René's African Annals

Making it back "home"

2009-10-13T00:57:00.005+01:00

After two less-than-positive blogs concerning African travel, I figured I owed it to you readers to write a follow-up post on how it all ended. Especially since my former country director wrote in last week's team letter something to the effect of: "Rene and her fiancé, Andrew, were stranded in Accra when security issues prevented their onward journey to Guinea. Not sure where they are now, but pray for God’s protection." Haha!! Well, Bill, and all the rest, I have made it back to the States, against all odds, but of course, not without incident. Wanna hear about it?

So after a couple days of seeking out internet kiosks and buying cell phone credit to communicate with US travel agents, Ghanaian travel agents, and mom's who all were trying to help me coordinate a flight out of Africa. Easier said than done. With less than 24 hrs to spare, I finally managed to book a flight to Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso and then from there to Paris-->N.Y.-->Charlotte, NC. So on Friday Andrew and I parted ways in the Accra airport while he headed to Bamako, Mali and I back across the ocean. In Ouagadougou I spent a seemingly interminable 8 hr layover in the less-than-accomodating airport. I mean, I've been in my share of developping world airports...and I've never before feared I was contradicting malaria. I bided my time before they allowed me to check in (and thus proceed to the real waiting lounge (with drinks for sale and a television spewing horrible franco-african dance videos) ), by reading, journaling, and rearranging my skirt to guard against the swarms of mosquitoes. After about an hour when the morning flight took off and I'm the lone passenger they switch to low power mode--dimmed lights and no fans. Ok, enough complaining about the torturous time there. On the flight to Paris I got put in the same row as the only (as far as i could tell) American. We had some good conversation which helped both of us stay up to reprogram our body clocks and fight jet lag. Standing in the security line in Paris I was immediately struck by the dearth of bright colors and elaborate patterns of clothing...instead was just a sea of of grayscale. Perhaps that's why people seemed slightly happier around me...I was wearing a patchwork skirt made of vibrant Nigerian cloth and toted a flourescent green carry-on.

ANYWAYS, my 30+ hours of travel from airports to planes continued to slowly break me back into the "developped" world. Climate-control, water fountains, and car seats...all fantastic ideas. When I rolled past customs at JFK, the heart-winning, delight-filling, smile-effecting Grandpa Peter K. Haile was there to greet me. I was grinning from ear to ear as we hugged and he showered subsequent kisses on my cheeks. G'pa had graciously arranged a ride so he could come spend about an hour with me during my layover there at JKF. What a blessing for such a loving face to be one of the first to see as I stepped on American soil! My mom was slightly jealous:)

Though I only had one more short flight left to CHarlotte, NC, I wasn't ready to give up my transient life of waiting in terminals...so I volunteered my seat on the over-booked flight! They offered flight vouchers and I thought, heck, what's another few hours of self-entertainment in this NICE airport (with coushioned seats, bathrooms, magazines, and CNN)?? AND THEN I got upgraded to first-class for the 1st time ever!!! now, it would have been sweet for that to happen on the trans-atlantic flight, but cruising into my homestate in style wasn't bad either. You know how when you board a plane you shuffle past the 1st-class passengers and think to yourself, "It'd be nice to have the dispensible income to afford such a cushy ride. I wonder what this man/woman does?" Well, I totally got those looks and wanted to put a sign up that said, "Not rich, just work for God."

Ok, last fun episode of my journey happend after I collected my backpack and was milling around the baggage claim area. Someone was supposed to be picking me up but I wasn't sure who or if they would know me, though my attire and smell screamed Africa. While I wrestled with the payphone to try to reach someone who might know, this nice lady said, "Hey honey, just use my cell phone." And then this lovely hispanic lady complimented me on my skirt, which led to my giving my schpill about Nigeria and her offering to give me a ride wherever I needed to go! She waited with me outside until my ride rolled around, what a sweet heart! Her as well as a handful of other people and situations i encountered in transit got me thinking that perhaps God wasn't out to just screw up all my plans. I mean, I know He's not, but I had been really disappointed about not seeing Guinea and leaving Andrew early and frustrated about all the time I spent organizing things. Now that I'm on this end of things, I can see God's loving hand guiding and dropping little gems of blessing into my lap.

Right, that was super d duper d long. Sorry! I might have to do a little retroactive blogging about saying goodbye to Nigeria and then some of Andrew's and my fun in Ghana. You don't mind non-chronological blogging, do you?

ps--see link on right for my video summarizing the past 2 years :)

andrew's guinea update

2009-10-07T12:01:00.001+01:00

here's andrew's more detailed explanation (from a mass email)

Hello all,

So many of you may have been following the news on Guinea the last week or so. For those who haven't, there has been a spate of violence in the capital, Conakry, surrounding a scheduled rally from the political opposition last Monday. Rioters were shot by the military and there were a number of other abuses, including stories of rape at gunpoint and other brutalization of women. Terrible stuff, and deeply disturbing considering the precarious nature of the political situation during this interim government period.

I've been in Ghana since Friday, taking the LSAT and meeting up with my fiancee, Rene as well as spending time with some other Peace Corps friends. It's been a great week-- beaches, hammocks, great seafood, and a real movie in a real movie theater have all been highlights. I heard the news about Guinea Tuesday night as I was waiting to pick Rene up from the airport. Getting back to the hostel that night, we made some phone calls and heard about the violence-- over 150 dead. Pretty shocking. From there, we've been in touch with Peace Corps and with Guinean friends back in-country.

Peace Corps, in coordination with the US embassy, has decided to evacuate all Volunteers as a precautionary measure. The country is ostensibly calm: the violence hasn't spread outside of Conakry although tensions are apparently high. However, the situation with the military and the interim government looks extremely grim-- the men who ought to be maintaining order and justice are instead murdering and brutalizing civilians.

Despite this, Boulliwel is of course entirely unchanged. When I called M. Diallo the other day he confirmed the reports that we had heard through the grapevine but assured me that everything would get better and that they'd have us back in Guinea soon enough. Apparently Blaise Campaore, the President of Burkina Faso, and a high-up American State Dept official are being dispatched to Conakry to "mediate." So we'll see how that goes.

In the meantime, it looks like the Guinea Volunteers that I'm here with in Ghana and I will be heading to Bamako, Mali this week, for a minimum of two weeks (and potentially more) to watch and see if the situation cools down. This is a huge bummer for me, because it means that Rene won't get to come see Guinea. She and I had planned to head back to Guinea on Tuesday and now it looks like she may head back to the States instead. We are exploring the option of her coming to Bamako for a few days to prolong the visit but it looks unlikely. And Boulliwel had been so excited to get to meet her after all these months! A real shame.

Please keep Guinea in your thoughts and prayers. All the Volunteers will be leaving Guinea for Mali on Thursday-- we might be there as soon as Wednesday (waiting on PC/Ghana for word on that one) to meet up with the rest of the crew. Bamako may not know what hit it! But we have all been shocked by the news and are hoping for a swift and peaceful resolution to the conflict and a just, orderly organization of the presidential elections scheduled for January.

Take care,

Much love,

Andrew

A.W.A.

2009-10-05T21:09:00.002+01:00

In my early blogging days I posted a blog entitled T.I.A. (This is Africa) chronicling some of the ridiculous unexpected things that make life in Africa FAR from boring. Now, as I'm on my way back to the U.S. the African powers have decided I needed a final kick in the pants so I don't forget just how nutty life on this continent can be.
Right. So I had carefully, though not TOO meticulously, planned a little west African travel en route to the States after finishing my term in Nigeria. Andrew and I arranged to meet up in Ghana, where he and a couple other peace corps friends were taking the LSAT. We planned to hang out on the coast of Ghana for a week and then fly back to Guinea where I'd spend a couple weeks in Bouliwell, his village and home for the past 2 years. All goes according to plan EXCEPT for this small tid-bit of news we heard that there was some sort of violent retaliation towards a political opposition demonstration. "Hmm..." we think to ourselves, "that doesn't sound good." Over the course of the next few days we receive increasingly plan-threatening reports which culminated in learning that Peace Corps-Guinea will be evacuating all its volunteers to Bamako, Mali. (note: my wonderful fiance has sent out a mass e-mail with more details about all that jazz so I won't bore you with my less eloquently written rendition)(If you want to read that, I'll try to post it in another blog)
SO, yes, my friends. All those who said goodbye to me in Nigeria and jokingly said, "I can't wait to see what adventures West Africa throws at you this time..." it has come. Currently we are stuck in Accra (though we did have several fantastic days down along the coast. blogs with pictures to come at a later date), waiting to see when and how to get to Mali. Or if I'm even going to go. It is a good thing I've had lots of experience over the past 2 years with the unpredictability of African travel, otherwise my type-A tendencies might be on the fritz. I wish I could write more, but my time is ticking on this Internet cafe computer and there are travel agents to contact. For now, I have my white flag up in surrender for A.W.A (Africa Wins Again...I know some of you were wondering what that stood for :) )

