Mom and I decided to make a whirlwind trip to market this morning to look for curtain cloth. Now, it might help to realise that there are lots of different kinds of shoppers in the world. There are the type who go to every single store and look at every single product before deciding that nothing’s good enough. Then there are the type who know exactly what they want but still have to look through every product to find it. There are picky people and laid back people.I’m no interior decorator. Curtains are to cover the windows, not to show off my chic style and taste. Then again, I have to look at them sometime, and guests may notice them, so I certainly don’t want to come across as dull or grubby. But I’m cheap and simple. I don’t go for elegant and expensive, or even elegant and cheap. Mom said at one point, “You’ll have to think about whether your blankets and bedspread will match the curtains.” I just laughed. Why bother matching? Besides, our Nigerian blanket is black and gray, and our bedspread (hand-delivered from China) is cream and gold, so already we’re going for an eclectic motif.
To get to the curtain places, it’s easiest to park on the main downtown street, Ahmadu Bello Way, and walk through a bit of market. It’s muddy. It’s crowded. There are vendors with umbrellas and wooden stalls selling raw meat, fish, vegetables, and plastic doodads. It smells…well…different. Later in the day they’ll have live chickens down there, tied by the legs and clucking up a storm. We passed through all the muck and started to the shops. Not too many shops were open on our way down the strip, as it was just 9 o’clock. But we looked anyway. We got all the way down to the very end and finally stopped in a store that sold wrapper material. After much debate, Mom and I decided this would be simpler than buying curtain material (and probably cheaper). So we started hunting in that shop for cloth.
We already have curtains in our living room, which we’ll take over to our new place. The problem is that they’re sheer and don’t provide a whole lot of privacy. So we decided to get some thicker material and do a double-layer. The sheers can be up all the time, and we can close the thicker drapes when it gets dark. We found a lovely slate blue shada (with a sort of shimmery watermark), which. I think will be splendid. For our bedroom, I found some pink-and-green cloth I really liked. It’s your typical Nigerian wax (I’ll just have to show you what I mean), nothing special. But it’s bright and cheerful, and I’m not very picky. Simple. The shopkeeper wanted to charge us a lot for our purchase of 16 yards, but Mom asked him if he couldn’t sell it to us for less since we were buying so much. He was reluctant, and I thought for sure he’d say no, and that would be the end. But he saw the tape measure around Mom’s neck and asked if she were a tailor. Mom answered, “Not professionally, but I certainly have done a lot of sewing!” And the owner relented, saying he sold to tailors “wholesale.” Cool! So we got our two pieces of cloth and were outta there.
We stopped at a store two doors down to get some lining material, just a thin solid colour. We found a darling light blue for the living room drapes and an off-white for the bedroom curtains. We got the price reduced by 8 cents a yard, and since we were getting 16 yards, the owner knocked off a whole N40 ($0.31) off the total for us! I was satisfied with our purchases and ready to help Mom find something she liked. Mom was amazed. I’m the kind of shopper who goes into a store with an open mind, sees something she likes, makes sure it’s within budget, and buys it.
Well, Mom is another kind of shopper altogether. I wouldn’t call her picky, but she definitely has particular ideas about what she wants-which is great as long as that sort of thing is available. On our way back along the strip of shops, we stopped in a few stores, but Mom couldn’t find anything she liked for her bedroom (the curtains of which are in rather sad shape). At our very last stop before we headed back to the car, we found some curtain cloth for Luke’s room. It was cute, the right size, and a good price to boot. So she bought 2 yards (it was 90″ long!), and we were off. Back through the muck, back past the vendors hawking their wares, back past the beggars coming up to us with their plastic bowls extended and heaping blessings upon us in Hausa, back to the main street. In an hour-and-a-half, we’d fulfilled most of our mission. Another successful trip to market!
July 31, 2007
July 25, 2007
Dear Aaron
24 July 2007
Dear Aaron
I was seven when you were born in Los Angeles, 18 years ago today. You were in the hospital for a few weeks before we got you; you were a drug baby and had several medical issues to be sorted out before you could come to our foster home. You were premature, your kidney had failed, and you had a crack addiction. When we brought you home, you were so small! We had to keep you on an apnoea monitor, especially at night. It was these wire sensors in a long strip that velcroed around your chest. I remember waking up at night several times to the high-pitched scream of your monitor alert. I was so afraid you’d die.
I honestly don’t remember a whole lot about when you were a newborn. You were fragile, so I don’t expect I got to hold you very much since I was so small myself. But then you got older and healthier. You started toddling around. I remember coming back from Astro Camp in second grade and going straight to the hospital to see you after the surgery to correct the skeletal problem in your skull. Your head was all wrapped up in bandages, but you walked to me across the room. I was so glad to see you!!
You loved Patches, our pet cat, and she tolerated you amazingly well. By the time you were two, you’d learned to pet her gently. I think she secretly came to love you.
You were always our entertainment on deputation trips to churches; we’d ask you to make different animal noises. “Aaron, what does a cow say?” You would moo, and we’d all crack up. That would make you laugh, so we’d all be laughing. On one trip, we went out to Baker’s Square for dinner, and someone got a lemon wedge in his iced tea. We gave the lemon wedge to you, and you sucked on it. Oh, the face you made!! We laughed so hard I remember my sides hurt. That just encouraged you, so you sucked on the wedge again, and we all kept laughing. You were the star of the show!
Our favourite game at dinnertime was to knock on the underside of the table with one hand and pretend to knock on our heads with the other hand. It made it seem like our heads were hollow. And when you would knock on your head to make the same sound, sometimes we’d knock on the table, and you’d giggle. But other times we wouldn’t, and we laughed at the surprised look on your face. Where was the noise you wanted? You were so cute.
And then 16 years ago, we said goodbye to you at your mom’s apartment. You were crying. We were crying. We heard later from a church friend who was able to visit you occasionally that whenever you heard an airplane fly overhead, you would point to it, and say, “Mommy! Daddy!” You’d been told that we went on an airplane to Africa.
