There I was, sitting on the Greyhound, wiping my eyes and waiting for our departure to Charlotte.
It was Thursday, 24th March, 2005, and I was on my way to a funeral.
I’d gotten the call from my sister Lisa the week before, on St. Patrick’s Day, telling me that our dear friend Steve Beacham had died earlier that morning. Steve “Coach” Beacham was a missionary colleague of our parents (in our mission) and coach/Bible teacher/discipleship-leader at our school, Hillcrest. He’d returned to the States the year before when he’d begun to have medical problems, and he’d been diagnosed with a particularly aggressive type of cancer. Coach had once-upon-a-time taught me to rappel, which came to be one of my favourite things to do in the world. He’d also taught me about Aichan’s sin and the “ripple effect” (in the book of Joshua). The morning of 17th March, he had died suddenly while driving to the doctor’s office from chapel.
I had the next week off school for spring break, so I informed my employers that my “uncle” had died and that I would be attending his funeral. I didn’t have any idea how I’d get there without driving by myself the whole way (15+ hours), so I debated for a few days about going. My parents finally convinced me to go, so I took my car, Annie, in to Midas on Wednesday to get her oil changed and just get checked up.
After his exam, my mechanic said bluntly, “I wouldn’t drive this car back home to Wheaton [20 minutes away], let alone to North Carolina.” Great. Not only did I now have to find another way to Charlotte for the Friday memorial service (plane tickets were over $1000!!), but I had to worry about getting a new car when I got back. I can’t describe the next 24 hours other than to say that I cried a lot.
On Thursday afternoon, I was at my sister’s, crying, when she said, “Okay, Saralynn. Get in the car. We’ll grab some of your clothes from home, and I’m taking you to the bus station downtown. You can just make the last bus to Charlotte if we hurry.”
I was one of the last people on the bus, having packed my bag haphazardly and rushed to Chicago with Lisa and both her kids. I bought my ticket two minutes before the bus was scheduled to leave and ran to my gate. I made it on just in time and sat down, only to cry.
Across the aisle, a woman asked if I’d gone to Wheaton. (I realised I was wearing my Wheaton sweatshirt.) I told her I had. She asked where I was going, and I told her to Charlotte for a funeral. She said she was going there, too, for the same reason. When I asked to whose funeral she was going, she told me Steve Beacham, and so began our adventure together.
She introduced herself as Marj, and she was not only a Wheaton grad living ten minutes from me, but she had also attended Hillcrest and had grown up in my mission! For the next several hours, we chatted about our connections and the Beachams. She told me that my friend Micah (then 18) was flying all the way from Nigeria for the memorial service. That was welcome news, and I became eager to reach Charlotte, if only to be surrounded by my friends and mission family.
In Cincinnati, our connecting bus to Knoxville was delayed. One bus came and got a load of passengers. A second bus came and got another load of passengers. Marj and I were in the next batch. We had waited three hours for a 45-minute layover, experiencing the delights of an urban bus station (for example, the man urinating in the middle of the terminal and being arrested). Ahead of us in line were an older couple and a man who looked to be a late teen. They were traveling separately but had struck up a conversation in line, so we joined in to keep from falling asleep standing up. It turned out that the boy—a student at the Chicago Art Institute—was on his way to his father’s surprise birthday party in Charlotte later that day (this was 3 a.m. Friday). The couple lived near Asheville and were on their way home from visiting their daughter’s family (and her ADHD children).
As we boarded the bus that finally arrived around 03:30, Marj and I were worried. As our original schedule had worked out, we would have just connected to our Charlotte bus in Knoxville; as it was, we were over two hours late. So we brainstormed about what to do and finally agreed on a plan. When we reached Knoxville, Marj would rent a car and drive us the rest of the way to Charlotte. We invited the older couple and the young man to join us if they so desired.
When we reached Knoxville, we all got our tickets refunded at the counter, and Marj called Hertz to pick us up. Within a half hour, all five us had piled into a white sedan and were on our way. Once we got on the road, we introduced ourselves—not having even known our passengers’ names before we’d started out! We dropped off the older couple near Asheville and the young man in central Charlotte, then drove to the South Carolina border, where the memorial service was to take place.
There was a slight hitch (aside from our getting lost on the way to the church).
May 24, 2007
May 15, 2007
A trip to the VIO office
If you're from California, it's "the DMV" (Department of Motor Vehicles). In Illinois, it's the "Secretary of State." I have no clue what it's called anywhere else, but here, it's the VIO (Vehicle Inspection Officer) office. And yes, it's called "the VIO office" even though "office" is part of the O. Go figure.
