard meowing last night, but David didn't hear it. Admittedly, it was pretty faint. But I was sure it was Zoë, so I went all over the house looking for her. We'd just come home from dinner and games at my parents' (they'd had guests), and I realised I hadn't seen her since we'd gotten back.

She wasn't in the bedrooms or the bathroom. She wasn't stuck in a box somewhere, or a drawer in the dresser. (That used to happen to my famiy's old kitten Trillian.) I even opened the front door to see if she'd gotten locked outside accidentally. (She's an indoor kitty, but sometimes she darts out before we even realise it!) But she wasn't there. I went back into the living room, but the sound had definitely been louder in our kitchen, by our front door.

My eyes widened as I suddenly realised where my kitten was.

I grabbed the refrigerator door and yanked it open. There was Zoë, meowing furiously on the top shelf of our fridge! She'd been inside for four hours, ever since David had gotten out a carrot before we went to dinner!!

This isn't the first time she's climbed into the fridge, but this is the first time she's been shut inside without our realising it!! She obviously wasn't hurt, just a bit disgruntled. I gave her some fish and cuddled her in apology, and she's doing all right now. In fact, this morning, she climbed into the fridge again for this photo! Silly cat!

Don't bother calling the ASPCA on me. I live in Africa, remember?

A life lived in fear

You may have heard the saying, "A life lived in fear is a life half-lived." I first heard it in Spanish in one of my favourite movies, Strictly Ballroom. And it made sense, sure. But this week its full meaning hit me as never before.

A week ago, missionary friends of ours were attacked by armed robbers.

I don't know all the details, but I know Uncle Craig and Aunt Beth were attacked at home, on a Sunday night. The robbers had been to five other places before our friends' home, but they'd been unsuccessful until they met our friends. They took what they could find, including our friends' car. Both Uncle Craig and Aunt Beth were injured; Aunt Beth was hit over the head and suffered a concussion. After spending a night in the hospital. they were able to go home.

Obviously, this was distressing and frightening news. Armed robberies have been on the increase here recently. Two years ago, there was an armed robbery here on the hospital compound. A missionary kid and our chief surgeon were both shot. But this is the first time I've been in the country when friends of ours have been attacked. I clung tightly to my husband that night; I was so frightened.

But the rest of this week, all I heard from all our missionary friends was the amazing testimony of Uncle Craig and Aunt Beth - their calmness, their thankfulness to God, their joy in the midst of their pain and material loss. And when I heard these things, I immediately thought back to the saying that a life lived in fear is a life half-lived. We have work to do here. We can't get up and leave when things get rough. There will be danger. There will be loss. But we must persist and do so with joy.

And this morning, at church, I saw that joy on the faces of Uncle Craig and Aunt Beth. They led worship at church - Craig at the pulpit and Beth at the piano - and I was so humbled by their obvious joy. God is so good!

One hymn Aunt Beth led us in struck me in particular: "He Hideth My Soul" by Fanny Crosby (full lyrics).

He hideth my soul in the cleft of the rock
That shadows a dry, thirsty land.
He hideth my life in the depths of His love,
And covers me there with His hand,
And covers me there with His hand.

I need help with cooking!!

I think I've looked at every single recipe in my cookbooks. And still I sit here, frustrated as all get-out.

Here's the thing:

• Meat's expensive.
• Cheese is even more expensive.

How do I get around these two problems and still cook food I'm used to? Are there vegetarian meals I can cook here that are tasty and don't call for cheese? What I really need is a vegan cookbook or something. But that will assume I have access at the "supermarket" to such-and-such beans and tofu and vegetables. Aargh.

Fortunately, David's not picky. He's really sweet when it comes to my cooking, actually, and that's been a true blessing. But I'm picky! There simply has to be a more interesting way to eat cheaply than beans and rice! I'm sending out an SOS! Help!

Lydia

Mom got a new foster baby! (Actually, she got her two weeks ago, but so much else has been going on!)

Lydia is 14 days old and a baby from the Pro-Life Crisis Pregnancy Centre here at our hospital. In fact, Mom and Dad took care of her half-brother Zion a year ago. (Same mom, different father.) She's quite a cutie and is finally eating well, so she might actually put on some weight and get rid of her wrinkles.

According to the Pro-Life director, Mom should have Lydia for about five or six weeks before she has a chance of a more permanent foster home or adoption. Mom and I are both enjoying little Lydia - holding her, feeding her. She's "my" baby when she's eating and happy but becomes "Mom's" baby when her nappy needs changing!

But boy is she cute!

Water morning

The water was on this morning! By the time I got out the door at 08:00, there was already a basin under the tap, so I left my buckets and basins on the walkway beside the tap and waited.

One of the hardest things I've found about living here - not in Nigeria so much as our block of flats in particular - is the lack of running water. I can get used to a lot of things, but that's hard. I mean, I grew up with only running water some of the time. I know how to take bucket baths and all. But to never have running water is an adjustment. I'm getting used to it little by little...

Anyway, there's a tap outside our flat where the water occasionally comes on for a few hours or a whole day at a time. I usually don't notice until - like today - someone else has his buckets or basin underneath. But today, my neighbour was kind enough to share with me. I was truly touched. We'd been running pretty low on water the past few days, having not filled our containers in almost two weeks.

My neighbour lady - whose name I'm afraid I haven't learned yet! - and I shared the tap for the next four hours. I took my work outside with a hat and sat on a step to wait out the process. The water wasn't exactly gushing, but it was coming steadily, so we both got all we needed. I managed to fill up every bucket we own (eight), two basins, two big barrels, a 25-litre jerry can, two kettles, and three cooking pots! Woohoo! We'll see how long it lasts, eh? I'm just thankful we have water at all!