Hosting a murder

Last Thursday was Marc's 24th birthday, so I decided to host a murder.

Have you ever done one of those? Here's how it works:

You gather a bunch of people together--in this case, eight--for a party. Each person is given a role to play and knows only a bit about himself before attending the party. Costumes are optional but make the game much more fun.

Once the guests arrive, each one is given a little booklet to play the game. On the first page are the rules, which all read aloud. Next, the scene is set so the guests have some idea of where they are and why they've been called to this particular setting. Then each guest silently reads additional information about himself included in the booklet. These are juicy bits of information that are meant for him to either "Reveal" or "Conceal." After the guests introduce themselves and listen to a tape recording of the murder event to which they are now witnesses, there are four rounds during which the guests--and the host, if he's participating--try to discover the murderer. Each person has a motive, and usually an opportunity, which comes out during these rounds. Guests try to conceal the information that incriminates them and reveal information about others to incriminate them. This involves revealing secret clues with additional information. It's all an acting game, throwing yourself into your assigned role and defending your character to the best of your ability, while shamelessly accusing all other guests of vile acts.

We met in ancient Rome, at the home of a renowned poet, and had to figure out which one of us had killed him. It was great fun! Mom made a wonderful meal, and I made and decorated a birthday cake. We all sat down and dove into the game. Part of the fun is that not even the murderer knows he's the murderer until the very end of the game, so each of us could equally be the guilty one. The game was littered with corny jokes and funny jokes alike, and references to modern culture, and we all had a good laugh--especially at the "laurel crown" with which our glorious Caesar adorned himself for the evening. (Oh how I wish I had photos!)

But I can't tell you who the murderer was! Maybe you'll want to play it, too! Check out How to Host a Murder®.

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Carnival Dinner '07

Saturday night, about 6:15, we all piled into my parents' white Toyota station wagon and set off for the Carnival Dinner. There are so few events here in the missions community of Jos that I get excited about all of them! Every year, the 10th graders put together a fundraiser we call the Carnival. When I was in high school (does that phrase make me sound old or what?), the Carnival Dinner was part of the Carnival, put on in early March. The class not only organised a whole day of activities--mostly for children--like a fun fair, with face-painting, horseback riding, a zip line, a bouncing castle, a water slide, lots of food and prizes, etc, but they also organised a special dinner that same night, in two different seatings. It was a lot of work.

Actually, I was on furlough when my class did the Carnival, so I didn't lift a finger to help. Thank God.

A few years later, though, someone brilliant suggested the sophomores split up the dinner from the rest of the event. They could have the Carnival Dinner in the fall and the Carnival in the Spring. *ding!* What a noval idea!

So on Saturday, we went to the Carnival Dinner, put on by the sophomores--to whom I taught English for three weeks in September. I was eager to see them shine and to eat yummy Italian food.

But we got to the Hill Station intersection, about halfway from our compound to the school, and discovered complete mayhem. Now, I've seen bad traffic, and I've sat in terrible jams, but I'd never seen anything like this in Jos. We sat at the intersection--and then in the intersection--for over 15 minutes. Total chaos reigned, as cars darted and inched all around the junction. (I guess I should mention that the traffic light at this particular junction hasn't worked in at least five years.) Motorcycles rushed helter-skelter in between larger vehicles. Cars turned right and made U-turns to turn right again and by-pass the major trouble. Vehicles to our right turned left in front of us and vice versa. When David made to climb out of the car and try to bring order, we all shouted at him--kindly, of course--to get back in the car, where he was safe! Finally, some concerned and angry drivers left their cars holding belts and stood in the middle of the intersection to direct traffic or else. We carefully pulled through the junction and inched up the road on the other side, which was congested by cars doing U-turns in the middle of the street. What a nightmare!