We got to see you three years later. You had changed so much, grown up in some ways. We visited you at Easter, and it broke my heart to see your mom’s apartment, to see you there. The place reeked of cigarette smoke.
And today you’re 18 years old. You can buy cigarettes. You can join the army. You’re a legal adult. If you got arrested, you wouldn’t be tried in a juvenile court. Where are you? Are you safe? Healthy? Happy? What do you like to do? Are you a basketball player? American football? Soccer? Do you run track? Did you finish high school? What are your plans, your hopes, your dreams for the future? Do you have a girlfriend? Maybe you even have a child. I’m so full of questions, Aaron, and they’re questions that will never be answered.
I have always wondered about you. I have loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you, and I will love you until the day I die. You were the first baby I ever loved, and in the two years we had you, I grew to truly adore you as my baby brother. Our skin may be a different colour, but you’re still my brother. Wherever you are, I wish you a happy birthday, and I lift you up to my Jesus, my God, for He is a loving shepherd and will care for you though I cannot. His arms are tender and loving, and He is God of the downtrodden and brokenhearted. I cannot see you, but He can, and I will trust you to His care.
I remain forever yours.
Dear Aaron
I was seven when you were born in Los Angeles, 18 years ago today. You were in the hospital for a few weeks before we got you; you were a drug baby and had several medical issues to be sorted out before you could come to our foster home. You were premature, your kidney had failed, and you had a crack addiction. When we brought you home, you were so small! We had to keep you on an apnoea monitor, especially at night. It was these wire sensors in a long strip that velcroed around your chest. I remember waking up at night several times to the high-pitched scream of your monitor alert. I was so afraid you’d die.
I honestly don’t remember a whole lot about when you were a newborn. You were fragile, so I don’t expect I got to hold you very much since I was so small myself. But then you got older and healthier. You started toddling around. I remember coming back from Astro Camp in second grade and going straight to the hospital to see you after the surgery to correct the skeletal problem in your skull. Your head was all wrapped up in bandages, but you walked to me across the room. I was so glad to see you!!
You loved Patches, our pet cat, and she tolerated you amazingly well. By the time you were two, you’d learned to pet her gently. I think she secretly came to love you.
You were always our entertainment on deputation trips to churches; we’d ask you to make different animal noises. “Aaron, what does a cow say?” You would moo, and we’d all crack up. That would make you laugh, so we’d all be laughing. On one trip, we went out to Baker’s Square for dinner, and someone got a lemon wedge in his iced tea. We gave the lemon wedge to you, and you sucked on it. Oh, the face you made!! We laughed so hard I remember my sides hurt. That just encouraged you, so you sucked on the wedge again, and we all kept laughing. You were the star of the show!
Our favourite game at dinnertime was to knock on the underside of the table with one hand and pretend to knock on our heads with the other hand. It made it seem like our heads were hollow. And when you would knock on your head to make the same sound, sometimes we’d knock on the table, and you’d giggle. But other times we wouldn’t, and we laughed at the surprised look on your face. Where was the noise you wanted? You were so cute.
And then 16 years ago, we said goodbye to you at your mom’s apartment. You were crying. We were crying. We heard later from a church friend who was able to visit you occasionally that whenever you heard an airplane fly overhead, you would point to it, and say, “Mommy! Daddy!” You’d been told that we went on an airplane to Africa.
We got to see you three years later. You had changed so much, grown up in some ways. We visited you at Easter, and it broke my heart to see your mom’s apartment, to see you there. The place reeked of cigarette smoke.
And today you’re 18 years old. You can buy cigarettes. You can join the army. You’re a legal adult. If you got arrested, you wouldn’t be tried in a juvenile court. Where are you? Are you safe? Healthy? Happy? What do you like to do? Are you a basketball player? American football? Soccer? Do you run track? Did you finish high school? What are your plans, your hopes, your dreams for the future? Do you have a girlfriend? Maybe you even have a child. I’m so full of questions, Aaron, and they’re questions that will never be answered.
I have always wondered about you. I have loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you, and I will love you until the day I die. You were the first baby I ever loved, and in the two years we had you, I grew to truly adore you as my baby brother. Our skin may be a different colour, but you’re still my brother. Wherever you are, I wish you a happy birthday, and I lift you up to my Jesus, my God, for He is a loving shepherd and will care for you though I cannot. His arms are tender and loving, and He is God of the downtrodden and brokenhearted. I cannot see you, but He can, and I will trust you to His care.
I remain forever yours.
July 22, 2007
Rainy days
Rain is different everywhere in the world.
In Seattle, from what I’m told, there is an incessant pitter-patter of light to mild rain, showers to drizzle. Is it true that Seattle enjoys rain more than 200 days out of the year?
In southern California, rain usually comes either in a violent thunderstorm that’s over before you can blink, or a long but light rain that lasts all night but lets up during daylight hours.
In Chicago, the rain I remember—mostly in the summertime—is the violent thunderstorm that dumps sheets of water on the city. This is the flooding kind of rain, a damaging deluge no matter how long the storm lasts. Parking lots become ponds. Gutters and drains are plugged. Basements turn into swimming pools.
In Edinburgh, Scotland, I enjoyed the soft misty rains of the British Isles. The droplets are calming, soothing, not biting or stinging with chill. (Granted, I was there in August.)
In my part of Nigeria, we have a variety of rains, too. The difference mostly depends on the month of the year. April showers are rare and just a spattering of fragile droplets to spot the dusty red ground. In May, storms blow in from time to time, pouring briefly onto the still-dry ground. By June, the storms are coming several times a week, and sometimes they last for up to an hour. Once July starts, you are carrying your umbrella when you go out. It rains every day, usually at least once a day. Sometimes it will be a storm, complete with flashes of lightning and terrifyingly loud thunder, sometimes a long drizzle. When August comes, you can count on its raining every day for several hours at a time. There may be some lightning and thunder, but mostly it’s just rain, steadily drumming the corrugated tin roofs, filling up plastic containers and buckets we have all set out for that purpose. In August, the mud becomes an issue; the Earth has finally become saturated, and puddles spread everywhere. Grassy areas become marshes, sandy areas turn into sloughs.