I'd only been once, and that was many years ago, to get a learner's permit when Dad had the notion of teaching me to drive. Unfortunately, his attempts proved unfruitful in that he decided it was just too dangerous to teach me to drive a stick here, of all places. Too many chickens and goats, etc.
Well, David's learner's permit expires this week, so we went in to see if we could get him a license. The problem was that he'd "misplaced" his permit. (We know exactly where it is, but for the moment, it's irretrievable.)
There were three men in the small, high-ceilinged office - in addition to an empty desk and several broken chairs. One of the men was sitting at a second desk cluttered with papers. On the edge of the desk was a calendar. Faintly interested, I stepped closer and read "The Beauty of Plateau State 2005" at the top of the calendar. The month was set to September. On the other end of the desk was a radio blaring R&B on Radio Plateau.
David slowly explained to the officer that he had misplaced his permit but would like to get a license. The officer asked David's name and then proceeded to look through a folded stack of permit applications stuffed into his top desk drawer. He thumbed through the stack, glancing at each filmy carbon copy. When he did not find David's application, he looked through two folders on his desk. Finally, he asked David's name again and looked through the first stack, coming to David's application almost on top.
"What do you expect me to do?" he asked. "You don't have your permit, and I told you that you were to bring it with you in six months to get your license." David was silent. "Have you read the rule book?" the officer asked. David shook his head. "Well, you've only done half the preparation then," replied the officer. "You've done the practical driving but not the theory." So we bought the rule book, and David promised to look it over. The man asked us to return in a week, having read the book and preferrably with the found permit.
"What about my license?" I asked. David reminded the officer that six months earlier, he'd said I could drive on a foreign license for a few months after arriving. Now, the officer told us, I would need a Nigerian license. He asked me to bring in three "passports" (photos) and copies of my American license to start the paperwork.
So today I have to go out and get some more passport photos (which are a different size here than in the U.S.). And next week we get to return to complete our business at the VIO office... I hope.
I'd only been once, and that was many years ago, to get a learner's permit when Dad had the notion of teaching me to drive. Unfortunately, his attempts proved unfruitful in that he decided it was just too dangerous to teach me to drive a stick here, of all places. Too many chickens and goats, etc.
Well, David's learner's permit expires this week, so we went in to see if we could get him a license. The problem was that he'd "misplaced" his permit. (We know exactly where it is, but for the moment, it's irretrievable.)
There were three men in the small, high-ceilinged office - in addition to an empty desk and several broken chairs. One of the men was sitting at a second desk cluttered with papers. On the edge of the desk was a calendar. Faintly interested, I stepped closer and read "The Beauty of Plateau State 2005" at the top of the calendar. The month was set to September. On the other end of the desk was a radio blaring R&B on Radio Plateau.
David slowly explained to the officer that he had misplaced his permit but would like to get a license. The officer asked David's name and then proceeded to look through a folded stack of permit applications stuffed into his top desk drawer. He thumbed through the stack, glancing at each filmy carbon copy. When he did not find David's application, he looked through two folders on his desk. Finally, he asked David's name again and looked through the first stack, coming to David's application almost on top.
"What do you expect me to do?" he asked. "You don't have your permit, and I told you that you were to bring it with you in six months to get your license." David was silent. "Have you read the rule book?" the officer asked. David shook his head. "Well, you've only done half the preparation then," replied the officer. "You've done the practical driving but not the theory." So we bought the rule book, and David promised to look it over. The man asked us to return in a week, having read the book and preferrably with the found permit.
"What about my license?" I asked. David reminded the officer that six months earlier, he'd said I could drive on a foreign license for a few months after arriving. Now, the officer told us, I would need a Nigerian license. He asked me to bring in three "passports" (photos) and copies of my American license to start the paperwork.
So today I have to go out and get some more passport photos (which are a different size here than in the U.S.). And next week we get to return to complete our business at the VIO office... I hope.
May 11, 2007
Just one more post
Okay, okay, I know this is a little crazy, posting four different things in one day. Those of you who read my blog today or this weekend will have a lot of catching up to do; sorry! But I'm just overwhelmed by thoughts this week, and it helps to get them "on paper," out in the open. (Are we going to make a new phrase, considering hardly anyone writes on paper anymore?)
My computer died last night, just gave up. Il est fini. Oh, not that I was particularly attached to it. I'd only had it for a little less than two years, whereas I'd had my college computer for five years and had even named him Milton. (Not because I have a fondness for John Milton, mind you. Quite the contrary.) So it's not that I'm sentimentally pining for my lost computer.