My Day and Mai Day

2009-09-16T10:39:00.003+01:00

Last week I celebrated my 3rd birthday here in Nigeria. I remember my 1st was when I had just arrived, no one knew me, nor knew it was my bday until the day was almost over so it was a fairly humbling time. Last year was the pirate party (remember?) This year there was a bit less fan fare...and I was feeling cruddy. SO, a couple of the staff, knowing how much I enjoyed hiking, took me on a birthday hike to this place called Dutse Maimaiki = "Rock of Wonder." Made me think of "The Cave of Wonders" from Aladin...but sadly this place didn't talk in a creepy voice and swallow perpetrators (sorry for you non-Disney lovin' folk). Right, so this mountainous rock outcropping is a "wonder" because its top is laden with these uniquely pentagonal and hexagonal shape rocks. It looks like they were pushed through one of those playdough machines. I asked my guide what they thought caused the rocks to be formed like this and he replied, "God." Right. I have actually seen another place in the world where God chose to use His divine playdough machine to make these groovy rocks--the north coast of Ireland. While Andrew and I were there last year, we went to this place called "The Giant's Causeway" and they too, had these polygonally shaped stones. Clearly, Ireland is less godly than Nigeria because they think a giant made their wonder :) Anyways, God apparently used the hot furnace deep within the earth to form volcanic rock into crystal-like shape which eventually came bursting out of the ground during some tectonic plate shift. Cosmic playdough, a giant's rage, or tectonic movement... seeing this wonder on my birthday was a poignant and humbling reminder that the One who was there orchestrating the sculpting of these rocks was also there sculpting me in my mother's womb 26 years ago and He says that I am "fearfully and wonderfully made." (Ps. 139:14) So MY day was pretty cool, but the following day,MAI DAY, is REALLY worth sharing about. A word of explanation: The “Mai” is the traditional chief of this area, encompassing 7 different people groups and a considerable amount of area. He’s very powerful, influential, and highly respected. His domain is referred to as his kingdom and his house is the palace, which we got to visit a few days prior. See Claudia and I assuming our thrones. We knew several church leaders and local dignitaries were coming to visit today, but I didn’t fully brace myself for what that would mean. It should have meant that I was on my A-game, greeting them with a big American smile, spewing out my best Hausa and utilizing the few greetings in the local language I had picked up...but I wasn’t. In fact, I was being held to my thin mattress by an extra-strong gravitational force due to a splitting headache and serious sinus constipation (which would give way to nose diarrhea approximately every 7.5 minutes). Right! So I didn’t exactly see the entourage arrive. Somewhere in my barely conscious state I heard Claudia say, “We want to welcome the Mai...” and gravity released its grip as I bolted straight up. . As culture dictates, the Mai’s size was proportional to his status...so it wasn’t difficult picking him out of the line up of VIP’s. His entourage included a federal policeman, one of his afro wearing sons, two turbaned, traditionally dressed dudes serving as the tribal body guards, and another guy I’m going to call the praise singer(P.S.). The P.S. was dressed a bit less regally but what he lacked in attire he made up for with words. His job, whether official or self-appointed, I don’t know, was to affirm/bless everything the Mai said and repeatedly proclaim a phrase equivalent to “Long live the King!” I wonder if the Mai ever turns around and tells him to put a cork in it...I certainly would find it annoying. Ok, so I stumbled into the room with all of camp facing this platform of babas. Claudia is giving a schpill about ECYA and I can’t help but admire what she’s done here in Nigeria and how she can speak undauntedly regardless of the audience. Then the Mai responded and in listing off the important people he was addressing, he points to me with his elaborately decorated fat finger and says, “I don’t think I was introduced to you.” Doh! Why am I still surprised that I don’t blend into a crowd of Africans?? So I did a curtsy bow, introduced myself and we moved on. This Mai expressed how impressed he was with the vision of ECYA, but wondered where the results were. Why doesn’t he see more shops being opened by campers selling these crafts they’ve learned to make? He had the staff who did own shops stand up and told each of them to come to his palace and collect N10,000 (~$100) to reward their work and encourage their business. He went on to say he would personally talk to the local government chairman and microfinance bank about getting any interested and committed campers some capital and loans to open up their own shop! Wow. I’ve never seen a leader that both challenged and immediately enabled youth to succeed. He put his money where his Mai mouth was. Claudia and I looked at each other and we both had tears in our eyes. This is exactly the sort of support the ministry and the youth need--helping to ensure ongoing impact in the community post-camp. At the end, Claudia gave a closing prayer, followed by the Mai’s benedictory prayer, and then this clogged-nose, head-swimming, deepened voice baturiya was asked to give the “final final prayer.” Then, I was ushered into the recessional parade and thrust next to the Mai (and company) for pictures. Pretty snazzy, eh? More stories about camp to come...in the meantime, check out the pictures from all the camps.

A Widow's Mite

2009-07-29T10:26:00.005+01:00

Another Sunday morning. Another church visitation. Another opportunity to share the vision of ECWA Camp Youth Alive, make awareness for this years camp, and petition for financial support from both the church and individuals to help make the ministry more locally sustainable. And another morning spent on a less-than-erognomically shapped wooden pew, attempting to glean what I could from the Hausa sermon. Don't get me wrong, I fully believe in this aspect of the ministry...its just that I've been to a different church every Sunday since February, often sitting through two 2-hr long services...and my schpill has lost some of its vigor. Out of all the congregations we've spoken too, a very small percentage have come through in collecting an offering to help the ministry offset registration costs for camp. So sitting there Sunday morning, i suppose you could say my optimism wasn't spilling over the brim. After 1.5 hrs into the service, towards the end of the announcement time, my colleague and I were asked to come forward to give our brief awareness (during our pre-service meeting with the pastor, he emphasized how he'd give us just 2 minutes). I did my part in greeting the congregation and attempting to butter them up with my Hausa before my colleague did the dirty work. Mission accomplished, we settle into our seats for the rest of the service.
Much to my surprise, the associate pastor decided that he would add an offering for ECYA to the other ones (making a total of 5, I believe) to be collected that morning. In these churches, offering time is the liveliest part of the service with upbeat music being played and everyone filing out in rows, then dancing down the aisle to drop their money in the baskets, rubber tubs, wooden crates, or other large containers. As I stood clapping and rhythmically swaying side-to-side, I saw something I don't think I'll ever forget. Slowly, deliberately, this one old kaka made her way towards the offering basket. I had seen her come into the building about 45 mins after the service had begun. Completely bent-over with her torso parallel to the floor, hands clasping her walking stick, she had shuffled in. I had watched her take a full minute to maneuver the 1 step near her seat, and wondered how long it had taken her just to get showered and dressed that morning. Now, with steadfast resolve she struggled to cover the 10 yards to the offering basket. As she shuffled, my eyes filled with tears, my heart filled with gratitude, and my apathy got a swift kick to the curb by this humble picture. That 5 Naira note she dropped into our basket was out-valued only by the sacrifice of her journey to give it. Luke 21:1-4 took on flesh, bones, and an african wrapper.

When she finally returned to her seat, I saw relief sweep over her face, and I let out the breath, I didn't realize I had been holding, with my own sigh of relief. Slightly I thanked the Lord for this blessed woman and her sacrifice. When the service finished and the church secretary handed us the bundle of money from the offering I looked at one of the crumpled 5 naira notes and knew I was holding a treasure. It won't pay for a camper scholarship or even a cup of tea, but it payed for this missionary to be humbled.

Just then he looked up and saw the rich people dropping offerings in the collection plate. Then he saw a poor widow put in two pennies. He said, "The plain truth is that this widow has given by far the largest offering today. All these others made offerings that they'll never miss; she gave extravagantly what she couldn't afford—she gave her all!" ~Luke 21:1-4, The Message

What I could have done without

2009-07-09T16:38:00.004+01:00

Remember how I mentioned in my blog about the soccer game that I had a little list of must-do/see while in Africa? Well, one of the things on my hope-to-not-have-to-deal-with happened, and I felt obligated to share it with you. Motor accident. (I can her the gasp from my mother, G'pa Haile, and a handful of others. Don't worry, since I'm at a computer, I'm clearly ok:))
Right, so there I was, driving Claudia's (my boss) truck to a little village called Luwuna. Shammah was with me as we were going to pick up Keturah, his wife, and Reborn Marshall, his son (and my namesake, see blog). We also picked up Keturah's sister, Rose, and were happily cruising through the lush, green Nigerian countryside. At one point I slowed down and turned on my blinker to make a left-turn. In fact, I had come to a complete stop and saw no cars in sight. Just as I began to turn the car, BAAAAMMMM!! SCCCRRRAAAAAAPPPPPEEEE!! A van came flying out of nowhere trying to pass on my left (while I'm making a left-turn) and completely took off the front left corner of the truck!! Shards of metal littered the road, though my truck hadn't budged. Shocked but knowing this was going to require a bit of discussion, I pulled over to the right side of the road. Immediately I replayed the scene in my mind and deduced that I, without a doubt, did nothing wrong...except, of course, for the fact that my skin is pigmently challenged. The driver, an older man, gets out and starting walking towards me yelling about how I didn't look very well and I'm thinking, "Are you kidding me?!?!?!" YOU are the one who didn't see my blinker, didn't slow down, and tried to pass me while I was turning!!! You should be apologizing right now!!" Again, I was thinking these things. All I managed to get out was "I did nothing wrong." As the crowd gathered, I said to Shammah, "I am NOT at fault here and will NOT give him any money. At most, I'll agree to part ways taking responsibility to fix our own vehicles." Ha..silly white girl notions. Ensued 1.5 hours of debate on the side of the road as spectators swarmed in, not saying much, and probably not listening, just staring at me. Of course, there would have been a crowd for any accident, but THIS one had a baturiya driving! What a novelty!
A couple nice guys attempted to mediate, advising me to plead and beg with the baba to just accept a small token for an apology, so as to avoid hassle. I tried that, letting Shammah do the talking because (1) my Hausa wasn't flowing (2) my emotions were flowing and hence my tears threatened to break the dam and flood my face if I opened my mouth. The dude threw out a figure like N50,000 (=$300), COMPLETELY ridiculous, and i just laughed, responding that I have N1,500 (=$10) in my wallet. Naturally, they didn't believe me because white folks excrete money, right? When I got my wallet it and showed him the mangie 3 N500 notes, they smacked their lips and said, "Let's go to the police station." Conveniently this was only a stones throw away. I'm thinking I have nothing to fear, other than a loss of time, so why not? Now, the policeman was very nice but had never driven a vehicle before in his life and said that while baba should have stopped, I was supposed to "wait a full 5 minutes before making the turn."...WHAT??? The baba was pretty vocal, and aggressive and the growing crowd of ---- people no doubt intimidated the policeman. Negotiations migrated outside the station but I remained inside. At one point when everyone was outside except me and the policeman, the tears started streaming down my face. 4 main thoughts swirled inside my head: (1) this likely wouldn't be happening if I was black. (2)here's another example of the infuriating situation where I'm being exploited by Nigeria, the very place I came to give myself to (3) if that van had been a couple seconds later, the van would have nailed me...no more Rene. Ok, enough of those thoughts (4) So THIS is what it feels like to suffer at the hands of injustice.
OK...perhaps a little dramatic, but I have to be give it to you as it came.
Anyways, the policeman had pity on me upon seeing my waterworks and tried to encourage me...but at the end of the day, Rose, Shammah and I still had to empty our pockets, which only came to the sum of N4,500 (=$30). Not that I'm bitter, but essentially this guy broke traffic laws, hit me, damaged Claudia's truck, nearly killed me, and robbed us. I've had better Nigerian moments.