But with the late July and August rains, the temperature drops dramatically. Neighbours pull out their long sleeves and socks. No more sleeping with the fan on; instead, it’s snuggling with blankets and warm pyjamas. Instead of cold water, we’re drinking tea and hot cocoa in the afternoons and evenings.
And it’s in these weeks of blissful rain and cool temps that I remember why I love Nigeria so much, why nothing in the U.S. could ever compare to this place. Though the blistering heat of October will drive these blithe memories from my mind, for now I will relish the joy of the African rain.
In Seattle, from what I’m told, there is an incessant pitter-patter of light to mild rain, showers to drizzle. Is it true that Seattle enjoys rain more than 200 days out of the year?
In southern California, rain usually comes either in a violent thunderstorm that’s over before you can blink, or a long but light rain that lasts all night but lets up during daylight hours.
In Chicago, the rain I remember—mostly in the summertime—is the violent thunderstorm that dumps sheets of water on the city. This is the flooding kind of rain, a damaging deluge no matter how long the storm lasts. Parking lots become ponds. Gutters and drains are plugged. Basements turn into swimming pools.
In Edinburgh, Scotland, I enjoyed the soft misty rains of the British Isles. The droplets are calming, soothing, not biting or stinging with chill. (Granted, I was there in August.)
In my part of Nigeria, we have a variety of rains, too. The difference mostly depends on the month of the year. April showers are rare and just a spattering of fragile droplets to spot the dusty red ground. In May, storms blow in from time to time, pouring briefly onto the still-dry ground. By June, the storms are coming several times a week, and sometimes they last for up to an hour. Once July starts, you are carrying your umbrella when you go out. It rains every day, usually at least once a day. Sometimes it will be a storm, complete with flashes of lightning and terrifyingly loud thunder, sometimes a long drizzle. When August comes, you can count on its raining every day for several hours at a time. There may be some lightning and thunder, but mostly it’s just rain, steadily drumming the corrugated tin roofs, filling up plastic containers and buckets we have all set out for that purpose. In August, the mud becomes an issue; the Earth has finally become saturated, and puddles spread everywhere. Grassy areas become marshes, sandy areas turn into sloughs.
But with the late July and August rains, the temperature drops dramatically. Neighbours pull out their long sleeves and socks. No more sleeping with the fan on; instead, it’s snuggling with blankets and warm pyjamas. Instead of cold water, we’re drinking tea and hot cocoa in the afternoons and evenings.
And it’s in these weeks of blissful rain and cool temps that I remember why I love Nigeria so much, why nothing in the U.S. could ever compare to this place. Though the blistering heat of October will drive these blithe memories from my mind, for now I will relish the joy of the African rain.
Falegan's wedding
The Internet is back up! Yay! What a relief. I wouldn’t call myself a web addict, but I certainly do enjoy my browsing and email time!
Yesterday, our friend Dr. Falegan got married here in town, at a church called Living Faith. This happens to be the same church David and I went to a year ago tomorrow, the day he proposed to me after church! Living Faith is a huge church that follows the “health, wealth, and prosperity” gospel: If you follow God’s ways and live right, you won’t have any problems and will prosper, so if you are experiencing suffering, you’re obviously living in sin. David took me there last year just to give me a taste of this prosperity preaching that is amazingly popular here in Nigeria. One of the biggest church buildings in the world is a Living Faith sanctuary in Lagos, or so I’ve heard.
Yesterday, our friend Dr. Falegan got married here in town, at a church called Living Faith. This happens to be the same church David and I went to a year ago tomorrow, the day he proposed to me after church! Living Faith is a huge church that follows the “health, wealth, and prosperity” gospel: If you follow God’s ways and live right, you won’t have any problems and will prosper, so if you are experiencing suffering, you’re obviously living in sin. David took me there last year just to give me a taste of this prosperity preaching that is amazingly popular here in Nigeria. One of the biggest church buildings in the world is a Living Faith sanctuary in Lagos, or so I’ve heard.
David had told me the one good thing about Living Faith weddings is that they’re prompt. And he was right! We arrived at 10:25 for the 10am ceremony. The parking l
ot was virtually empty, but when we went inside, we discovered the ceremony well advanced. We arrived just in time to hear the end of the vows and witness the exchange of rings. The first thing I noticed after sitting down—besides the tall, flashy fluorescent green headtie/hat of the woman two rows ahead—was that there were three couples at the front. David had warned me this might be the case, but I was still amused. Falegan and his bride were the couple in the middle, and we could just barely see them from where we sat.
All in all, it was the most enjoyable Nigerian wedding I’ve been to—and you know I’ve been to plenty in the past seven months. The music was fun (I love watching David “dance”!), the sermon was good (from the Ephesians admonition to husbands and wives), and we were able to leave by 11:45! The wedding wasn’t technically over at that point, but they were just signing the marriage register, which is a very Nigerian part of every wedding ceremony. We skipped the reception; we weren’t even sure where it was. But it was sure an interesting hour-and-a-half! I just wish my camera had better flash!
Other notes:
ot was virtually empty, but when we went inside, we discovered the ceremony well advanced. We arrived just in time to hear the end of the vows and witness the exchange of rings. The first thing I noticed after sitting down—besides the tall, flashy fluorescent green headtie/hat of the woman two rows ahead—was that there were three couples at the front. David had warned me this might be the case, but I was still amused. Falegan and his bride were the couple in the middle, and we could just barely see them from where we sat.All in all, it was the most enjoyable Nigerian wedding I’ve been to—and you know I’ve been to plenty in the past seven months. The music was fun (I love watching David “dance”!), the sermon was good (from the Ephesians admonition to husbands and wives), and we were able to leave by 11:45! The wedding wasn’t technically over at that point, but they were just signing the marriage register, which is a very Nigerian part of every wedding ceremony. We skipped the reception; we weren’t even sure where it was. But it was sure an interesting hour-and-a-half! I just wish my camera had better flash!