But I'm a huge dork and hadn't backed up most of what was on my computer. Granted, most of it wasn't important. I'd backed up the major things like the file with all my mailing addresses... but not my email addresses. Urgh. And all of my saved email correspondence is lost. Ah, well, such is life. So now I'm using David's computer, which is nicer and newer anyway (and faster). Should I get a new hard drive in my computer, or just continue to use David's?
David had a really frustrating week at work, and we're faced with making some big decisions. I can't discuss them online just in case someone from the hospital reads this, but needless to say, this was just the last straw in a series of frustrating incidents. We're both sad and disappointed. I don't know where our lives will go from here, but we can trust that God has plans higher than ours, and that He'll guide us in our steps as long as we put our faith in Him.
On a lighter note, our neighbour and my doctor, Aunt Bev, is returning from the States today and should be bringing a box my host family in California packed for me last October, which has been sitting in the States waiting for a traveler since then. I'm not even sure what's in it, but I hope I'll at last get my cutting board!
My parents' househelper found a scorpion in their house on Wednesday! I'd never seen a scorpion before. Dad killed it and put it in a jar to show every visitor they've had. It's scary to think something like that could be crawling around without anyone noticing at first. And it terrifies me that our mattress is still on the floor, so a scorpion could just crawl in with us at night!!
Mom and Dad are still taking care of baby Lydia. No news on when she'll be adopted. I think the process is just going more slowly than anyone anticipated, but the family who originally asked for her is still interested. Yay! It's always hard to part with a foster baby, but it's easier to send them to a loving adoptive family than back to their abusive parents.
That's all for now, folks!
My computer died last night, just gave up. Il est fini. Oh, not that I was particularly attached to it. I'd only had it for a little less than two years, whereas I'd had my college computer for five years and had even named him Milton. (Not because I have a fondness for John Milton, mind you. Quite the contrary.) So it's not that I'm sentimentally pining for my lost computer.
But I'm a huge dork and hadn't backed up most of what was on my computer. Granted, most of it wasn't important. I'd backed up the major things like the file with all my mailing addresses... but not my email addresses. Urgh. And all of my saved email correspondence is lost. Ah, well, such is life. So now I'm using David's computer, which is nicer and newer anyway (and faster). Should I get a new hard drive in my computer, or just continue to use David's?
David had a really frustrating week at work, and we're faced with making some big decisions. I can't discuss them online just in case someone from the hospital reads this, but needless to say, this was just the last straw in a series of frustrating incidents. We're both sad and disappointed. I don't know where our lives will go from here, but we can trust that God has plans higher than ours, and that He'll guide us in our steps as long as we put our faith in Him.
On a lighter note, our neighbour and my doctor, Aunt Bev, is returning from the States today and should be bringing a box my host family in California packed for me last October, which has been sitting in the States waiting for a traveler since then. I'm not even sure what's in it, but I hope I'll at last get my cutting board!
My parents' househelper found a scorpion in their house on Wednesday! I'd never seen a scorpion before. Dad killed it and put it in a jar to show every visitor they've had. It's scary to think something like that could be crawling around without anyone noticing at first. And it terrifies me that our mattress is still on the floor, so a scorpion could just crawl in with us at night!!
Mom and Dad are still taking care of baby Lydia. No news on when she'll be adopted. I think the process is just going more slowly than anyone anticipated, but the family who originally asked for her is still interested. Yay! It's always hard to part with a foster baby, but it's easier to send them to a loving adoptive family than back to their abusive parents.
That's all for now, folks!
The missing bridesmaid
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So my college roommate and best friend Heather Munn got married last Saturday... and I missed it.Heather spent six months in Nigeria last year working with Mashiah Foundation, a Christian organisation ministering to women and children affected by HIV/AIDS. It was partly so she could be around that I decided to get married last November instead of this spring sometime. (It ended up to be a good thing anyway.) So Heather was one of my three bridesmaids.
She'd been dating this guy named Paul for almost three years. She met him through her church in Illinois, Reba Place, and they'd talked about maybe getting married someday, if they were sure it was God's plan for them. So in January, Paul--knowing Heather needed to work through some things--told her she should ask him to marry her if and when she was ready. In February, Heather finally proposed to Paul, and they set the wedding date for May 5.
There was no way I could be there. It was simply impossible. Heather joked that they could make a full-size cardboard image of me and have it "walk down the aisle" as a bridesmaid... or photoshop me into all the photos of the wedding party. It made me laugh.
...And it made me cry. I always thought I'd be at Heather's wedding, if not in it. It's a girl thing, I guess, to be so intent on friends' weddings. But it was truly heartbreaking to have to miss out on the festivities, on celebrating the biggest day in Heather's life.
But it wasn't meant to be. So congratulations, Heather! Best wishes on your new union, and I hope you agreed to let him take your name! :)
Hail hath no fury...