BUT, once I got to the village all the wahala of the previous few hours blew away with gentle breeze coming in over the maize farms. My little "son" is absolutely precious and remembered me! Most Nigerian babies will cry when they see a white person, especially when taken out of their mother's protective arms and placed on the bature's lap. Reborn is too culturally educated for that :) I "backed" him (see picture) and we took a walk all around the village greeting people and exercising my "deep Hausa." Grace upon grace, the day with my heart being filled with gratitude and contentment.

Palm Sandals for Sale

2009-07-03T14:15:00.009+01:00

A fellow "missy" out here, Chuck Truxton, passed along this story of a camper from our ministry. Chuck yearly sponsors several youth to come to our camp and its just incredible what comes of that sometimes. I wanted to share this story with you, perhaps giving you a bigger perspective on why I do what I do.

We buried Mamman’s father (at the age of 36) when Mamman was just beginning Secondary School. As the oldest of the four children, and especially being the eldest son, his mother began to rely on him as the man of the house. New purchases were put in his name for his future security. Sometimes mother and son discussed family issues as she used to do with her husband. Mamman was now the man of the house.

Still, just coping with life in secondary school was enough of a challenge. Mamman was not at the top of his class academically. What contribution could he make to seeing that the family’s needs were met and the future secure for his siblings? His mother was able to get a job cleaning rooms and dressing beds at a nearby Bible conference centre. But Mamman wanted to do something to help.

Then came “long vacation” and ECYA (ECWA Camp - Youth Alive). ECWA is Evangelical Church of West Africa, daughter church to SIM which has ministered in Nigeria for more than 115 years.

Mamman was given the opportunity of attending the camp for one week due to a gift from friends in America. It looked like a great way to get away and have FUN! And it was. But something interesting happened that was more than just fun. For Mamman, the craft time at the camp was the highlight of each day.

At the craft room, there was a choice of activities. Mamman selected making palm sandals. This turned out to be the best part of the camp for sure. Not only did Mamman have fun learning how to make palm sandals but he also realized: “Hey, I am good at this. My finished product looks almost professional! “

Then it happened. An idea was born.

No one had ever characterized this secondary school student as a “visionary.” But Mamman saw himself sitting in a workshop back home in his village, crafting palm sandals to sell to people in the village. These sandals are something that everyone uses every day of the week. People trek to the market to buy them, but what is available in the market is not nearly as nice as what Mamman saw his own hands producing. This could work!

Just two months after camp, Mamman found himself sitting in small workshop in his village, crafting sandals. Through a gift from a friend of his late father, he was able to purchase the one expensive item needed: a grinding wheel for shaping the base of the sandals. People are buying his product and Mamman can see that his work is helping his mother and taking some of the burden from her shoulders.

Just one big problem remains now. Mamman is not able to make palm sandals fast enough to meet up with the demand in the village! God is at work.
And this is just one of many stories we get to hear about in ECWA Camp Youth Alive. Sometimes with all the printing, speaking, traveling, and planning, we lose sight of the far-reaching outcomes of the ministry. Lives are being changed!! We do not just know this from the evaluation form campers and staff fill out at the end of camp, but we hear and see it when we run into former campers in the market, or former staff walk across the seminary graduation stage. ECYA 2009 is just around the corner (Jos: August 4-10, Aug 11-17; Kaduna: Aug 22-29; Tangale: September 3-9). Please join us in praying for the Holy Spirit to continue working in ways on the Holy Spirit can—healing broken hearts, open blind eyes, unlocking deaf ears, setting captives free, giving hope and changing lives. And hey, if you are interested in sponsoring a camper, drop me an email.

Up Nigeria!!

2009-06-22T17:39:00.001+01:00

On my list of "must-do-in-africa", right after wearing gargantuas head-ties and driving a motorbike through the countryside (both being crossed off, by the way), was seeing a professional soccer game. I mean, here soccer is thoroughly appreciated, if not worshipped, as the noble sport that it is. Every afternoon you can easily stumble upon any number of pick-up games being played on patches of dirt, gravel, pavement or stubbly grass. Every boy learns to play before he's even taller than the ball, and virtually each one has the dream of making it big and being drafted for Manchester United of Chelsea. SO, when I stumbled upon an opportunity to see Nigeria's national team, the Super Eagles, play against Kenya in a World Cup Qualifier match, you can bet I jumped all over it...and so did about 20 other friends.
We journeyed to Abuja where the Super Eagle Stadium sits just outside of the city, backdropped by a huge gorgeous rock (see pic below). I had heard that the stadium's capacity was something like 60,000, but for some reason, it rarely gets more than half-full, despite tickets selling for N300 (= $2.00). Well, not so for this match! Yes, the tickets were basically given away for that price, but they evidently sold WAY more tickets than they had seats.I'm not sure if you can see, but every seat was filled and people packed the stairs, aisles, and walkways. It's a good thing there wasn't a need for an emergency exit, because we couldn't budge!

The game was scheduled to start at 4, but even World Cup Qualifier games can't overpower the African clock...so it didn't start till close to 5. Some of our crew got there early to reserve seats, so if you happened to watch the game, you might have spotted a pocket of batures on the 2nd level at center-field. decked out in Nigeria jerseys and homemade facepaint. Glorious.

I have heard all sorts of stories about unruly fans here in Africa and so REALLY hoped Nigeria would win. Thankfully, Nigeria put the ball in the back of the net within the first 2 minutes and maintained a lead the whole match. Other than the typical fouls, injuries, and player theatrics, the game was fairly tame. I was surpised to see how the Nigerian fans expressed their strongest displeasure with the captain. Virtually every time he touched the ball and made a less-than-stellar play, up with the hand cursing him! I gather they aren't to pleased with his leadership. (And yes, I am ignorant of pretty much everyone's name on the team...quite the disappointment to my sports trivia guru of a fiance)

Though a few squirmishes amongst the fans broke out in front of me due to invade personal space (which i didn't think Nigerians really had), the most unruly actions were actually made in jubilation. Fans used their empty plastic drink bottles as confetti, chucking them onto the track. The small army of police and military were powerless to do anything about it expect dodge the projectiles being hurled about them. The announcer attempted to discourage this, but only succeeded in provoking fans to do it more. I was mildly amused, but started to take cover when my friend got pegged by an empy coke can.

We took our time exitting the stadium, flowed with the tide of people to our vehicles parked a couple kilometers away, and then somehow stuffed 21 people and a guitar into two small cars (VW Golf and an 80's model Toyota camry wagon). Nigerians were delighted to see us batures supporting their country, cheering "Up Nigeria!" and cramming into cars. Definitely ranks up there on memorable moments in Nigeria. Check out more pictures and stay tuned because Nigeria's still in the running for a World Cup bid!

Another Engagement

2009-06-15T17:35:00.002+01:00

Spanning cultural, national, ethnic, and generational differences sits the celebration of marriage. Oh sure, it LOOKS very different, but the joining of two people and families is a big deal and I'm hard-pressed to think of a people group that doesn't give it special attention. I find the different customs absolutely fascinating. Just a couple weeks after my epic engagement, I was priviledged to be on the inside circle during two dear friends' "official" engagement. Now, Akim had proposed to Abigail the western way back in December, but nothing could be official unti he showed her family the money--the dowry. Of course, since its Nigeria, everything is done with pomp and pizazz. If you don't mind, allow me to share some of the highlights:
--Akim and his entourage arrived slightly tardy to Abigail's uncles house, so the Mamma emcee of the day demanded a "late fee" before they could enter. Seriously, everyone in the group had to drop bills into a bowl before they could pass through the gate.
--Contrary to what I thought for the majority of the ceremony, this mamma emcee was not a family relation, but makes her living by orchestrating these "engagement" parties. It is part of the Yoruba tradition
--Multiple times, Akim and his brother and uncles had to prostrate themselves down in front of Abigails side of the family, showing his devotion and desire towards them. At least three times for they did it "in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit."
--Symbolizes how his family would support him in the marriage, Akim was hoisted up by his brother & uncles and carried around the area
--Abigail watched most of the formalities from a bedroom window before she was lead out, head completely covered. Finally, she was paraded in with dancing (yours truly included in the train), unveiled and Akim had to confirm (monetarily) that his was indeed "the one" he desired.
--One of my favorite moments, was when both sets (of extremely reserved) parents were asked to face each other, and then dance towards each other "joining" the two families. Awkward turtle anyone??
--With all the loot Akim had to bring (jericans of palm oil, wrappers, a goat, salt, drinks, etc), Abigail was told to pick one item. I personally really wanted her to go for the goat, who looked trepidly around the whole time, anticipating his fate as tomorrow's dinner. BUT, Abigail being the honorable and godly woman that she is, chose the Bible. Still not sure if she really had an option. Anyways, tied onto the ribbon around the Bible was her and Akim's engagement rings.
--Abigail then had a few tasks to complete: putting Akim's hat on him (the first of many times she will dress him once they are married...wierd), giving him a kiss on the cheek (exemplifying the affection she will give him), and flashing her new ring before the crowd, affirming her pride in Akim's gift to her.
--Dancing, praying, money "spraying" (showing appreciation and support for people by putting money on their foreheads)(makes having a sweaty forehead a plus for it will stick and you'll look really cool)('spraying' has actually been outlawed by the government because it damages the bills when they fall to the ground and get danced on), and eating (of course) took up the rest of the ceremony.