Other notes:
- We’ve been cat-sitting for three weeks now, and I’ve finally decided to call the little one Tigger. He’s not orange, but he’s striped, and we at least presume it’s a “he.” His owner, Sara, came to town for two hours last Monday and told me she and her husband were traveling to Zambia today and wouldn’t be back until after August 3rd. So Tigger’s stuck with us for another two weeks! It’s a good thing he and Zoe are getting along so well now.
- The new Harry Potter book is out!! I’m hoping to get my copy in about two weeks, and I’m anxious to read it. I also wish I could see the new movie. I hear it’s fabulous!!
- I made orange Kool-Aid last night, and it really hit the spot. Okay, so Kool-Aid may not seem like a big deal, but at $1 per package, it’s something we don’t have often. This is the first time I’ve made it, I think. David liked it, too, so now I have to start budgeting to get Kool-Aid at the Lebanese store in town at least once in awhile! I was really excited this week when a missionary friend brought me some Cheez-Itz back from the States!! Yes! It’s amazing the things you miss when you’re here. Oh, and flavoured instant oatmeal. Mmmm. I thank God for generous friends!
July 20, 2007
Still waiting
Wow, this is getting annoying. Still waiting for our Internet to return... You see, the people who were supposed to pay the bill (through August)...well...goofed somehow. It's not the first time, and it certainly won't be the last. Seems to happen more months than it doesn't. The problem's now been rectified, but we're at the mercy of the Internet provider to pull the switch again! This week has been very busy with work but other than that, pretty normal. Looking forward to the weekend, though. Woohoo!!
We haven't gone back to our house yet... except to see the "mosquito nets" (i.e. window screens). Thank God we now have screens on the windows! Next we're hoping to get the cabinet in the kitchen and then a BED!! Yes! I really do miss sleeping on a bed. What fun.
Honest, I promise I'll write something more interesting once our Internet is back up and I have more online time! Thanks to everyone for your support and comments. And yes, Lisa, we do have to do all the work on our house ourselves--or at least get it done. As for the pillar in the middle of our living room...well...it's not even a smooth surface but ribbed!! Ha. So, who knows? Maybe we can drape cloth around it and make it colourful!
We haven't gone back to our house yet... except to see the "mosquito nets" (i.e. window screens). Thank God we now have screens on the windows! Next we're hoping to get the cabinet in the kitchen and then a BED!! Yes! I really do miss sleeping on a bed. What fun.
Honest, I promise I'll write something more interesting once our Internet is back up and I have more online time! Thanks to everyone for your support and comments. And yes, Lisa, we do have to do all the work on our house ourselves--or at least get it done. As for the pillar in the middle of our living room...well...it's not even a smooth surface but ribbed!! Ha. So, who knows? Maybe we can drape cloth around it and make it colourful!
July 18, 2007
Internet down
Our Internet's been down for a few days. It's actually a very OINK story (Only In Nigeria, Kai!), but perhaps now's not the time to discuss it. Dad and I are at the mission headquarters in town, which is our "Internet cafe" of choice. The Internet is fast and good, so it's nice for this little break. I just hope the Net at Evangel gets back up and running soon. Bear with me! I'll write a real post soon!
Today's our 8-monthiversary, so we're going out for dinner. Yay! :)
Today's our 8-monthiversary, so we're going out for dinner. Yay! :)
July 12, 2007
The empty house
David and I just got back from taking my mom to see our new apartment, and boy, am I overwhelmed! I took a clipboard with paper and pen to make notes, and now I’ve decided that’s not enough. So I started a binder for all of our house issues. So far there are separate pages for Carpenter, Electrical, Lights, Curtains, Furniture, and Cleaning, but I’m sure I’ll come up with more the next time I visit.
For those of you who have lived in the U.S. all your lives, it will be impossible for you to imagine the state of our apartment. The good news is that we’re not moving in until the last week of August or first week of September. The bad news is that there are a million things to do before and after we move in. Try and picture this with me:
We unlock the front door (they’ve given us four keys) and step inside. The floor is tiled here in the living room. There is a high ceiling above and two windows on our left, where the living room opens out—two bare walls to our left and a bare wall to the right. In the middle of the room is a huge pillar (?). The room is rather dark; it never gets any direct sunlight. David tries the light switch, but there are no bulbs in the four fixtures around the living room. Ah. They had told us there would be a ceiling fan, but—surprise! No ceiling fan. How can there be with a pillar in the middle of the room? And we’re talking a honking pillar, at least 3’ in diameter. No kidding. Right in the middle of the living room. Hmm.
As we move into the dining room, we notice that the tiles change abruptly from one design to another. It’s actually quite comical. The dining room is just three bare walls, including one large window, an arch for the fourth wall, and four light fixtures (no bulbs). There’s a J-box for a ceiling fan but no fan. A door on the left leads into the tile-floor kitchen.
It’s not big but not as tiny as the kitchen in our current flat. There’s an empty light socket in the middle of the ceiling. On the far wall is a window that gets morning light and a steel door with no lock, only two sliding bolts that don’t want to open. They’re probably painted shut. Under the window is a sink with a small steel sideboard (all one piece of metal). Water splutters out of the tap but then stops. Hmm. The sink is the only thing in the kitchen. The other walls are entirely bare, with one large outlet (meant for a stove/oven) where we’ll never be able to use it, right between the back door and the kitchen door, and one more outlet on the empty wall to the left of the door. It’s an awkward place for a fridge… We’ll have to figure something out. There are no cupboards, no shelves, nada.
Through the kitchen is a small storeroom we could use for a pantry—or “time out” room for the kids?—with a small, high window, bare concrete floor, and an empty light socket in the ceiling. The door locks—don’t ask me why! The walls are entirely bare. I figure we’ll have to put shelves in there if not cupboards. But we can’t put the fridge in there because—you guessed it—no outlets. We go back through the kitchen and dining room into the hallway. There are two empty light sockets in the ceiling and two outlets. Good. Mom stays behind in the storeroom to measure the window for potential curtains.