And somehow we made it to the dinner only ten minutes late! Boy, were we hungry, and the food was spectacular. We feasted on breadsticks with parmesan cheese (which you can't get here, so it's a particular delicacy), Caesar salad (which, I'm sure, was also brought in a dressing packet from the States), lasagna, chicken parmesan with spaghetti, pizza, and afterward, brownies with vanilla ice-cream and chocolate sauce. Yum!! And to drink they served ice-cold water and chilled berry juice, plus coffee and tea, and each table was served a bottle of sparkling grape juice. WOW! Each table was decorated with red, white, or green strips of cloth, sprinkled with uncooked pasta, and sported a lit candle in a glass bottle and a vase with an Italian flag, ferms, and roses. The only thing missing was romantic Italian music--which, we heard later, had been planned but wouldn't play because of the extra-low current that evening. (We also heard that the poor sophomores had been cooking in the kitchen by candlelight!) It was the best Carnival Dinner I've been to ever, perhaps, and I'm so proud of my sophomores (and their class sponsors)! Thank you!

Burning heartache

The past few months I've been experiencing heartburn, but this is altogether different.

My heart goes out to all of my family and friends who are in Southern California. Next to Wheaton, Southern California is the closest thing in the U.S. I have to "home," and so many of my loved ones live there. I've been glad to hear that my host family in Encinitas for the 2005-2006 year are safe, and their house has not been affected by the fires. But so many others have had to flee their homes, and I'm still not sure what the outcome is, or will be. One of the churches that supports my parents has burned down, and the church where my brother-in-law grew up has also burned down.

Honestly, a selfish part of me is glad to be here during this crisis, far away from all the destruction and pain. I heard so much about the 2003 San Diego fires while I lived in San Diego, and all the talk scared me. I thank God I live in a place without any such natural disasters. (Instead we have malaria, meningitis, cholera, typhoid, and HIV.) But I do love southern California in many ways, and inside me, I am weeping for my kauye, my village. Please remember my family and friends in your prayers.

A shower of blessing

Yesterday I was the "guest of honour" at Baby Kes' baby shower, and I'm still overwhelmed by the love and gifts showered upon Kes and me. My friends and family had organised a cross-continents shower, with gifts coming from as far away as Korea. Wow!!

~ ~ ~ ~ The funniest part of the shower--not funny "haha" necessarily--was that it was in the same place, attended by many of the same people, as had been my bridal shower almost exactly a year earlier! They pronounced me a good Nigerian wife for giving my husband a baby within a year of our wedding, and we all laughed (though I was embarrassed by this public pronouncement).

~ ~ ~ ~ The shower attendees were even more international than the gifts, coming from the U.S., Canada, Ireland, France, New Zealand, Nigeria, and India. I hadn't realised that baby showers were an American thing, but I assured my good Irish friend--who's getting married in April to a Nigerian man--that we'll throw her a baby shower when the time comes, even if it's not cultural! One surprise was seeing my classmate Aaron, who's just returned to Nigeria after having schooled and lived in the U.S. for seven years. He dropped off his wife and picked her up afterward, so I got to have a nice chat with him.

~ ~ ~ ~ My "theme," if you want to call it that, for my baby decor and toys is African animals, and the shower centered around that. The shower started with a game led by a fellow Nigerwife (and my former English teacher). We had a list of animals and had to come up with the different names of their family members: mother, father, baby, and group. Did you know that a group of penguins is called a parade? Or that a mother bear is called a sow? We had lots of fun and learned a lot about how little we know. :)

~ ~ ~ ~ I was overwhelmed by gifts. I loved each and every one (including Pampers and wipes, which are pretty darn expensive here), and I'm thankful to everyone who contributed to make Kes and me feel special! Some of our highlights were:

• a bib that I cross-stitched for a friend's baby seven years ago, that she returned for my own baby;
• a windchime in the shape of a monkey (excuse me, infant--the name of a baby monkey);
• stuffed animals, especially a fleecy dog and several giraffes (including a purple one);
• a hospital bag full of goodies and necessities for delivery;
• pain-relieving spray (I'm serious!);
• a jungle animals diaper bag;
• two Curious George onesies.

~ ~ ~ ~ All in all, we had a wonderful time, full of laughs and excitement. And now I'm even more eager to Kes to arrive!