Now, while I had a blast sharing in this moment with my friends, I'm ok with Andrew and myself not being embarrased in this way for our engagement. Then again, it would be amusing to watch Andrew prostrate himself before my family with all his groomsmen...perhaps it can be incorporated into our ceremony... :)

In a couple of weeks Abigail and Akim will be getting hitched, so look out for the blog for that one. Until then check out more pictures here of the engagement ceremony

Ratatouille and Dippin' Dots

2009-06-03T14:31:00.003+01:00

I bet Ratatouille and Dippin’ Dots aren’t the first foods you think of when you think of Africa. Me either. In fact, they are so random that you might not be aware that both ratatouille and dippin’ dots are food items. Well, if my life has been anything the past month (or however long it’s been since I blogged), it has been random.

This past Monday began about like any Monday: 5:45am wake up, run 5 miles, chomp down some granola and head off to work. Mid-morning when I came back to the house to give car keys to the mechanic, I noticed a foul smell in the house. Hmm...perhaps Max, our cat, has brought in a mouse/bird/lizard and left it half-eaten somewhere. I looked under chairs, bookshelves, and cupboards to no avail. Then, I go to put something away in my closet and am blasted by the odoriferous funk. Letting my eyes adjust to the dark, I peer into the back and discover...

AHHH!!!

Yes, after a slight yelp, I go outside and yell to the compound guard, “DANLADI!! KA ZO YANZU!! AKWAI BERA A CIKI GIDANA!!!!!!!!!” Danladi, come now! There is a rat in my house!

Danladi tries his best to stifle his laughter as he rids my living quarters of the pestilence.

Maybe you don’t remember, but I had a bit of a traumatic incident last year with rats and have been forever scarred. I would have preferred a dead snake to a rat. And besides, this was no small, cute furry, nearly micky-mouse like critter...it was massive!! And in my CLOSET!! (OK, calm down, René...at least it was dead).Since there has been no sign of rat anywhere in our house (and that thing would leave some serious poo), and we don’t have rat poison anywhere, I determined that Max must have killed it and brought it in as present/punishment for me Sunday when we left her alone all day. See the killer with her typical prey.
OR, God could have been getting His holy kicks with me because I actually had planned to make the dish ratatouille for some friends for dinner, and watch the movie. Funny, YHWH, reeeeaaallly funny. And NO, I did not supplement my dinner with my discovery.

Today, no rodents in the house to my knowledge. However, the afternoon rain came in with vengeance today, deafening me with fierce hail on my tin roof. While the aforementioned ferocious feline hid under my bed, I watched my yard get covered in hail. Except, my brain didn’t register it as hail, but as DIPPIN DOTS!!
Just before I dashed outside with my spoon, an intelligent nuron fired and I realized it was hail. Oh, but what I would do for a bowl of Dippin’ Dots right now. They are the “ice cream of the future” after all. Can anyone send me some???

Fianceed!!!

2009-04-29T08:40:00.009+01:00

Attention world wide webers, I have been decisively plucked out of, never to reenter, the dating category and plunged into the engaged category. I figured posting the story on the blog was the best way to share it and pictures. Fortunately, my charming, well-spoken fiancee, Andrew Haile, has already chronicled the epic surprise visit and proposal so all I have to do is slip in my few comments and spruce it up with pictures. I think this partnership's going to work out just fine :)
Here's the full scoop (from Andrew's perspective), minus the spit-swapping and other TMI sorts of things:

THE BACKGROUND
So, as many of you may already know, I have been dating this girl, Rene Marshall, since the summer of 2005 when we met at camp and decided, after some awkward salsa dancing and capsized sailboats, that we liked each other. We have dated long distance throughout much of our relationship-- me in Paris, Rene in the States; Rene hiking the Appalachian Trail, me at Middlebury; Rene being in Nigeria, me being in Guinea. Despite the separation, however, we've continued to grow closer and closer over these past three years.
After rendezvousing with Rene in Northern Ireland last year, I felt a real peace about the idea of marriage in a way that I hadn't ever felt before. I began praying about proposing and felt God giving me the green light. Over Christmas, I asked her folks if it was cool, and they both said to "go get 'em slugger." Well, not in as many words, but they gave their blessing. So I decided to start planning a ridiculously cool, amazingly romantic, stunning surprise proposal trip to Nigeria, where Rene was and is working as a Youth Camp Coordinator for Serving in Mission (SIM).

THE PREPARATION
Rene's little sister, Kari, happens to be working in Nigeria as well. The same city and everything. How helpful! I had been thinking, for a long time, of surprising Rene with a proposal in a way that was creative, fun, and communicated to her just how special she was. Guitars, campfires, scandalously romantic poems came to mind. So, after I got back from my X-mas trip to the States, I emailed Kari and asked her if, indeed, it was possible to come to Nigeria without Rene knowing it and propose. She said, "go get 'em slugger." Well, not in as many words, but she said she could help make it work. So we got to work with the nitty-gritties: visas, plane tickets, dates, rides from airports, places to stay, etc. We worked it out so that Rene-- wonderful, oblivious Rene-- would think that I was coming to visit at the end of May, when, in reality, I was actually coming to visit on April 21st. And Kari-- my inside woman-- made it all happen on the Nigeria end, with help from other folks as well. I was to show up in Abuja early on the 21st, be taken to the camp where Rene was working, and propose, in stunningly unforgettable fashion.
So-- plane ticket bought, rides arranged, passport in hand, butterflies in stomach, I boarded the plane from Guinea to Nigeria and prayed for the best.

THE PROPOSAL
The flight from Conakry to Lagos was four hours late. Thus, I got into Lagos-- the second most dangerous city in the world for clueless white dudes, studies show-- at midnight. I was terrified. Kari had said that she had set up a person to meet me at the airport and put me up for the night, but of course, this was Africa-- why would anything go "according to plan?" Silly western notions. So if Plan A didn't come off, I was planning on holding up my wallet and passport, writing "ROB ME" on my forehead in permanent marker, skipping out the airport singing "It's a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood" and hoping for the best. Yet, thanks to my wonderful planners, I got to stick to Plan A and was met by a Nigerian man named Stephen who held a sign saying "Kyle Rene." I figured, since I knew 50% of the people represented on that sign, it must apply to me, and so I approached the man, shook his hand vigorously, and asked him if he was indeed the person who was supposed to meet me here. He said yes. Woohoo! So, in typical wonderful African hospitality, I was taken from the airport, showered, fed, hosted, and generally well loved until the next morning, when I was taken back to the airport to get my flight to Abuja, and from there, a car ride to Rene's camp in a town called Gombe.
Unfortunately, I missed my flight to Abuja. Two things caused this: 1) me having my clock an hour behind (I gained a time zone coming to Nigeria) and 2) African punctuality (or lack thereof). Stephen, my main man, came into my room at what I thought was 5:30am, and told me to get ready to go to the airport for my 6:50am flight. No problem, right? Except that it was 6:30 and I had twenty minutes to catch my flight! So it wasn't until I was being driven out onto the tarmac, watching my plane's outside door being closed and sealed, that I glanced at the clock on the car I was in and realized I was indeed an hour behind. Grrrr.
So, trying to keep my breathing pattern normal, I hurried back into the airport and went to the airline desk.
"Uh, sir?" I accosted the disinterested airline official. "I just missed my flight and need to get to Abuja. What do I do?"
The man gestured at the ticket window. "Go buy a new ticket. Plenty of airlines have flights to Abuja today."
"I don't have any Naira. Is there any way you can just put me on a new flight?" I gave him my best pathetic-white-dude look and smiled beseechingly.
"Go talk to the people at the counter," he said.
I thanked him and walked over to the ticket counter. There were three large Nigerian women behind the glass.
"Good morning, ladies-- I just missed my flight to Abuja and I was wondering if there's any way I can get on a new flight this morning."
I tried to look cute. They all looked at each other.
"Bellview Airlines only has one flight a day. You can come back tomorrow morning and catch the early flight," one woman said.
"I need to get to Abuja today though-- are there any other flights?" I asked.
"Why do you need to get to Abuja today?" one asked.
"I'm proposing to my girlfriend." I smiled winningly and gave her bambi eyes. They all laughed and clapped.
"Well-- in that case, paying 14,000 Naira for a new ticket shouldn't be a problem, right? Anything for a proposal!" the woman said.
"But ma'am," I said, "I don't have any Naira! Do you guys take credit cards?"
They shook their heads.
"Is there any way you can help me?" I pleaded.
They all looked at each other, again. The one on the right typed a few things in her computer and printed off a receipt. "Here--" she said, "Take this money and go buy a ticket on the Afrijet flight at 8:15." She refunded my ticket and handed me the cash.
I wanted to kiss her.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you, all of you!"
I dashed over to the Afrijet counter, got a new ticket, and went to the gate to board my new plane. Sweet, sweet, Bellview Airlines employees!
Arriving in Abuja, I was met by two Nigerian guys-- Victor and Shammah. They told me that they had been informed of the grand plan, and had been commissioned by Kari and co. to escort me out to Rene's camp in Gombe. Shammah even had a video camera, and told me he was going to take lots of film "to make the engagement even more special." Great idea. We all piled into Victor's van and drove the nine hours to Gombe.
We got there after dark due to the looooong drive, and had a quick team meeting. I had wanted a) to have some kind of campfire to invite Rene to and b) to have a chance to shower, change, and look presentable after 24 hrs of continuous travel. Neither seemed to be feasible, due to three hours of torrential rain and the location of Rene's camp being at a local school. So, I threw on a collared shirt, hastily applied some Old Spice in the back of the van, and told the guys I was ready.
Prepping the big surprise, we found a spare classroom that was a little ways away from the rest of camp and arrayed our flashlights around the room in order to provide a sufficient amount of light for the video camera. I grabbed my guitar, checked to be sure it was in tune, and positioned myself with my back to the door. One of the camp staff went and got Rene and told her to come because "a camper was crying and needed to talk to her." [it should be well noted that I was dead to the world asleep when I was retrieved. Thus the ensuing scene seemed more dreamlike and trippy than most of my dreams]
We waited a few minutes. I fiddled with my guitar. Agony.
I heard her feet, shuffling across the floor behind me, my heart leaped into my throat, and then:

"No freaking way."

