Transparency

Sometimes I think that I'm brutally honest in writing my posts, but maybe sometimes I need to step out just a bit more. I read a friend's blog recently that challenged me (indirectly) to occasionally be truly transparent in my blog. What she shared in her vulnerability so touched me that I felt I wanted to do something similar. Maybe there is someone--even one person would make this post worthwhile--out there who can identify with my struggles and feel encouraged that she is not alone.

 

*deep breath*

 

I'm mildly afraid of a lot of things that most people fear. You know what I mean: snakes, tight spaces, armed robbery, rape, an accident occurring to my baby, my husband's death, hitting a pedestrian while driving, that sort of thing. And I have some very strange fears, too, like the fear of my teeth falling out, losing my sight, never having running water again, being pulled underwater by a rip tide, telephones, athletic balls coming toward me, scorpions climbing into my bed. Yeah, okay, so I'm a little eccentric.

 

But my biggest fear of all is of being alone. Oddly enough, this manifests itself in sometimes polar ways. For instance, I was at a concert once at Wheaton--not in attendance but looking for someone--and had a panic attack...in the middle of the crowd. I was surrounded by people, lots and lots of people, and I didn't know any of them. I was there all by myself, a theoretically stable adult, and I panicked. My heart raced, I couldn't breathe, and I could feel my palms sweat while my throat went dry. On the other end of the spectrum, when I house-sit, I get anxious, especially after the first day or two. I turn on the TV and just leave it on so that I don't feel totally alone. I play music. I keep the lights on in several rooms. And--if possible--I sit down at the computer and chat with someone. I'm on edge the whole time.

 

Now that I'm married and have a baby, this fear is somewhat less than it used to be. But some nights, especially when David is on call, I climb into bed and wish that I could just cling to Timothy rather than have him sleep in his own bedroom. I crave something tangible to remind me that I'm not alone.

 

I'm no psychotherapist. I can't analyze this fear and explain its inception by relating it to a childhood trauma. I've been alone a lot in my life, so maybe this is just my reaction to it all. I have no idea. But the fact remains that I am terrified of being alone, and this permeates my entire being, especially my social life. I don't want to go to parties or large gatherings because I know I'm more likely than ever to feel alone, even though I'm surrounded by people. I avoid crowds. I use Timothy as a security blanket. Yes, my ten-month-old is one of my best companions. It's pathetic, perhaps, but it's reality. Crippling? Very possibly. I know I ought to remind myself that Jesus is my best friend and that I'm never ever alone, so I'm probably extremely unspiritual for being afraid, but there it is. Do with it what you will.

Saturday stroll

Today is the beginning of a five-day weekend here, thanks to the end of Ramadan falling right before Nigerian Independence Day (October 1). David was on call last night, but today was our first day of schedule-free relaxation. Yay!

 

So I was thrilled when Timothy got up at about 6:45 and wouldn't go back to sleep. David was at the hospital doing rounds already, so there was hardly any point in not getting up with the son.

 

It was an uneventful day, as days go. Mom made tabbouleh for lunch, and I've finally acquired a taste for it. Delicious! Now I just have to encourage Timothy to enjoy it as much...

 

But when Timothy woke up from his all-too-short nap, I put him in the stroller, and the three of us Neges took a walk. It had just rained a little bit--enough to cool off the air but not so much that the road was extremely muddy. We often walk to the hospital and back--which is only a third of a mile or so--but today I suggested we walk to the nearby football stadium, which is probably 1-1/2 to 2 km with all the windy turns.

 

I'd never tried pushing the stroller on the street before. There aren't any sidewalks, and usually, it makes me nervous walking along the shoulder by myself. Walking with a stroller, as you can imagine, is worse, between heavy traffic, motorbikes not paying any attention to traffic courtesy (laws? what are those?), and huge potholes. But most of the way to the stadium is on back roads that are pretty quiet. So I figured it was worth a try.

 

And what a beautiful day for it! When David and I were engaged, we used to take that walk a lot after he finished work in the afternoons. It was this time of year, too. Here are some of our observations from today's walk:

• The huge pothole in the main road that wasn't there a month ago. It's two or three feet in diameter and looks at least 9 inches deep!
• A pile of sand on the shoulder at one of the narrowest parts of the main road, so pedestrian traffic is one-way single-file and only when the car-and-motorcycle traffic ebbs.
• Jerry cans of kerosene sold along the shoulder.
• At least five churches, including Seraphim and Cherubim (white garment), Seventh Day Adventist, Baptist, and something without a sign but definitely a church.
• Santa Bakery. Seeing the sign and smelling the lovely aroma from within launched me on a long explanation of "Santa," which took me all the way from Catholic saints to American Christmas celebrations!
• A large tractor with "Jones" written on it. David remarks on this every time because my aunt and uncle--some of his favourite people--are the Joneses.
• A lame chicken hopping around on one foot.
• David's friend Flora, a nurse in the hospital, lives near the stadium, so we dropped in to say hi. David saved me from decapitation when I failed to notice a clothesline strung across the yard. Husbands are definitely invaluable, especially for those of us who are visually impaired!
• A police truck full of uniformed men.
• Lots and lots of motorcycles.