I bless the rains down in Africa

It rained today, for the first time in two weeks (and two weeks ago, it only rained for maybe five or ten minutes). I'd come home from taking something over to my parents' house around lunchtime, and I was just bushed. I'm always tired these days, so I lay down to take a nap. Well, after maybe half an hour, I heard the wind rushing through the eucalyptus and mango trees behind our house. I'd noticed that it was a bit cloudy, but I thought, Certainly it can't rain. The rainy season is over.

And then I heard the first pitter-patter of liquid life, dripping onto our tin roof. It lulled me back to sleep.

When David came home after work, I woke up when he came into the room. "David," I said, "I dreamt that it rained." He smiled ruefully and said, "Not very likely, though." And so I really thought I had dreamt it all--the wind moving through the house and the sound of rain sprinkling down.

Within ten minutes, the same wind came pouring through the house, and I heard the telltale sounds of coming rain. David looked out the window. "Wow," he breathed. "Rain." Sure enough, water began to sprinkle down, then pound on the roof above us. I couldn't believe it. The smell of wet earth seeped through the open windows, and I inhaled deeply.

It rained for more than a half hour, and we reveled in it.

It may rain once or twice more before the heavy dusts move in from the North, but this was probably the last of the heavy rains--just when we'd mournfully put away our umbrellas for the season. With little surprises like these, how can anyone not believe in a good God?

A moment of fright

Last night when David and I came home from my parents' house, David took out his key to unlock the kitchen door and said, "The cat runs out every time we open the door." I told him that this time, though, I had food for her, so she'd come right back in again.

So I was a little surprised when she didn't dart outside as soon as we'd opened the door. I stepped inside and heard her mewing from behind the door. What on earth? I put down the things I was carrying and looked toward the door. Zoë had her paw stuck, angled underneath the open door! (When she hears us outside on the porch, she often sticks her paw under the door to welcome us.)

This had never happened before! When we'd opened the kitchen door, we'd inadvertently squashed her paw beneath it. It was wedged pretty tightly. I cried out for David to come and help me. He set down his things and approached. But he was as puzzled as I. How could we get Zoë's paw out from under the door? Swinging the door on its hinge either way only worsened the wedge. (I'm sure my grampa could have solved the problem without any trouble, but we were perplexed.)

Then David reached up and began picking pieces of concrete from around the top of the doorframe. For the whole time we've lived in this flat, we've complained about its falling apart, losing plaster every time you shut the door sort of thing. But this time, it saved Zoë! David removed two large chunks of concrete that had been put in between the wooden doorframe and the fake brick of the house. Then he lifted up the doorframe, unstuck Zoë's paw, and put the concrete pieces back in place.

Zoë's paw was fine, and we just laughed and laughed about taking our house apart to get her free. We're not likely to complain too much about our house's falling apart anymore, since it helped get Zoë out of a real tight spot!

Loss of concentration

I had a hard time deciding whether to post this here in my regular blog or in my baby blog because it fits both. So maybe I'll copy it over.

The problem is that I can no longer keep them separate this way! Obviously, I can still write "only" about the baby, but I can't "only" write about everyday life anymore!! I've finally reached the point of not being able to really concentrate on anything long enough to get much work done. Part of it is just, as I said, lack of concentration. But a lot of it is this enormous fatigue. As soon as I sit down with the computer to work, or even to email or spend some time on Facebook, I want to lie down and take a nap--even if I've just woken up!

I'm told this whole experience is normal and will only increase in severity until delivery. Boy, and then talk about being consumed with Baby! But at least then I'll have a few weeks off and won't have to worry about my work efficiency. Should I quit early, or should I continue to struggle with not getting enough done to warrant my status of "working"?

I'm really going to make people sick of me if all I can think about or talk about is this baby coming. Yesterday I got to eight months, so if I were to deliver this week, my baby would probably be just fine. And I've heard lots of stories of women delivering early! (But most of the stories are about women delivering their first babies significantly late. My nephew Rowan was 12 days late. But David says my doctors won't let me get beyond 10 days post-due before they induce. What a relief!)

Help! How am I going to work in this state??

Friday night blues

It's almost 7pm on a Friday night, and here I am, all alone in my parents' house (since the Internet in our own home hasn't worked for months). Mom and Dad are on vacation this week, so I'm making sure the house is okay and the dog is fed. Both very difficult tasks, I assure you.