I turned slightly, to see Rene: hair askew, eyes squinted, staring at me, smiling, shaking her head slowly back and forth.
"Are you kidding me?" she asked rhetorically, still staring. [all I could think was, "God, if this is a dream, I'm going to be very angry with you!]
I smiled back and told her to have a seat on the bench in front of me. She sat down slowly, still shaking her head. I took a deep breath and proceeded to play our favorite song, the song we were both singing when we first met: "In Christ Alone." I strummed and sang the first and last verses, and then pulled out a letter I had written to her and read it. I told her I loved her [we had purposely never said these words to each other throughout our relationship] and asked her to marry me.
And guess what? She said yes!

Duh-duh-daa!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
[who knows what my answer would have been had I not been in a sleepy stupor:)]
[though the setting lacked the traditional scenic view and delectible meal, it was all to appropriate seeing as we met at camp]

[Also, noteworthy...a few nights before I had a dream that Andrew came early to Nigeria to surprise me. Except, in the dream, despite everyone's expectations, he never got around to proposing, leaving me to wake up with all this angst about his visit. God and I had some words that morning. When I shared this with Andrew he said, "So my real self is cooler than my dream self!" Yes...and it was cool how the Lord calmed and prepared my heart for his visit.]

SO YEAH
So, turns out we're engaged! Rene and I had a wonderful week in Nigeria together--beginning with a celebration there in Gombe[see above picture], visiting with her friends, seeing the work that she's involved with, walking through the Jos market, eating meat pies, going on a safari (sans animals, phooey), playing ultimate frisbee with the horde of missionaries that live in the city. [I, Rene, had of course had a full itinerary already made out for May so frantically tried to refit it into these few days] [Included was a little engagement party where they honored us and showed some of the footage from the proposal. Definitely one of the most awkward moments of mine and Andrew's life thus far, but the thoughtfulness was appreciated.] It was a joyous week, if painfully short. It looks like we'll be having the wedding early next summer [early June], after we both get back from Africa [René in October 2009, Andrew February 2010].

Should be a blast, so go ahead and plan on coming!! And as always, see my web album for more pictures. Thanks for sharing in our joy!

May the wonders of our Lord never cease!

my new son

2009-04-09T12:25:00.007+01:00

Last month, I spent a couple nights dashing to and from the hospital with Shammah and Ketuah, eagerly anticipating the arrival of their first child. You know in the movies when the pregnant woman gets that look on her face and everyone goes into panic mode rushing the lady to the hospital? Well, it was nothing like that. I received a very calm phone call from Shammah saying, “Yes, sister René, could you come to the house by 7? Ketuah is feeling some different movings and I think we need to visit the hospital...” (side note: Shammah and Ketuah, like many Nigerians, don’t own a car and live a bit of a hike off the main road. Plus, due to the 7pm curfew on motorbikes, their main mode of transportation, they didn’t have the freedom to move.) I cancel the game night about to be hosted at my house, jump into my car, and zip over to their place. Do I find a panic-stricken fat lady and her anxiety-ridden husband? No. They are just as calm as can be and Ketuah even refused to let me carry her bag to the car. As I squeeze my Toyota 4-runner (on loan from a fellow missionary) through the cinder block neighborhood and then past 4 military-controlled check-points (still in place 5 months after the crisis), I’m thinking, “How exciting to be on the front row for this momentous event in their lives!” I missed out on being present when my brother and his wife had their first child (though Ali’s picture-taking/sharing obsession ensures I know what my niece looks like nearly weekly), but perhaps I can be a part of my Nigerian brother, Shammah, and his wife’s first birth. What would have been REALLY cool was if I insert a picture here of Ketuah giving birth in my car...instead, for two nights in a row we made these trips to the hospital with nothing to show for it. S & K ended up sleeping in my bed (knowing that the military dudes might try to extract a bribe for letting me pass, albeit with a legitimate excuse, after the 9pm vehicle curfew, I opted to avoid that unpleasant situation). Each ensuing night I expected to get another call, but none came. Fast forward a couple weeks...

While I was off in Obudu, little baby Shammah decided to make his grand entrance into the world. Since I was out of town, Shammah looked at his wife at 2 am when she expressed the need to go the hospital and said, “Well, do you think you can manage to climb on the back of the bike?” I don’t know about you, but I can think of better times in life to ride a motorcycle than when I’m going into labor! Like I’ve said before, Africans are incredibly resilient and Ketuah said it would be no problem. In retelling the story Shammah said, “Sure, it was fun, somehow!”

Naturally, I was bummed I couldn’t be part of the actual delivery but heartedly congratulated Shammah when I returned and heard the news. “So what is his name!?” I asked. “Not yet.” Was Shammah’s reply. I thought that was a pretty funny name until I remembered that Nigerians typically wait for a naming ceremony before revealing the baby’s name. With a twinkle in his eye Shammah said, “We’re not going to have a ceremony, but we’ll announce it on Sunday.”
Meet Reborn Marshall Shammah.

Yes, that’s his name. Now, some of you may not be aware of what my name means. René = “reborn” in French (think renaissance) and Marshall = “leader” somewhere in its etymology. SOO...THEY NAMED THEIR FIRSTBORN AFTER ME!!!

I cannot tell you how honored I am for this gesture. They said they had decided they would name their first child after me sometime last year, secretly hoping it would be a girl (contrary to societal pressures to have a boy first) so they could name her René. Ketuah explained that being a leader means being a servant and they saw this exhibited most poignantly the night I gave up my room for them. Plus, now that they’ve met my sister, Kari, they felt like honoring my dad (who is late) by giving his name to their son. Tonight as I visited Shammah, Ketuah, and RebornMarshall, they told me that he is my son too, since he bears my name. Their prayer is that he’ll grow up fully embodying his name and following in the footsteps of his namesake. Even though I’ll only be around (definitely) for the first few months of his life, they plan to tell stories of his “Auntie René” and the impact she had here in Nigeria. My eyes were brimming with tears, my smile spreading all over my face, and my heart overwhelmed with joy in hearing this. No award I have ever received comes close to honoring me the way Shammah and Ketuah did tonight. So much more could be said, but I think you have a sense of the profundity of this moment for me.

“Ina da farin ciki da murna da tawali” = I’m joyful, happy, and humbled.”

ObUdU

2009-04-04T22:31:00.006+01:00

Here's to another post documenting a stellar African vacation adventure. Whatever credibility my "travel agency" lost in the wahala-filled journey to Ghana, it has been redeemed with this latest journey to Obudu, Nigeria. Obudu is located 8 hrs from Jos, in the southwestern end of the country, within viewing distance of Cameroon. After hearing nothing negative, except the length of the drive (a mere blink in comparison with our 3-day road trek to Ghana), I made arrangements and gathered other cool, single folk to join the fun. For 5 days, 4 nights, our team of 12 stormed Obudu Cattle Ranch, waterpark, village and surrounding mountains. Check it out:

Incredible water park at the bottom of the mountain. Complete with high dive, low dive, short wave waterslide, long, winding waterslide, jets, olympic-sized lap lanes, and all to our rule-breaking selves!!

Another sweet African canopy walk. Not as extensive as Ghana, but had some really sweet jungle scenery, a baby chameleon, and a tree fort (ok, so they didn't call it a fort. I think it was actually a bird-watch tower, but that sounds too lame:) My favorite foliage was the "testicle tree." I kid you not.
Any quality vacation involves a physical challenge...at least in my book. So one day we asked our local friend "Godsgift", to lead us on a little hike to a sweet waterfall. This was not for the faint of heart, let me tell you. Someone needs to introduce switchbacks to Nigerians, but other than that, it was INCREDIBLE! I couldn't believe all this gorgeous scenery and creation was in Nigeria. Despite how disgusting and sore we were at the end, it was the highlight of the trip for me. (made me miss the AT a bit)
(have I mentioned how much I love sharing this special chapter of my life with my sister?)
As you can see, we had a blast. There are oodles more stories to tell about cable car rides, banana/yogurt over-dosing, and speed-uno games, but I'll let you peruse my web album for that.And hey, next time you're in Nigeria or Cameroon, check out ol' Obudu.
TEAM BANANA!
Back row: [An]Drew, Dana, Micah, me, Marc
Front Row: Joseph, Emmanuel, Emily, Niffer, Kari, Lisa