That's all. Not too exciting, but it was pretty different from walks I've taken in the States. Actually, it reminded me of the two months I spent in Thailand seven years ago. But I can't think why...

Send me packages!!

I'm only kidding! We're not desperate for anything, but some things are always nice to get: sauce mixes, pepperoni, candy, Crystal Light (or whatever is generic) drink mixes, crackers, Oreos, sugarless gum, Cheerios, cotton socks for David...haha.

 

Anyway, someone asked for our address, so I'm gonna make it all public for ya. Actually you can use one of two addresses for us:

 

ECWA Evangel Hospital

PMB 2238

Jos, Plateau State

Nigeria

 

or

 

ECWA/SIM

PMB 2009

Jos, Plateau State

Nigeria

 

Good luck, and happy hunting!!

The mail must go through

I remember when we first moved here, people would try to send us package, and--more often than not--we didn't benefit too much from their generosity. Either the package would sit in the post office and get consumed by rats, or it wouldn't arrive in the first place. Very occasionally, we actually received a complete package...and proceeded to pay an arm and a leg in duty for our chocolate chips and cake mixes. Eventually, people just gave up, I think. I don't blame them at all, but it sure became depressing when our neighbours were pulling out Now & Laters and M&Ms, and we were stuck with the local Buttermints.

But things have changed--or so I hear. I just talked to a missionary friend here who says he and his wife have received 24 out of 25 packages mailed to them in the past 14 months. My first (silent) response was, "Holy cow! They've gotten 24 packages in just over a year?!?!" I admit I was pretty shocked. We've gotten exactly four packages in our almost-two years of marriage, and three of those came through SIM in Charlotte. (The fourth came DHL from a very special friend!)

So my next (spoken) response was, "Wow! That's amazing! You only lost one!"

And it made me realise that maybe things have changed for the better here, as far as mail goes. But since everyone has given up on mailing us care packages, we would never know! If it really is better, maybe it's time to make another attempt. But what shall I do? Email all my friends and family and say, "Hi! Please send us a care package!"??? Hardly. That just isn't done. So I'll have to be creative and manipulative--crafty. [insert Cruella DeVil laughter here]

Doctor Zhivago: Why I hated it

Warning: This post includes spoilers!!

David and I watched Doctor Zhivago this week, and although he seemed to find it a decent film, I was disgusted.

Let me first mention its good points, as I see them:

+ Great music. I've never heard much balalaika before, and it's quite pretty.

+ Wonderful cinematography. It's not quite like Seven Years in Tibet or The Return of the King, but it's pretty good for its era.

+ Historical background. Now, I'm no historian, and I know very little about the Bolshevik Revolution, so I'm not saying this movie is accurate. But I'm saying the story is well-situated in a historical setting that gives you a good impression of what life may have been like for a wealthy family during the revolution.

+ Good acting. I will admit that the actors and actresses were quite good: realistic, dramatic, emotional, etc.

So actually, on the whole, aside from the plot, the movie was pretty good.

BUT how can you say, "aside from the plot"? In my opinion, the plot is the most important part of the movie. If the plot stinks, the movie stinks. And I was disgusted by the plot. Not only is it extremely depressing--which I suppose makes sense for the time period in which it's set--but it also romanticizes sexual immorality.

What do I mean?

Okay, let's look at Tonya. She's wealthy, gorgeous, a faithful wife, and gives sacrificially to make her husband comfortable and happy. When the war comes, she sells her things to buy meat for his first meal home. She burns precious fuel to keep him warm because she's too selfless to tell him there's not enough fuel to keep the fire going while he's at work. She doesn't complain about losing her house, her things, her lifestyle, her social connections. Even if she isn't happy, she puts on a happy face for her husband. She breaks her back making him a home in a tiny cottage, and she slaves over a garden for their food. She is doting--the ideal wife.

And what does Zhivago do? Runs off to his lady-friend Lara in the next town. His wife is putting in 200% of her time and energy to make him happy, and he makes regular trips to the nearby town to sleep with another woman.

Yeah, makes perfect sense to me.

And then when Tonya and her father and the children get shipped off to Paris while he's effectively a prisoner of war, does he go after them when he's recovered and free? He never even mentions the possibility. Lara says, "He'll never leave Russia." Hello?! Why not?? Instead of trying to find his family, he just shrugs and moves in permanently with the blond chick, Lara. And does the movie seem to point out this isn't really a good idea? No, it glamorizes it. Great.

But does Lara even stay with Zhivago? No, she has to run for her life with her daughter--and unborn child, who's Zhivago's--off to the Far East. But is she with her husband? No, she's running away--albeit reluctantly--with Kamarov, the man with whom she had a secret love affair while she was engaged to someone else!! Yeah, okay. Right.