I'm not one of those people who loves being alone. I can take it for awhile, and as an introvert, I need some alone time. But it grates on my nerves after not too long. When I've been asked to house-sit in the States, I've always ended up turning on the TV while I do something else (besides watch it) just so that there's some noise. It's not that I don't like silence. I just don't like empty silence--knowing that there's no one else around. I never feel safe. I guess that's from spending my early childhood in Los Angeles, always worried about a thief in my closet or some crazy child-snatcher coming in through my bedroom window. And now with armed robbery so rampant in Jos, I feel less safe than ever when I'm alone at night.

This is the life of a resident's wife; what can I say? I knew it would be like this, and I don't for a second regret marrying a doctor.

But it sure does get lonely.

Chickenville

I've never been to a real farm. At least, not that I can actually remember. I'm talking Western farms here. Everywhere in Nigeria is a farm, practically speaking. If you walk the five minutes from here to the hospital proper, all within our walled compound, you'll pass a dozen or more little plots of land. People grow all sorts of things, from corn to cocoyams. Everyone has a plot of land--or finds one--to plant something or other.

And I've been to a farm in Thailand, actually. I don't remember much about it, but my teammates and I took a bus with our Thai friend Bii out to a farm in the countryside surrounding the town where we taught English. It was a sweltering, humid day (like most we experienced in Thailand that summer), and it was a fair walk from the roadside bus stop out to the chicken farm. We passed an old abandoned temple with a crematorium attached. *shudder* And I remember seeing the hundreds and hundreds of chickens in their warehouse-like building. But I don't do well in heat, and I sat on the porch of Bii's relative's house, sipping a cold drink, while the others went gallavanting. When we returned to the States and went through customs, we admitted we'd been on a farm, so they had to check our shoes for bacteria or whatever it is they check for! And that made us almost miss our coonnecting flight...

Farms...

But I can easily imagine what it sounds like on a farm. Oh yes. This morning, the rooster woke me up at about 6:15. This isn't particularly unusual. If you know anything about roosters, you know that all those storybooks you read as a child are lying, and that roosters crow anytime they darn well please. I'm used to roosters. But for some reason, this morning I couldn't get back to sleep. I told David if I had a shotgun, I'd go put the rooster out of his misery! He just kept carrying on and carrying on. I wanted to throttle him! He'd crow, and then a raspy crow would respond from a rooster elsewhere on the compound. It went on like this for at least a half hour before I fell asleep again. David and I joked that this part of our compound has become the chickens' quarters. "Chickenville," we finally decided to call it.

And then there's the goats. Our neighbour keeps goats. Again, it's like farms here on the compound. Most people keep some sort of animal, especially chickens or goats. David noted that our neighbour's herd is really growing quickly--with lots of new kids within the last few weeks--and that soon she'll find raising goats more profitable than working at the hospital!

So although I haven't ever been to a farm in the American sense of the word, I don't think I'm missing a whole lot!

No way!

Oh my gosh! It's RAINING!?!?!

The finished product

When I first heard in May 2006 that my sister was expecting a baby, I had just learned to crochet. My aunt had bought me a great teaching book and some hooks and yarn, so I thought I'd try my hand at one of the patterns in the book, the Mile-a-Minute Blanket.

Needless to say, as a beginning crocheter, I was not able to crochet a mile a minute.

And finally, almost 18 months later, I have completed the said blanket! Okay, so there was a period of about a year when I didn't work on it even one stitch. Hey, one gets busy. There's a lot of things to do. And once my nephew Ethan was born last December, I lost steam, thinking, "Oh great. I've missed the boat. Now what?"

But when my sister said a few months ago, "So now that you're pregnant, are you going to finish that blanket and keep it for your own baby, or are you still going to give it to Ethan?" I cringed. At the time, I was swamped with work. But last week when I had nothing at all to do, and David was on call, I got out my yarn and more-than-half-finished blanket, and set to work.

So Lisa, the blanket is finally finished! And I'm looking for someone who can hand-carry it to the States and put it in the mail for Ethan. A gift for All Saints' Day or something! I'm humiliated that it's taken this long, but at least it's complete. Not the greatest craftsmanship, granted, but I'm still a beginner, so I ask for grace.