YHWH is not a hairdresser

2009-03-13T15:41:00.007+01:00

[here's my latest article in to the magazine. if you think it's awful, let me know soon before it goes to the printers! oh, and I know the picture is bad...it's from my first hair-plaiting experience]Have you ever said a prayer like this: “Dear God, Oh I do not know what I need...but you must have some ideas...so just do something about it, would you? Amen.” These prayers remind me of how I speak to my tailor or hairdresser. Can you relate? I often walk into the salon, sit down in the chair and say exactly that or “Fix me up right.” In trying to get wrappers made with Nigerian fabric, I am clueless and end up relying on the expertise and experience of my tailor. Most of the time, things turn out all right. But I have a feeling it all would go a lot better if I had been a little more specific. Thankfully, my tailor and God both deal with my laziness graciously and continue to allow me to approach them in this manner. Lately, however, I have begun to think that prayers like that are weak and complacent. One can, respectfully, imagine God hearing that prayer, raising an eyebrow, and replying, “Call me again when you decide to get serious.”
In Matthew 6:8 Jesus tells His disciples that “Our Father knows what we need before we ask,” so I am not saying God needs us to tell him. Perhaps the more important question is—do we know what we need? Do we take the time and energy to really allow God to search our hearts, know our anxious thoughts, and show us the aspects of our lives that maybe hurtful, as David prayed in Psalm 139:23-24? As Elizabeth Gilbert says, “Casting yourself at God’s feet in helpless desperation is all well and good—heaven knows, I have done it myself plenty of times—but ultimately you are likely to get more out of the experience if you can take some action on your end.” Over and over in scripture we read how people of faith prayed boldly, deliberately, and specifically, while still being humble and reverent. Moses asked for God to reveal His glory to him, (Ex. 33:18) Elisha asked two bears to come and attack 42 youths (2 Kings 2:24), Jabez prayed to have his territory enlarged (1 Chronicles 4:10), Paul prayed that the Ephesians would know the full dimensions of God’s love (Eph. 3:18), and Jesus prayed to be glorified in the Father’s presence (John 17:1)! Those are some deliberate prayers AND are prayers that resulted in God’s action. I am challenged to take the privilege and discipline of prayer more seriously. Instead of treating God like my tailor or hairdresser and saying, “Take this and do what you do best” or like a genie that we give our selfish wishes to for Him to grant, what if we treated Him like a friend (John 15:15), a coworker (2 Cor. 6:1), a loving Father (2 Cor. 6:18), and the Lover of our souls (Song of Songs 6:3)? Perhaps then, we would be more personal and authentic in our conversations with Him. Also, we might just see the hand of God moving on our behalf. In the ministry of ECWA Camp Youth Alive, I have been privileged to see the Lord’s hand at work many times just in the past 1½ years. When we had a very small time frame to raise a very large amount of money for a critical piece of land at our campsite, prayer warriors were called upon and within a month, all the money had come in from unexpected sources. When registration was low for Jos ECYA camp 2009, we hit our knees and specifically asked for the Lord to make a way and bring youth to fill the spots at camp. The result? Our senior week of camp was 15 people over capacity! And despite the rugged and vulnerable environments where many of our camps take place, the Lord has answered our fervent by protecting ECYA so that we’ve never experienced snake bites or serious injuries. I’m also seeing answers to my prayers for growth through discipleship after camp. Many of the volunteer camp staff have caught the vision for discipleship and are following up with their campers throughout the year. This can have far-reaching effects on the spiritual lives, both of the campers and the staff. In view of this, I echo the prophet Habakkuk’s prayer,
“Lord, I have heard of your fame; I stand in awe of your deeds, O Lord. Renew them in our day, In our time make them known;” (Hab. 3:2)
Having seeing God’s power in answering prayer, I’m encouraged to continue being purposeful, personal, Spirit-led, and specific in my prayers. For ECYA this means coming to my knees and asking the Lord to send 15 new volunteer staff who are passionate about Christ and making His love known among the youth. I am praying for churches, fellowship groups, and individuals to commit to being monthly supporters of ECYA. Specifically, we are trusting God for 100 supporters to start a commitment of at least N 1,000/month this year. I am also being honest with God and acknowledging my limited strength, and pleading for Him to sustain me and the rest of the office each Sunday as we visit churches raising awareness for camp 2009. Even as I write, I am praying and looking forward to seeing how the Lord will answer. This is part of “getting more out of the experience.” More importantly, I believe God is more glorified when we lay aside our complacency and stop treating him like our hairdresser or tailor. After all, our Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer deserves WAY more than that.

Rikkos

2009-02-12T17:34:00.008+01:00

A couple weeks ago, I got to be involved with a tangible outpouring of love towards some of the victims of the Jos Crisis (nov last year). It’s always difficult to decide how to allocate funds when the needs abound. Should you give everyone a little something, or give a select group of people a significant something that might actually make a difference? Do you meet the immediate felt need or the crucial long-lasting needs? More than anything, I wanted to communicate love, support, and solidarity with the victims. To come alongside and say, “I’m achingly sorry for how evil has been manifested in your life, causing you to suffer, but know that this is the antithesis of God.” Unfortunately, my Hausa isn’t quite advanced enough to translate that fully:) What I COULD do, is help organize an event where we could give out wrappers (African tops and skirts) to the women of a church that experienced vast destruction and affliction.

The ECWA Rikkos Church building, pastorium, and health clinic were burnt, their pastor was killed, 80 members’ homes burnt, and several members killed. It would be a gross understatement to say they’ve felt the effects of this crisis.

The women of the Gidan Bege (= “House of Hope”) widow ministry wanted to help, so we let them pick out the fabrics and sew over 80 wrappers. Then I picked them up in a large van and we went over to ECWA Rikkos, where they still hold services in the roofless, charred-wall building. The number of women there at the church continued to increase for the new pastor to arrive and sang choruses. To present the wrappers, the widows of Gidan Bege paraded into the church carrying the gifts on their heads, dancing, and singing in true Nigerian fashion. (Yes, they made me join the parade.)

After handing out all the wrappers, we allowed a time for a few of the women to share their story. Here are a couple of them(as translated by my friend Sulmane Maigadi):

Titi Adi

Early that Friday morning, Titi and her children were sifting the chaff from the corn she had grinded the day before when a neighbor came into her house with the news that would change her life; there was fighting in the city. One of the M boys in the area begged Titi to follow him to their house so that she and the family would be safe. Because she knew the boy, Titi had no reservations about sending her children along with him. Titi and her husband remained behind to make sure that all electrical appliances were turned off and valuables protected from the threat of fire. But this delay nearly cost them their lives.

Titi left her husband upstairs and headed for the door, confident that he would be along soon. But when she opened the door, she was met with a crippling sight. The M’s had already reached her doorstep and had surrounded the house. She was speechless. Titi was told to remain where she was and she knew at that point that they intended to kill her and burn the house. Her husband, hearing the commotion, didn’t show himself to the mob, but Titi could see the concern in his eyes.

Then, one of the mobsters did an incredible thing. Without consultation, he took her aside and told her to find a place to hide. Titi whispered that nowhere was safe and that her husband was still in the house; she wasn’t leaving without him. He prevailed upon her to run to his house, promising to save her husband. Titi, trusting God, complied.

From within the M’s house, she could hear him trying to convince the others to head into the city and join other M brothers. Amazingly, the mob agreed. Titi and her husband found shelter in the home of the enemy and were later able to verify their children’s safety.

Lydia Yakubu

Lydia lived in a compound with other family members. When the crisis began and she became aware of the danger, M’s in the nearby area begged her and her family to hide in their houses. She refused, saying if death would come, it would come, whether in her house or in the house of an M friend. But she agreed to send her children to safety.

The compound was attacked and a husband and wife were killed in the ensuing violence. But before they could get to Lydia, soldiers arrived and rescued them. Lydia and others retrieved their children and followed the soldiers to safety.

Here’s the story of what happened to the pastor:

Elder Danladi Chozhi

Danladi received a call on Friday at 6am from a concerned friend who had heard that there was a riot in town. That was the first he heard that there may be a problem. Around 7am, Danladi went to the church where he served as the Treasurer, to see if the Reverend in charge, Ephraim Masok, was still there. He found no one, but on his way back to home, he met up with Ephraim who was going back to the church to take something he had forgotten.

The two went back to the church together, then went to Danladi’s house. After a while, concerned individuals informed Ephraim and Danladi that their church was on fire. Since the rioters had not yet reached the surrounding area, the pastor and the treasurer of Rikkos church decided to warn others to seek safety before it was too late. This errand of charity proved to fatal to Ephraim Masok.

House to house they went when they were attacked by M’s with machetes, cutlasses, homemade guns and stones. In an effort to run, Ephraim fell to the ground was immediately surrounded by the mob; they sent him to his Final Home. Danladi used both his forearms to protect himself from machetes and cutlasses. When the opportunity presented itself, he ran and God’s grace prevented the mob from following him. Danladi was taken to the hospital where he stayed for two weeks. He sustained fractures on both arms, but Doctors are hopeful that he will heal completely.

Words on paper can never adequately convey the reality of a situation. The horror of the Jos crisis will be truly understood only by those who experienced it first-hand. Hearing these testimonies shook me to the core and made the whole crisis hit closer to home. After all, most of the atrocities happened within a mile radius of where I was sitting. The marvel of our God is that He can still show His grace within the wickedness that strives to suppress His truth. I don’t know if I can comment much more on these testimonies. I only know I’m glad I could be a part of God’s restoration and comfort in their lives. Please continue to pray for Jos. Rumors continue to go around warning that the strife is far from over.If you are inclined to help in the ongoing relief efforts, SIM has set up a project to give to. Go to here and for project number, enter 96037. If you want to know more about where the money is going exactly feel free to email me and I can fill you in. Thanks!

"We do not know what to do, but our eyes are on You, O Lord." --King Jehoshaphat in 2 Chronicles 20:12.

(Not only did he have an awesome name, but he defeated his enemies by marching out to battle with singing only (and God of course). )

Journalism?

2009-02-05T20:08:00.002+01:00

Who would have thought this Math/Bible double major would be given a column in a nationally distributed magazine? Crazy, huh? We'll see how it goes, but I did want to share the article I submitted for the February magazine. Unfortunately, they don't have an online edition and blogspot doesn't really let me upload documents. But, the article has been formatted and posted on SIM-Nigeria's website so click here to check it out. And, you know...let me know what you think!

Ghana (part 3)

2009-01-29T19:17:00.003+01:00

(Most of this post was written by the wonderful Dana Roberts aka snuggle muffin aka future roommate. If you think it sound a bit like me, that's a hint at why we're such good friends.)