It started like any other rainstorm. I was debating about driving over to a friend's house as I'd told her I would before 4pm. I looked at my watch and then at the rain pounding down. It was after 3 already, but I've only been driving in Nigeria since Wednesday, and I hate driving in the rain, regardless of my country. So I sent a short text to my friend explaining and asking if I could come by later.
There was a crash on the roof just then. A light pitter-patter, and then the sound of hundreds of small bangs on the corrugated zinc overhead. I've lived here long enough to recognise the sound of hail, and I peered outside. Hailstones the size of cherries were littering the yard. Cool! I got out my camera, but just then I saw Zoë dart past me into the bedroom and under the empty bedframe. Poor thing!
So I knelt down, grabbed her, and held her close, trying to reassure her. I don't think it worked very well. Her eyes remained wide, her ears perked and slightly flattened back. So I let her go. She scrambled out of my arms and ran back under the bed, and I went to fix her some milk. (We only have powdered milk here, not fresh milk.) She remained hidden, so I finally went onto the porch to take photos. By then, though, the hail--which was still falling but more intermittently--had begun to melt. I snapped a few pictures and went back in to keep my camera dry.
David came home from the hospital just as the hail seemed to be entirely dissipating, and just before a downpour of heavy rain. Now he's tending to our buckets under the eaves, getting soaked while trying to catch as much water as possible. What a hero!
(written Saturday, 5 May 2007; 15:51)
There was a crash on the roof just then. A light pitter-patter, and then the sound of hundreds of small bangs on the corrugated zinc overhead. I've lived here long enough to recognise the sound of hail, and I peered outside. Hailstones the size of cherries were littering the yard. Cool! I got out my camera, but just then I saw Zoë dart past me into the bedroom and under the empty bedframe. Poor thing!
So I knelt down, grabbed her, and held her close, trying to reassure her. I don't think it worked very well. Her eyes remained wide, her ears perked and slightly flattened back. So I let her go. She scrambled out of my arms and ran back under the bed, and I went to fix her some milk. (We only have powdered milk here, not fresh milk.) She remained hidden, so I finally went onto the porch to take photos. By then, though, the hail--which was still falling but more intermittently--had begun to melt. I snapped a few pictures and went back in to keep my camera dry.
David came home from the hospital just as the hail seemed to be entirely dissipating, and just before a downpour of heavy rain. Now he's tending to our buckets under the eaves, getting soaked while trying to catch as much water as possible. What a hero!
(written Saturday, 5 May 2007; 15:51)
May 08, 2007
Bees and Bs
I can add a new entry to my résumé as of today: Spell Master.
This morning was the annual 4th Grade Spelling Bee at Hillcrest, the school I attended from grades 4 to 12. And since the woman who has been Spell Master for several years is in the U.S. right now, she recommended me to the 4th grade teacher, Rachel.
I'd never been in a spelling bee in my life! Sure, I'd heard about them, and I'll always remember how to spell "chrysanthemum" from watching Anne of Green Gables a million and one times. I was in a multiplication bee when I was in second grade. But that was just a small affair held in our classroom. (I got second place, and I am still bitter about it because my opponent didn't have to answer his problem after I solved mine incorrectly!)
But I was flattered and thrilled to be part of the spelling bee. My mom raised me to be an excellent speller (thanks, Mom!), which reminds me that I spelled "bologna" wrong in my post about Mom. Oops. Anyway, I agreed to be the pronouncer at this year's spelling bee.
There were 24 students at the beginning, 12 from Hillcrest and 12 from a nearby boarding school, Kent Academy. We did two practice rounds, and then we started the real match. It was lovely! I was nervous, but the kids were even more nervous, so we had a good time. Just a few times I had to consult with my judges before announcing "Incorrect," and that was hard every time because one judge had heard it as correct and three of us had heard it as incorrect.
The weirdest situation was when I pronounced--very clearly, I might add--"parachute" and had both contestants start to spell the word "parakeet," which was also on their word list. Ha! I wasn't sure what to do, but both teachers agreed the one contestant had spelled "parakeet" correctly, and so we'd accept the word even though it was the wrong word.
In the end, Kent Academy students placed four out of the top five, with a Hillcrest student coming in fourth place. They really knew their stuff. It was a relief at the end of the bee, but I think we all had a good time, even the many disappointed kids. Now I can say I went to my first spelling bee when I was 25!
This morning was the annual 4th Grade Spelling Bee at Hillcrest, the school I attended from grades 4 to 12. And since the woman who has been Spell Master for several years is in the U.S. right now, she recommended me to the 4th grade teacher, Rachel.