So we never find out what happens to Zhivago's family. He never sees them again, presumably never hears from them again. I guess they're not important. Lara we see once again, but Zhivago never sees her again after she goes off with Kamarov--except right as Zhivago is dying of a heart attack. (But she doesn't see him, of course.) And then Lara goes off and disappears, presumably dies.

So this love-pentagon-disaster thing never gets resolved. Everyone just dies, and that's that. But Lara and Zhivago's daughter, whom Kamarov had "lost," is the one character with any hope. But what good is the story to her? To find out that the man she called father was not only not her father but also not even married to her mother, that her mother slept around, that her father slept around, etc? Was it a comfort to her to know that her father loved her mother, even though both were married to other people?

Good grief. Who would want to inherit such a family debacle? No wonder she didn't want to own up to being their daughter.

Well, enough ranting. You can watch it and judge for yourself. But I'm staying away from it, thanks. This movie doesn't top my "must-see-again" list.

Seeing Sara

I first met Sara on my honeymoon. She was standing outside the hospital on the compound of which David and I were staying in a guest house. David had heard of her, and she told us she'd been at our wedding. Surprise! (You have to understand that here, everyone and his second-cousin's niece's best friend shows up at your wedding. Invitations are just a formality.) She told us that she was getting married in January to a Nigerian, and that she'd gone to our wedding to have some idea what it could be like.

Well, how was I to know then that our paths would continue to cross until we became friends?

Tonight I got to see Sara and her husband Sunny, who moved to Abuja in February. Considering Abuja is only 3-1/2 hours away, we sure haven't seen much of each other in the months since they moved. Both Sara and Sunny work for IHV and travel a lot. Plus we don't have a car so can't exactly pop down to the capital for a quick visit.

Anyway, we hadn't seen them since the day before we left for the States, May 31, and it was so absolutely wonderful to visit tonight! Since we'd last seen them, we'd been to the States, and so had Sara (alone, alas!), so there was a lot to talk about. Plus we're both working on immigration stuff at a similar pace, so we can talk about that together and vent our frustrations.

Oh, it was just such a good visit. I do so miss seeing friends, and this week for some reason I've really missed my sister especially. Sara isn't my sister, of course, but she's a friend, and it was just refreshing to share a few hours with her. Thank God for revitalization!!

Grand-mama visits

David's mother visited yesterday. She's been in town for about 10 days, staying with David's sister Hannatu, and we'd gone to see her there the evening she arrived. But this was the first time she'd ever come to our house, and only the second time she'd seen Timothy (10 days ago being the first).

I'd been dreading it for over a month. I have nothing against David's mom--don't get me wrong. She seems like a really nice lady. But we don't have anything in common. She's a farmer, a villager who has had no formal education (not even primary school), and a widow. And the most notable thing we do not share is a common language. She speaks Tiv and a little bit of Hausa, and I speak English and a little bit of Hausa.

...Which wouldn't have been too bad if she'd come with Hannatu, or if David had been around the whole time. But he was on call yesterday, so he was at the hospital for at least half of the over four hours she was here. Oh my gosh. It was awful.

Okay, so it wasn't that bad when Timothy was awake and cheerful. He's really the main reason she came to visit us anyway. And with babies, you don't need to share a language. You can just play. So that was fine. Awkward, sure, but we survived.

David came home, and we had peanut-butter sandwiches for lunch. I'd thought of making something nicer, even rice, but David insisted that his mother needed to have peanut-butter and bread. I think he was trying to make me feel like I didn't need to go out of my way to impress her, but it only made me more uncomfortable, knowing I wasn't working hard to give her something special, or even something with which she was familiar.

After lunch, Timothy went down for his afternoon nap, and David was called back to the hospital. Great. So there I was, alone in the living room with David's mom. I had no idea what to do. (When I'd asked David as he was leaving what I was going to do, he'd said, "Nothing." Really helpful.) So what did I do? Played Spider Solitaire for 45 minutes until Timothy woke up.

I'm telling you: it was one of the worst afternoons of my life. And then in the evening, after she'd gone back to Hannatu's house, I got berated for not trying harder to get to know her. How am I supposed to get to know her? Sign language? Even sign language isn't universal!!

So the next time my mother-in-law comes to visit, and David finds out he's on call, I'm just not going to be home. Leave me out of it!!

Work begins

So I started my new job on Wednesday! I don't have a desktop yet, but I'm so used to using a laptop that it doesn't really make a difference. They say I'll get a desktop week after next. Yay! Here's a photo of my office after I rearranged the furniture.

(Beforehand, the cords were really easy for Timothy to follow and chew. It's a nice little place, and I like it. In the lower right is Timothy's makeshift bed, made of a stack of four or five blankets overlaid with a soft blanket as a "sheet." Hey, don't knock it; it works! As you can see by the sleeping babe thereon:

 

I'm glad to be in this new work, and I'm eager to start getting things done!