From our charming Kokrobite Beach, we headed toward Cape Coast where we stayed at this crocodile lagoon called Hans Cottage and Botel (advertisements say, “not a hotel, not a motel, but a botel!). After arguing for almost half an hour with our taxi driver to give us the price he told us, we made our way to the largest and oldest European castle in Sub-saharan Africa, a slave castle in Elmina. I don’t think I can fully communicate the gut wrenching that took place as we heard all the stories of this place. To walk into the woman's chambers and still be able to smell the urine that had saturated the floors at one time was repulsing. Over 100 women would get crammed into a 10x20 corridor for 2 months with no bathroom, no showers and nothing to sleep on but the cement floor that was covered with human feces (and other fluids that are excreted over the course of a month...). Every so often the governor would walk out on the balcony and have the women stand below him and he would chose one that would get a bath and then, he would rape her. Then, to think they had a chapel in the castle where they would have worship services was another kick to the stomach I always heard about the slave castles but to be honest never really thought about what happened in these places. It was an act of evil that's hard to express in words. Feel free to view it in pictures. So let me move onto a lighter subject...liiiiiiiiiike swinging through the treetops of the rain forest on rope bridges! { The next day we did a canopy tour in Kakum National Park and ummmm lets just say awesome and exhilarating! The pictures don’t do justice! (but you should still check them out HERE.) You have to wonder how well they are maintained though, because these countries tend to struggle with that...hahaha! What a great way to go though...free falling through the African rainforest right into the arms of Jesus...I could handle that :) So after the tour we headed back to Hans for one last swim before we had to hit the road annnnd 4 of us decided it was a good idea to take the 2 paddle boats out around the lagoon to see some crocs. No sign usually translates in English to: Enter At Your Own Risk. That’s what we thought anyways...but the lady who worked in the restaurant must not have spoke good english because she translated it into "What are you doing on those boats, what happens if you fall in, you have to pay $4/boat right now" Mind you, we were on them for 5 minutes! SO I decided to take action and inform her what no sign usually means to Americans and that I was not paying until I saw the cost writing (we had been ripped off WAY to many times on this trip). Well, she didn’t like that translation either so she went to the bar and printed a receipt for 8 dollars and wrote paddle boats besides it...hahahahha riiiiiiiiight, like I’m going to buy that. So, we went to reception and argued back and forth and, well, bottom line is we won!!! We didn’t have to pay...duuuuh did you really think I would give into that kind of ripping off?! So we then left for Accra and met back up with the Sonius's for another great meal (have I mentioned they are an incredible family?) and a place to sleep. Our flight left for Lagos the next day and how good it felt to be getting on a plane (and not some cramped bus/van/taxi)!!! Sooooo after a night in Lagos with some friends and hoping another plane to Jos we finally made it back! I never thought it would feel so good to be back on the Plateau! So there you have it a small chapter of my Christmas break that I will never forget!!!this shot's for you mom :)

Ghana (part2)

2009-01-23T16:35:00.003+01:00

He giveth more grace when the burdens are greater
He sendeth more strength when the labors increase;
To added affliction he addeth his mercy
To multiplied trials, he multiplied peace.

[chorus]
His love has no limit, his grace has no measure
His power has no boundary known unto men;
For out of his infinite riches in Jesus
He giveth and giveth and giveth again!

When we have exhausted our store of endurance
When our strength is failed ere the day is half-done
When we reach the end of our hoarded resources
Our Father’s full giving in only begun.

By the time we made it to Accra, our burdens seemed great, our labors many, our afflictions added, and our trials...well, you could certainly the trials seemed multiplied. O, but our God displayed how much He loves to give good gifts to His children. Truth be told, in each difficulty, we DID experience grace, protection, mercy, peace, and strength. Of course, it took a couple days spread out on the beach to clear our vision and see that. Also helping remind us of our Father’s giving was the Sonius family’s INCREDIBLE hospitality. Though the Sonius’ had never laid eyes on any of us, and my connection to them was weak (my mom grew up with Lee in Liberia way back when), they welcomed us into their home as if we were 8 children who’d just returned from travels. Upon arriving to their lovely home, we were shown our rooms (complete with AC) and then told that dinner was ready. Have I mentioned that we hadn’t eaten a complete meal in 3 days? Right, so that chicken curry with all the fixings sent the 8 of us into a euphoric state for a few hours. The next day (after another nirvana-reaching pancake breakfast) Lee and Michelle ushered us around Accra, helping us find money, booking plane tickets, arranging transport to the coast and shopping for essentials at the spanking new Accra Mall. By the afternoon, our “tro-tro” had found its way through some muddy villages to the much-anticipated BIG MILLY’S BACKYARD!! Yes, that’s the name of the place at Kokrobite Beach we stayed for 3 nights. I wouldn’t exactly classify it as a resort...but it was like a little community with accommodations ranging from communal hostel-like beds to air-conditioned personal bungalows. I had been able to arrange for our crew to have the owner’s old house for $60/night (we split that 8 ways). This cute cottage worked perfectly for us, even with the one bathroom and a few less-than-modest individuals ;-)
I’ll spare you the play-by-play of our time there at Big Milly’s and just let you check out the pictures. Basically, there was a lot of playing in the waves, noses in the books, walks along the beach, soaking up the sun, meeting the locals, eating good food, laying under the fan in the house, dueling over “settlers of catan,” and wearing non-Nigeria appropriate clothes.

Our New Year’s Eve was spent there at Big Milly’s, too. They had this huge buffet dinner, bonfire, and a jammin’ Rastafarian band (think, Bob Marley songs + popular songs sung in a Bob-Marley-esque way). Other than getting mugged when some of us went out for a stroll on the beach that night (pretty scary, but we only lost a camera and a phone) the night was fun and certainly memorable. At midnight they set off fireworks via the bonfire, and apparently had only enough prudence to avoid serious damage. Dancing (to the same Marley-esque rhythm) went on till the early morning, but most of our group opted out since the mugging decreased our gaiety.

Now, here’s the top 7.5 reasons YOU should go to Big Milly’s Backyard:
1. Whole, fresh pineapple, cut right before you on the beach for less than $1. (Most of us went on the pineapple diet there)
2. Opportunity to play a game of soccer with the locals.
(My invitation happened during a chat with a couple local dudes helping sew a dress for me. Conversation went like this:
Me: So I see [from his shirt] you’re an Arsenal fan. When’s the next game?
Dude 1: oh, yeah yeah. Tonight.
Me: OK, cool. Are you able to watch the games?
Dude 1: yes. Are you a football fan?
Me: um, well...I don’t get to see many games, but I used to play.
Dude 1&2: YOU play football?
Me: Yep. I played for my university.
Dude 2: Prove it!
Me: Bring a ball in here and I’ll prove it.
Dude 2: No, you come at 4 and prove it during our daily village game.
Me: Um...ok! I’ll be here!
3. Eccentric 50+ sales women with years of sun-damage, bright green eye-liner, and tight cut-off shorts who come sit down on your blanket and convince you to buy her snazzy homemade jewelry or Ghanian clothes.
4. All food & drinks bought are put on your tab so you don’t have to carry money
5. Chilled out rasta-dudes who are happy to help you learn to play shakers, find cool places, dance ghana-style or beat you at ping pong for free (unheard of in Nigeria).
6. Watching fishing boats being pulled in (mostly by naked little boys) with fresh catches every day.
7.5 The name and the fact “Big Milly” is really a cute, petite 60 yr old British woman.
[sorry it’s taking me so long to write these blogs about the trip. I need to finish because stuff has happened back here in Nigeria I need to write about too...life’s just so full! Stay tuned for part 3 and check out those pictures in the mean time!]

Ghana (part 1)

2009-01-16T13:52:00.008+01:00

Before I tell you all the awe-inspiring, memory-making, jealousy-inducing aspects of the trip, I’m going to share the not-so-swell experiences. These would be the fear-actualizing, money-draining, sleep-depriving, patience-testing, frustration-escalating, migraine-inducing aspects. So as not to deprive you here’s the blow-by-blow

The plan:

Take a 12-hr coach bus down to Lagos. Coach bus or maybe taxi across to Benin. Stay a day and night in Cotonou, Benin. Take Coach bus to Ghana. Then spend 5-6 days along the coast at a couple inexpensive places. Finally, we’d fly back from Accra to Abuja and have a friend drive us back to Jos the following day. Pretty seemless plans, right?

WRONG!!

Pre-Departure

*When trying to book our flights, we discovered Nigeria’s infamy for online fraud...the websites wouldn’t accept our credit cards.

*A week before we were supposed to leave, our return flight was unexpectedly and inexplicably cancelled. Other flights from Accra to Abuja were nearly double the price so we thought we’d come back by land to Lagos, then take the direct flight from there to Jos.

*After receiving back our passports with the Ghana visas on Christmas Eve (less than 2 days before departure date), we discovered that Corinne’s was not in the mix. Thankfully, it had just been left in the copier machine at our friend’s work so he made an early morning delivery the next day. Merry Christmas!

The Journey

*ETD was 7am on Dec. 26^th. Giddy with anticipation, all 8 of us get dropped off at the bus station @ 6:45...where we’d spend the next 4 hours WAITING for our bus to show up. They kept saying over the loud speaker, “Thank you for your patience thus far. The bus is coming...”

*Due to our late departure, our safe day-bus turned into a night bus aka the biggest thou shalt not in African travel, (soon followed by “thou shalt not take pictures at border crossings”). Combined with the next complication, this meant we didn’t get into Lagos till 7am the next morning. (that’d be a 20 hour bus ride)

* Some bad dudes saw all us white folks getting back onto the bus at one of the stops and thought it’d be a lucrative venture to follow our bus (with ill intentions). Though we were all oblivious at the time, the driver was aware of these armed robbers, made a couple strategic moves (prolonging the trip), and kept us all safe.
Once arriving in Lagos, I sought about securing transportation for the rest of the trip to Ghana (couldn’t be done in Jos). Found out that the Ghana borders would be closed for the next 2 days. Consequently, no buses were leaving till then and those were already full.
Arranged for taxis to take us across the border to Cotonou at the price tag of a HUGE chunk of the cash we had on hand.
* One taxi breaks down 500 meters from the Benin border
* Nigerian “immigration officers” harassed us every 10 meters for the last mile before the border. We got all kinds of threats and attempts to intimidate us but I knew at the end of the day that THEY couldn’t keep us from leaving the country. Basically, they were just looking for a little “happy Christmas” (= a few bucks). Seemed that anyone in possession of a large stick or board with nails on it were part of the border patrol and entitled to a dash. I’m considering using this tactic next time I need to raise funds.