Needing earplugs

There's been a Christian rally here for the past two days, at the polo field next to our house: "There Cometh One Mightier than All." And although I've heard lots of rallies and what-not from over there, this had been the loudest I ever remember. From our bedroom, every word is clear as crystal and thunders in through the windows we've closed to keep it out. Yesterday I hid in the living room--on the far side of the house--and turned on The Phantom of the Opera highlights CD. It's a good CD to listen to with high volume anyway. When David woke up from his nap, we watched Miss Congeniality with the volume up really loud to cover up the preaching.

Later, when NEPA (our power) went off after dinner, we sat around with my parents trying to catch a word or two of the preaching. It was almost entirely incoherent, but we found it amusing to try and catch a few words. David tried hard to make out the Hausa translation done in undertones beneath the main miked speaker. We were able to make out "cast out demons in Jesus' name!"

I really thought we were all going to go crazy. Luke (8) went to bed with earplugs in, and for awhile, we all expected to do the same.

But God is so good! The preaching ended at around 9:30, and we were all able to sleep in comparative peace and quiet. What a blessing!

But now the preaching and singing have resumed, so we have to wrack our brains and come up with ways to cover up the sound. For the first time I can remember, I asked Luke to turn up the volume on the movie he's watching instead of turning it down. It's not that we don't like preaching. But we don't like being forced to hear preaching, especially when we can't understand most of it. At least now they're singing a recognisable song, "He is Lord."

The cynic asks, Is the "one mightier than all" the preacher, or the Christ he's preaching?

Cat and mouse

David and I were sitting at the table at lunch today while he ate his suya, and I kept hearing squeaking. I thought it must be coming from outside, probably some sort of bird in the pine by our front windows. So I didn't think too much of it.

But the squeaking persisted.

And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Zoë pounce from under the table into the corner by the front door (that always remains closed). Then it struck me. She had brought a live toy into the house!

It was a mouse, and the poor thing was squeaking wildly as Zoë played with it. (Actually, I have no sympathy for mice. In my mind, they're all rodents and pests. Zoë is welcome to 'em.) David and I tried to chase her outside to enjoy the fun on the porch, but she growled at us and ran the other way. I finally picked her up, holding her at arm's length, and tossed her out the kitchen door, where she finished her playtime outside.

It's good to know our cat's a mouser! But I do hope she keeps her toys outside from now on!

Holiday week

Monday was Nigeria's Independence Day, celebrating 47 years of freedom from British rule. And actually, it was a quiet day. Usually, there are parades and activities going on at the Jos Polo Club, a huge grassy field adjoining our compound. But I didn't hear anything this year. Or maybe I've just become accustomed to the noise and tuned it out.

Mom hosted a brunch for the missionary doctor families on the compound and had 27 out of the invited 28 people come! We feasted on cinnamon rolls, caramel rolls, muffins, fruit, and baked apple French toast. Mm! (Of course, I was feeling really sick for the first hour so missed most of the food.) Afterward all we adults played Apples to Apples and then a few rounds of Dictionary (the generic and original game that became Balderdash). It was a great way to spend a holiday morning!

And the rest of this week has been really slow. I didn't have any work for ACTS (for various reasons, none of which were in my control), which was a nice break. And the Internet was off all week. So I spent time working on the blanket I started for my nephew Ethan when I first found out he was coming. (He's now 9 months old!) I'm almost done!

The rains have stopped completely, and we're still waiting for Alex to come and install our ceiling fans. *sigh* Life goes on. I miss the rains and the cool weather--and collecting water in our big containers. Now we'll have to struggle to keep up our water supply. At least it isn't really dry yet.

Still no news about the green card... We're learning to be patient.

Oh, and Mom's baby got adopted last week; did I mention that? Abigail was adopted Friday, a week ago, by a professor and his wife, who've been married something like 13 years and have never been able to have children. We think they'll take good care of her. Mom's having a hard time coping, as she always feels these losses more than the rest of us.

I think that's about it for now!