David and I go into the bathroom. It’s only big enough for a bathtub, toilet, and sink. Everything is filthy, covered with dried paint and dirt. The toilet tank has no cover, but the toilet seat is intact, and water trickles from the tap. Yes! The walls and floor are tiled (pink and blue) to about 7’ or 8’ high, and there’s an empty light socket overhead. I don’t know if we’ll be able to hang a mirror because of the tiled walls. But the good thing is the door locks—or at least, it will once we get the lock oiled. Right now it sticks. There’s a switch to on the water heater but no water heater, just an empty J-box. Aha. David tells me water heaters are rather expensive, not including the cost of getting them installed. Great.
The corner bedroom is the brightest; it receives direct sunlight more than half the day and has windows on two walls. We’ll need good curtains in there. The floor is bare concrete; we’ll have to bring in the carpet we’re using in our current living room. There are four empty light fixtures and a built-in closet (something we don’t have in our current flat!). But there is no rod to hang up hangers, so we’ll have to get the carpenter to do that in all three bedrooms. There is even a lock on the closet door, but we’ll never be able to lock it because the doors won’t close tightly due to wood expansion common in the rainy season. The other two bedrooms are much the same. The third has only one window, and the master bedroom has a smaller closet to accommodate the adjoining bathroom. How ironic. The master bathroom is exactly like the main bathroom. I notice that it, too, has a handheld shower fixture in the bathtub. Excellent. The tiles in here all have a pink design. For some reason, this is funny to me.
Mom finishes measuring all the windows, and we regroup. This place needs a whole lot of work. First things first, we’ll need screens put on the windows. Then we’ll ask the carpenter to put up boards above the living room windows to accommodate our curtain rods, which won’t screw easily into the concrete walls. After that we’ll have him build a cabinet under the kitchen sink. Our plans after that are still muddled. We’ll need to get the place cleaned; scraping dried oil-based paint off tiles is not on my list of favourite activities, so we’ll have to hire someone to clean for us. Should that be done before, after, or while the carpenter works? Without Ikea, Walmart, or Target, we’re going to give somebody a lot of business building our furniture. All we have is (2) bookcases, (2) dressers, (6) dining room chairs, an old sideboard/cabinet from my mom’s bathroom, and a canvas wardrobe from Walmart. That’s the extent of our furniture! We also need to buy (20) light bulbs if we can figure out the right wattage for each.
Well, we have our work cut out for us. Next time I go, I’ll try to remember my camera and give you an idea of what we’re up against. And how are we going to pay for all the work?? God only knows. Pray for us!
For those of you who have lived in the U.S. all your lives, it will be impossible for you to imagine the state of our apartment. The good news is that we’re not moving in until the last week of August or first week of September. The bad news is that there are a million things to do before and after we move in. Try and picture this with me:
We unlock the front door (they’ve given us four keys) and step inside. The floor is tiled here in the living room. There is a high ceiling above and two windows on our left, where the living room opens out—two bare walls to our left and a bare wall to the right. In the middle of the room is a huge pillar (?). The room is rather dark; it never gets any direct sunlight. David tries the light switch, but there are no bulbs in the four fixtures around the living room. Ah. They had told us there would be a ceiling fan, but—surprise! No ceiling fan. How can there be with a pillar in the middle of the room? And we’re talking a honking pillar, at least 3’ in diameter. No kidding. Right in the middle of the living room. Hmm.
As we move into the dining room, we notice that the tiles change abruptly from one design to another. It’s actually quite comical. The dining room is just three bare walls, including one large window, an arch for the fourth wall, and four light fixtures (no bulbs). There’s a J-box for a ceiling fan but no fan. A door on the left leads into the tile-floor kitchen.
It’s not big but not as tiny as the kitchen in our current flat. There’s an empty light socket in the middle of the ceiling. On the far wall is a window that gets morning light and a steel door with no lock, only two sliding bolts that don’t want to open. They’re probably painted shut. Under the window is a sink with a small steel sideboard (all one piece of metal). Water splutters out of the tap but then stops. Hmm. The sink is the only thing in the kitchen. The other walls are entirely bare, with one large outlet (meant for a stove/oven) where we’ll never be able to use it, right between the back door and the kitchen door, and one more outlet on the empty wall to the left of the door. It’s an awkward place for a fridge… We’ll have to figure something out. There are no cupboards, no shelves, nada.
Through the kitchen is a small storeroom we could use for a pantry—or “time out” room for the kids?—with a small, high window, bare concrete floor, and an empty light socket in the ceiling. The door locks—don’t ask me why! The walls are entirely bare. I figure we’ll have to put shelves in there if not cupboards. But we can’t put the fridge in there because—you guessed it—no outlets. We go back through the kitchen and dining room into the hallway. There are two empty light sockets in the ceiling and two outlets. Good. Mom stays behind in the storeroom to measure the window for potential curtains.
David and I go into the bathroom. It’s only big enough for a bathtub, toilet, and sink. Everything is filthy, covered with dried paint and dirt. The toilet tank has no cover, but the toilet seat is intact, and water trickles from the tap. Yes! The walls and floor are tiled (pink and blue) to about 7’ or 8’ high, and there’s an empty light socket overhead. I don’t know if we’ll be able to hang a mirror because of the tiled walls. But the good thing is the door locks—or at least, it will once we get the lock oiled. Right now it sticks. There’s a switch to on the water heater but no water heater, just an empty J-box. Aha. David tells me water heaters are rather expensive, not including the cost of getting them installed. Great.