I'd never been in a spelling bee in my life! Sure, I'd heard about them, and I'll always remember how to spell "chrysanthemum" from watching Anne of Green Gables a million and one times. I was in a multiplication bee when I was in second grade. But that was just a small affair held in our classroom. (I got second place, and I am still bitter about it because my opponent didn't have to answer his problem after I solved mine incorrectly!)
But I was flattered and thrilled to be part of the spelling bee. My mom raised me to be an excellent speller (thanks, Mom!), which reminds me that I spelled "bologna" wrong in my post about Mom. Oops. Anyway, I agreed to be the pronouncer at this year's spelling bee.
There were 24 students at the beginning, 12 from Hillcrest and 12 from a nearby boarding school, Kent Academy. We did two practice rounds, and then we started the real match. It was lovely! I was nervous, but the kids were even more nervous, so we had a good time. Just a few times I had to consult with my judges before announcing "Incorrect," and that was hard every time because one judge had heard it as correct and three of us had heard it as incorrect.
The weirdest situation was when I pronounced--very clearly, I might add--"parachute" and had both contestants start to spell the word "parakeet," which was also on their word list. Ha! I wasn't sure what to do, but both teachers agreed the one contestant had spelled "parakeet" correctly, and so we'd accept the word even though it was the wrong word.
In the end, Kent Academy students placed four out of the top five, with a Hillcrest student coming in fourth place. They really knew their stuff. It was a relief at the end of the bee, but I think we all had a good time, even the many disappointed kids. Now I can say I went to my first spelling bee when I was 25!
May 07, 2007
I can drive!!
(First let me just say it's been a real adjustment not having Internet in my house for the past few weeks. We really do hope to get it up and running again soon so I can blog regularly again! I miss writing!)We got a new car last week! Okay, so it's hardly "new," seeing as it's an '86, but it's an automatic transmission, so I can drive it! Talk about freedom. It's just such a liberating feeling to be behind the wheel of a car. I can go anywhere I want whenever I want. Wow! I hadn't driven since September, so it's been fun getting on the road again. A bit nerve-wracking at times, what with the hundreds of motorcycles crowding the streets. But I'm glad I don't have to rely on David anymore. Yay!
No name for her yet, but it's a she. I was thinking of Cherry, but it's just an idea. I'm open to suggestions.
May 01, 2007
Mom
When I was in primary school, my mom packed me special lunches—all three of us kids, in fact. Every day my lunch was in a brown paper bag with my name carefully printed on the front in wax crayon or magic marker. Sometimes Mom used block letters, sometimes bubble letters, or calligraphy, or whatever mood she was in. But always, there was “Sara” on my lunchbag. Often, she also added a sticker or two.
I didn't always like my lunches. They usually included a sandwich, a banana or other fruit, maybe a yogurt cup, and a dessert. Very rarely did I get a juice box with the little straw that always squirted me right in the eye when I stabbed it through the foil circle on the box top. Those were special days. Usually we had peanut-butter and jam. Mom put butter on the bread before the peanut-butter, and that always made it taste richer. Plus it kept the bread from getting soggy from the jam. Once in awhile, I discovered a special sandwich—my favourite: balogna and mayonnaise with alfalfa sprouts. Yum! And the dessert was almost always home-made. None of this Twinkie stuff, or Hostess donuts, or even Oreos. Nope, my mom always gave us fresh cookies, lemon bars, brownies, cake, or whatever she'd happened to bake that week. It irked me sometimes, to watch my friends bite into the store-bought delicacies I never got in my lunch. It also annoyed me that I couldn't buy lunch in the cafeteria as my friends did. I wanted the pizza, the Mexican taco bake, the lasagna, but especially the chocolate milk.
On Valentine's Day Mom put a card in my lunchbag, which had extra stickers that day. Usually it was home-made out of construction paper, decorated with markers and stickers; sometimes it was store-bought. But always, it said in her clear printing—and later script, once I could read cursive—“I love you, Sara. You are special to me!” And there would be something special in that lunch, something Mom knew I particularly liked, such as a pear instead of a banana. Birthdays were similar. A little note always accompanied my lunch on special days, and I could always expect a little treat inside.
Now I make my own lunch every day. Some days I don't even bother and just snack on groundnuts (peanuts) or crackers. Now I buy my own food and know it's cheaper to make a lunch than to buy one. Now I understand that peanut-butter is nutritious and cheap, while balogna is fatty and more expensive (or in Nigeria, non-existent). And that fresh fruit is healthier and cheaper than those little fruit cups, or applesauce.
And now I understand how much my mommy loves me. Happy Birthday, Mom.
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