The corner bedroom is the brightest; it receives direct sunlight more than half the day and has windows on two walls. We’ll need good curtains in there. The floor is bare concrete; we’ll have to bring in the carpet we’re using in our current living room. There are four empty light fixtures and a built-in closet (something we don’t have in our current flat!). But there is no rod to hang up hangers, so we’ll have to get the carpenter to do that in all three bedrooms. There is even a lock on the closet door, but we’ll never be able to lock it because the doors won’t close tightly due to wood expansion common in the rainy season. The other two bedrooms are much the same. The third has only one window, and the master bedroom has a smaller closet to accommodate the adjoining bathroom. How ironic. The master bathroom is exactly like the main bathroom. I notice that it, too, has a handheld shower fixture in the bathtub. Excellent. The tiles in here all have a pink design. For some reason, this is funny to me.
Mom finishes measuring all the windows, and we regroup. This place needs a whole lot of work. First things first, we’ll need screens put on the windows. Then we’ll ask the carpenter to put up boards above the living room windows to accommodate our curtain rods, which won’t screw easily into the concrete walls. After that we’ll have him build a cabinet under the kitchen sink. Our plans after that are still muddled. We’ll need to get the place cleaned; scraping dried oil-based paint off tiles is not on my list of favourite activities, so we’ll have to hire someone to clean for us. Should that be done before, after, or while the carpenter works? Without Ikea, Walmart, or Target, we’re going to give somebody a lot of business building our furniture. All we have is (2) bookcases, (2) dressers, (6) dining room chairs, an old sideboard/cabinet from my mom’s bathroom, and a canvas wardrobe from Walmart. That’s the extent of our furniture! We also need to buy (20) light bulbs if we can figure out the right wattage for each.
Well, we have our work cut out for us. Next time I go, I’ll try to remember my camera and give you an idea of what we’re up against. And how are we going to pay for all the work?? God only knows. Pray for us!
July 10, 2007
This is why I need valium on the road.
It was raining when we left work yesterday. Matthias (who drives for my boss, Sid) helped me to the car with an umbrella because I was paranoid about my [David's] computer getting wet. It wasn't even raining too hard at that point, but who would say "no, thank you" to a gentleman holding an umbrella over your head?
It was a different car than the one in which we'd arrived at work in the morning, but I've learned not to ask questions about things like that. Maybe the white station wagon was lined up in a queue to get petrol at one of the filling stations, hoping beyond reasonable hope to get fuel. Who knows? But I sat up front by habit, and then felt bad because Uncle Sid had to squash into the backseat with two passengers. (I didn't know we had passengers, honestly!)
We started home, and the rain started pounding pretty hard on the car. There was a sunroof over my head--blessedly shut--and I looked up at it, startled. I don't see sunroofs that often here. Matthias asked if it was leaking, and I said no, I just wanted to look at it. (Call me crazy.) The windscreen had completely fogged up, and Matthias kept wiping it with his hand. Uncle Sid asked me to roll down the window a bit to help ventilate. Silly me. After doing what he asked, I then fiddled with the air controls so that air was coming out the defrost vent. (Apparently, this was a new concept to dear Matthias. Maybe it was just something I learned by necessity living in Chicagoland for five years.) The windscreen finally cleared up, and Uncle Sid leaned back in his seat and relaxed.
We were going too fast. Not speeding fast, but too fast for the storm. I gripped the door handle at every turn and prayed God would keep us safe. Once we turned onto the main road back to Jos, I realised how heavily it was raining. The roads were flooded in many places. To my consternation, Matthias didn't seem to even slow down. The word hydroplane became fixed in my mind, and it was all I could do to not snap at the driver to slow down. One puddle we went through was so deep I honestly thought I'd see water coming in under the door. I thought of how a friend had accidentally flooded her parents' car in the Chicago flood last October. Oh boy.
But somehow we made it out of that puddle and all the others. Matthias said that when the rains were bad, the other side of the dual carriageway was impassible, that both sides of traffic had to drive on the side we were on. (And that was better?) The rain finally petered out once we got into town, and we passed a large van that had its right two wheels stuck in the ditch/gutter on the shoulder of the road. Oops. Oh, and did I mention that something was wrong with the transmission, and Matthias kad to keep slamming on the brakes and gunning the engine to keep us going? Freaky.
And throughout the ride I heard snatches of conversation from the backseat. Our two passengers were from Oyo State and from Calabar, and the woman (from Calabar) had worked at a hospital in Ireland (Republic of) for a few months. She and Uncle Sid (who's from N. Ireland) talked about Port Harcourt traffic, and I laughed on the inside. According to Uncle Sid, a family traveling recently had spent five hours once they reached Port Harcourt to get to their destination within the city, all because of traffic. Now, I don't remember its being that bad, but then I wasn't driving, either. And David's sister-in-law Stella is a pro at driving in the city.
Port Harcourt driving...I was only in Port Harcourt two nights last November/December. And it was a nightmare. For one thing, there's no power most of the time, so whatever traffic lights exist are entirely pointless. For another thing, there are no traffic police (yellow fevers) either. And there aren't very many roundabouts (traffic circles) as there are in Jos. If you approach a given intersection, it is already filled with cars going all directions, and it takes literally 5-10 minutes to maneuver around all the cars without getting plowed into by a bigger vehicle and at the same time without plowing into the motorcycles. It's insane. I've never seen anything like it. I've heard driving in Rome is crazy, but I won't believe it's worse than Port Harcourt until I see it. Good grief.
The woman from Calabar told of a man she knew who had spent all night trying to get home after work and then had to turn right around--without reaching home at all--and go back to work because it was already morning! God forbid I should ever live in a city like that. Give me Jos any day.
Somehow I made it to my parents' gate alive and well, if a little frazzled. The rain had stopped, and the air was fresh. But I will never feel safe driving in the rain with Matthias again!
**On a lighter note, I GOT MY LICENSE! The picture is absolutely dreadful, not even simply "bad," but really and truly wretched. Otherwise I might post a snap of it. But hey, at least now I'm a legal driver! :)
It was a different car than the one in which we'd arrived at work in the morning, but I've learned not to ask questions about things like that. Maybe the white station wagon was lined up in a queue to get petrol at one of the filling stations, hoping beyond reasonable hope to get fuel. Who knows? But I sat up front by habit, and then felt bad because Uncle Sid had to squash into the backseat with two passengers. (I didn't know we had passengers, honestly!)
We started home, and the rain started pounding pretty hard on the car. There was a sunroof over my head--blessedly shut--and I looked up at it, startled. I don't see sunroofs that often here. Matthias asked if it was leaking, and I said no, I just wanted to look at it. (Call me crazy.) The windscreen had completely fogged up, and Matthias kept wiping it with his hand. Uncle Sid asked me to roll down the window a bit to help ventilate. Silly me. After doing what he asked, I then fiddled with the air controls so that air was coming out the defrost vent. (Apparently, this was a new concept to dear Matthias. Maybe it was just something I learned by necessity living in Chicagoland for five years.) The windscreen finally cleared up, and Uncle Sid leaned back in his seat and relaxed.
We were going too fast. Not speeding fast, but too fast for the storm. I gripped the door handle at every turn and prayed God would keep us safe. Once we turned onto the main road back to Jos, I realised how heavily it was raining. The roads were flooded in many places. To my consternation, Matthias didn't seem to even slow down. The word hydroplane became fixed in my mind, and it was all I could do to not snap at the driver to slow down. One puddle we went through was so deep I honestly thought I'd see water coming in under the door. I thought of how a friend had accidentally flooded her parents' car in the Chicago flood last October. Oh boy.
But somehow we made it out of that puddle and all the others. Matthias said that when the rains were bad, the other side of the dual carriageway was impassible, that both sides of traffic had to drive on the side we were on. (And that was better?) The rain finally petered out once we got into town, and we passed a large van that had its right two wheels stuck in the ditch/gutter on the shoulder of the road. Oops. Oh, and did I mention that something was wrong with the transmission, and Matthias kad to keep slamming on the brakes and gunning the engine to keep us going? Freaky.
And throughout the ride I heard snatches of conversation from the backseat. Our two passengers were from Oyo State and from Calabar, and the woman (from Calabar) had worked at a hospital in Ireland (Republic of) for a few months. She and Uncle Sid (who's from N. Ireland) talked about Port Harcourt traffic, and I laughed on the inside. According to Uncle Sid, a family traveling recently had spent five hours once they reached Port Harcourt to get to their destination within the city, all because of traffic. Now, I don't remember its being that bad, but then I wasn't driving, either. And David's sister-in-law Stella is a pro at driving in the city.
Port Harcourt driving...I was only in Port Harcourt two nights last November/December. And it was a nightmare. For one thing, there's no power most of the time, so whatever traffic lights exist are entirely pointless. For another thing, there are no traffic police (yellow fevers) either. And there aren't very many roundabouts (traffic circles) as there are in Jos. If you approach a given intersection, it is already filled with cars going all directions, and it takes literally 5-10 minutes to maneuver around all the cars without getting plowed into by a bigger vehicle and at the same time without plowing into the motorcycles. It's insane. I've never seen anything like it. I've heard driving in Rome is crazy, but I won't believe it's worse than Port Harcourt until I see it. Good grief.
The woman from Calabar told of a man she knew who had spent all night trying to get home after work and then had to turn right around--without reaching home at all--and go back to work because it was already morning! God forbid I should ever live in a city like that. Give me Jos any day.
Somehow I made it to my parents' gate alive and well, if a little frazzled. The rain had stopped, and the air was fresh. But I will never feel safe driving in the rain with Matthias again!
**On a lighter note, I GOT MY LICENSE! The picture is absolutely dreadful, not even simply "bad," but really and truly wretched. Otherwise I might post a snap of it. But hey, at least now I'm a legal driver! :)
July 05, 2007
Braving Katako
Susan arrived at 9:15 this morning to go with me to the used clothes market at Katako, a nearby (predominantly Muslim) neighbourhood in Jos. I hadn't been there since...probably 1997 or 1998, so it's been a while. But I needed to look for some maternity clothes, so Susan offered to go with me, since she needed some stuff, too.
That part of town is a maze, and this morning, it was busy with traffic weaving around potholes full of last night's rain (and who knows what else). I admire Susan so much for her driving skills, patience, and--above all--bravery! We parked in the parking lot of a nearby school and walked the last few hundred yards to the market. We got a lot of stares, and several children walking by shouted, "Baturia!" (white woman). But we're used to that, especially in that part of town.
It was muddy from last night's rain, and we hoped the still-sprinkling clouds would clear up as we shopped rather than dumping more rain on our expedition. (Thank you, God!) We turned down the road leading to the market and negotiated puddles, broken bits of pavement, and motorcycles while crossing to the market alleyway. Let me just say that the market has changed tremendously since I was there last. In '97, it was a hodgepodge group of tin-sided shanty stalls all facing a dirt road that ran between two rows. Now the place is built up. The stalls are actually in concrete buildings (some even have glass doors!). Going down the alleyway between them is like going down a hallway with open rooms on either side as far as the eye can see.
We had no idea where to go to find maternity clothes, so we asked a few shopkeepers. After passing many closed shops (which were open when we left two hours later), we started our shopping.
Of course, most of you have shopped at your nearest resale shop, consignment store, thrift store, Salvation Army, or wherever. You know it's just a tedious process of looking through pretty much everything there is in a particular category. Katako is no different. We looked through shops for almost two hours and came up with three dresses for me (for a total of US$8.85) and two shirts for Susan. Not great, but not bad! I'm afraid we got our first two dresses for about $1.50 each, so after that, when one man quoted us a price of N1300 ($10) for a particular dress, we bargained until he was asking for his "last price" of N800 ($6) and walked away. The prices didn't seem to go down at all, though. I bought my next dress for N750!! But oh well.
The neatest shop Susan took me to (one with glass doors) was a store full of Indian-style outfits. Each outfit had a knee-length sheer shift with slits up the sides, and a matching pair of trousers. They were so lovely, I could have spent an hour in that shop just looking at each one. Sadly, none were big enough to accommodate my growing tummy (Baby "Kes" is due Nov 14th, so I'm almost five months along). So I told the shopkeeper I might return after I "put to bed" (pidgin for delivering a baby).
Our last stop was a shop Susan knew well and had been to several times before. We sat there for about twenty minutes looking through two bundles of shirts. (You have to realise these "shops" are stalls only about 10' deep and 3 or 4' across. Pretty tiny. So there's not a lot of space to display clothes. Most of them are stacked on benches or still in bags or bundles.) Almost all of the shirts were either miniscule or too sheer (or both). It makes sense, considering most young women here are just small in general. But kai, it was frustrating. Susan and I aren't particularly large, but we still had a hard time finding shirts! We must have looked at a hundred or so. Some of them had funny slogans ("You've got me. What are your other two wishes?" and "So close, and yet so far from getting my number!"), and some were cute, but... Yeah. While Susan crammed behind a curtain to try on a shirt (in an area smaller than a phone booth), I had a nice chat with the lady who sat 2" away from me on a bench facing my plastic purple stool. She was a largish woman and was complaining to me--who completely understood--her woes about finding clothes to fit her. I listened and sympathised, and nodded, and passed her a few shirts I thought might be big enough for her. Poor woman. Susan finally bought the two shirts that fit her (and were decent), paid the men and spoke to them about Jesus, and we started home.
So I have three "new" dresses and a lot to laugh about! Thanks, Susan! I had a good time. :)
Cat Sitting Day 4
For anyone who cares, Zoë is finally getting along with our imposter kitty (who remains nameless). They chase each other's tails, growl over the same bowl of food (hello! I filled two bowls!), and pounce on each other at odd moments. I think the kitty is finally realising who's the boss in our house!How can I keep this new kitty from jumping on the table during meals, without actually putting him away into another room? Will he never learn? Any hints?
This photo was not staged!
July 04, 2007
The week without Lydia
Lydia's been gone a week today.
It's been a hard adjustment. I've said goodbye to so many babies over the years--the most painful of which was to Aaron in August 1991--but as I get older, I remember better, I think.
All right, so I clearly remember saying farewell to Aaron 16 years ago. I was nine then, and he had just turned two. It was a Sunday afternoon, if I remember correctly. And when we left the apartment building in which his mother lived, he was wailing. We were all falling apart in one way or another. And on our way home, we got into a car accident. Lisa broke her nose... It was just a bad day. I often wonder how Aaron is these days, if he's even still alive, if he's in jail...
Anyway, I'm pretty sure Lydia will do all right with her new family, but we sure miss her. So many times I've tried to put into words why and how we miss her, and what in particular we miss. But words fail me, and I just have to sigh. I've been a foster sister since 1987. Twenty years. Wow. And soon I'll be a mom and will not (Lord willing) have to say goodbye to another baby anytime soon! This baby will be mine (on loan from God) for keeps.
It's been a hard adjustment. I've said goodbye to so many babies over the years--the most painful of which was to Aaron in August 1991--but as I get older, I remember better, I think.
All right, so I clearly remember saying farewell to Aaron 16 years ago. I was nine then, and he had just turned two. It was a Sunday afternoon, if I remember correctly. And when we left the apartment building in which his mother lived, he was wailing. We were all falling apart in one way or another. And on our way home, we got into a car accident. Lisa broke her nose... It was just a bad day. I often wonder how Aaron is these days, if he's even still alive, if he's in jail...
Anyway, I'm pretty sure Lydia will do all right with her new family, but we sure miss her. So many times I've tried to put into words why and how we miss her, and what in particular we miss. But words fail me, and I just have to sigh. I've been a foster sister since 1987. Twenty years. Wow. And soon I'll be a mom and will not (Lord willing) have to say goodbye to another baby anytime soon! This baby will be mine (on loan from God) for keeps.
July 03, 2007
My first accomplishment!
Work pays off! It really does! Yesterday, my boss brought over a brand-new copy of the first book I really worked on intensively for ACTS, Legacy of Wisdom by Daniel Bitrus. It's a collection of African stories and proverbs, mostly to help with sermons, but also just interesting (and funny) in general.
It's SO exciting to see the fruit of my labours! Woohoo!
I've already found a typo, but... you just can't catch them all, can you??
Okay, I'm finishing up now. Baby is distracting me with his kicks, or punches, or whatever they are!
July 02, 2007
Cat Sitting - Day 1
My friend Sara is accompanying her husband Sunny on a three-week business trip, so I volunteered to watch her new kitten for the duration.Was that wise?
Well, offering to watch the poor thing was undoubtedly a good idea. Her neighbours have small children who might have terrorized the kitty if they’d had the opportunity to “take care” of him. But the easiest thing—and here’s the rub—was for me to bring the kitty home with me while Sara’s gone.
I know, I know. Cats have a hard time getting along. But I know lots of people who have multiple cats, and didn’t necessarily get them at the same time. So it has to work out, right?
Or am I wrong?
Zoë really doesn’t like sharing the house. The only thing I can think to compare it to is that Zoë is the uwargida (matron of the house), and is treating this “imposter” kitty like a new amarya (bride). As though I’ve taken two wives, and the senior one is treating the junior one horribly! (The analogy doesn’t quite work, as the kitten is probably male, but that’s not the point.)
My question is…will they get along eventually? Or will Zoë continue to hiss and growl every time she sees the kitten for the whole three weeks? Should I try it for a few days and if it doesn’t work out, take the kitten back to his home and just feed him there every day? Sara’s house isn’t far; only a 15-minute walk. But the kitten will get pretty lonely in that apartment all by himself.
Also, because this kitten is only about nine weeks old and very recent to Sara and Sunny, he/she/it still doesn’t have a name. Should I go for the next three weeks calling it, “Kitty”? Or should I give it a provisional name? I haven’t really thought of anything suitable yet anyway (considering they’re not sure it’s a boy), but I can’t imagine just calling him, “Kitty” all the time.
So I throw my hands up in the air and wait to see what happens next.
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