* At the Benin-Nigeria border we needed to get transit (48 hr) visas, which according to all the research I did, shouldn’t be a big deal and would only cost us 10,000 CFA/person (~$18). WRONG! After 3 hours of “tipping” every person at the table, walking across the street 5 times, and essentially selling the shirts off our backs and our first-born children, we made it out of there with a severely depleted pocketbook.
Benin (and

Togo

) are French-speaking countries...and about 1.5 people in our group spoke fluent French.

* Didn’t have a street address for the SIM guesthouse we were scheduled to stay at and our taxi drivers were clueless about Cotonou.

* Arrived in Cotonou Saturday afternoon, meaning all the banks and bureau de change’s were closed (until Monday) and the little bit of cash we had was in Naira or USD. Not to worry, we made a connection with someone at church who had a connection on the black market, naturally :)

* Needed to find the bus company to get tickets, departure time, etc. I spent 2.5 hours cruising the streets of Cotonou on a motorbike nearly in vain, until we came upon this obscure sign with ABC Transport in 10pt font.
{photo}
* The morning we were supposed to leave Benin, Marc and Lisa spent 2 hours in a desperate attempt to find a bank, bureau de change or ANYBODY who would cash traveler’s checks. Note: traveler’s checks are WORTHLESS in Africa. Meanwhile, the rest of the group had no clue where they were since they had just gone to the bank next door.

* At the

Togo

border, we got charged an extra 5,000 CFA for not speaking French.
140 km from Accra, Ghana, in a little village called Dabala, our reliable van makes some horrifying, wrenching, clutch-breaking noise, and then proceeds to leak coolant as we roll back. When our driver lifts the seat to look at the engine (it’s one of those Toyota vans with an engine under the front seat), he pops the radiator cap and causes Old Faithful to spew all over the front of the van. By some miracle, we’re able to get the van started again, and crawl all the way to Accra in 3^rd gear, at a rate of 60kmph.

Against all, and I do mean, ALL odds, we made it Accra, Ghana. From there, things started to improve, but then again, how could they not?!? Here’s a sample of verses we quoted to each other throughout this leg of the trip:

“We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they are good for us—they help us learn to endure. And endurance develops strength of character in us, and character strengthens our confident expectation of salvation. And this expectation will not disappoint us. For we know how dearly God loves us, because he has given us the Holy Spirit to fill our hearts with His love.” –Rom. 5:3-5

"We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted,but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed.”—2 Cor. 4:8

“Whenever trouble comes your way, let it be an opportunity for joy. For when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be strong in character and ready for anything.” –James 1:2-4

Merry Christmas!

2008-12-25T11:11:00.005+01:00

I know I'm just one of many Christmas blogs, but if I didn't put these pictures up now, they might never get posted and then all of you would wonder, "What does a single gal DO for Christmas in Nigeria?!?" I had this whole little diatribe about peace and Jesus and everything written in my head, but now I haven't the time or energy to eloquently craft it into a blog. SO, this time around, you'll just have to enjoy the pictures. (Some of you are grateful, I know).

Kari (my sister!), me, Dana, and Corinne enjoying our cozy Christmas Eve dinner. Yes, the hooded sweatshirts were necessary! It was actually quite chilly for Nigeria on Christmas Eve, which helped get us in the spirit and enjoy drinking our special holiday tea. It also made sleeping 3 in my double bed rather enjoyable:)

On Christmas day itself, I trekked all around Jos, visiting friends, giving them my homemade Christmas cookies (most weren't sure what to do with my bright green X-mas trees), and showing them how much I love and appreciate them. Here are a few pix from my rounds:With Larai, who later said, "René, you made my day with your visit. If you hadn't come, today would have come and gone like any other day." And all I did was come and eat a plate of rice!!

This is one of my absolute favorite people in Nigeria--Mama Ceasar (her son's name is Ceasar). She has the most beautiful, contagious laugh and smile, CONSTANTLY. When I told her I couldn't eat very much food, she "packed" a whole meal for me in containers and a plastic bag and sent me home with it. VERY important for her to feed me, apparently. Don't tell, but I ended up giving the meal to a guard who had to be away from home all day. I think he enjoyed it more that I would have.This is my Nigerian family, the Marcos's. The Mama is Hanatu, our head cook for the camp. They have 2 daughters as well, but they were both getting all washed up when we took this picture. By the way, notice how I'm the ONLY one looking at the camera. The look-away pose is in.

And now...I'm off to Ghana for 10 days with 7 friends! There's sure to be oodles of adventure and stories to tell when I return. Remain blessed!

Sai shekara mai zuwa... (=Until next year...)

Shipped out...sort of

2008-12-08T10:58:00.005+01:00

So an hour after I posted that last blog a few days ago, I was informed that we had to come together for a compound meeting. There the crisis management team informed us that the compound I live on, plus two others were being evacuated. No, not out of the country, just away from the area. The night before we had received some reports of alleged plans to attack ECWA Headquarters and its compounds, including the one I live on. Naturally, hearing this quickened my heart beat and brought the danger of this whole situation a little closer to home...literally. After a week, the reports seem to have been just a rumor. These sorts of rumors are have been rampant in Jos this past week, serving only to instill fear and keep tensions high. Anyways, our wise mission decision makers reasoned that it was better to be safe and a little inconvenienced, than tragic victims, and thus, we were evacuated. Since things DID have the potential to escalate (and still do), we were advised to pack for the possibility that we might not come back. THAT was weird, let me tell you. I could be away for a couple nights, a week, or...forever! Now, things seem to be leaning toward me returning to my little abode in the next day or so. Don't tell, but I've snuck back to check on my cat and dump dirty laundry :) As time has passed, I've begun to process all the ramifications of this crisis. I don't think I'm quite ready to blog about it though. I will say that the safety aspect of it all, undoubtedly what many of you have been most concerned about for me, isn't that important in the big scheme of things. What breaks my heart is not the possibility that I could get hurt...it's all the corruption and brokenness and presence of evil that does nothing but destroy society. Oh, I could get on a roll very quickly, but I better not.
Adding to the craziness in my neck of the woods...it rained this past week!!! Maybe you've forgotten, but we're it the middle of dry season here in Nigeria. As in, it hasn't rained since October and we weren't expecting any precipitation until...oh...April-ish. Imagine our surprise when two nights in a row last week, we had a steady drizzle for several hours. Not imagine the irritation of my friend who was working on replacing a roof and had not reached the point of putting the new one back on. As I said in one of my first postings, T.I.A. (This is Africa).
Well, I should be heading back to the office tomorrow, and hope to be able to get involved with the relief efforts going on around Jos. There were some 30,000 internally displaced people (IDP's) staying at 13 different refugee camps. The number has decreased, but the enormous need remains. If you want to help out financially toward these families who've lost everything either in fire or being run out of their neighborhood, SIM has set up a project you can give to. Go to www.sim.org/giveusa The project number is NG 96038 (I believe you can omit the NG, that just stands for Nigeria). If nothing else, please continue to pray for peace, reconciliation, and repentance.

“The invitation of Jesus is a revolutionary call to fight for the heart of humanity…using the weapons of faith, hope, and love.” –Erwin McManus

Jos crisis: a few words and pix

2008-11-30T22:57:00.009+01:00

Dear worried friends and faithful prayer warriors,
Once again, my gratitude is immeasurable for your many emails, messages, prayers, and even phone calls. They humble and amaze me in addition to motivating me to keep posting updates. Though things seemed to attempt to return to normal today, nothing felt normal. The tension and anxiety was visible on everyone's face. And the standard greetings didn't seem like a formality as much today:

Ina kwana? (How was the night?)
Lafiya. Yaya Gagiya? (Fine. How is the tiredness)
Da Sauke. Yaya gida/iyali? (There is improvement. How is the house/family?)

I looked every person I saw in the eye and went through the greetings with the utmost sincerity. Unfortunately, many people had stories to tell. Stories I'm not ready to write in a blog post. Imagine some of the worst, most brutal incidences you've read about concerning African riots and sectarian violence, and you'll have an idea of what's happened in Jos the past few days.
I wish I could say the worst is over, but there are credible reports that more attacks are on their way. Security check points and roadblocks coming into Jos have stopped numerous vehicles carrying guns, ammo, machetes, and hired attackers from all over Nigeria and even surrounding countries. Needless to say, this is bigger than just an election dispute.
Once again, you can likely google "Jos, Nigeria crisis" or something and read up on the situation, but I've also included some pictures and links here. I haven't exactly been around town asking victims to smile for the camera, so these are just the few I've been able to gleen. In the next few days, I'm personally hoping to be able to get involved in the relief efforts when they get organized. Until then, I'll be keeping my ears and knees to the ground.

Burnt vehicles--there are TONS of these all over the place, especially certain parts of town.

"The Family (Corinne, Marc, me, Dana)" trying to stay updated on what's happening. Better info online than outside sometimes.

Smoke rising from a certain part of town Sat. evening. Notice the difference in the two halves of the sky. Towards the right is where most of the burning took place all day.

Hundreds of dead bodies have been taken to the mosques for their burial rites to be said over them. No good figure of the death count so far, but well over 500.

More burnt out vehicles. Ironically, they torched this parking lot of fire engines. Imagine, sending a fire station up in flames.

article about how this is affecting the rest of the country:
http://allafrica.com/stories/200812020825.html

Kind of like a snow day...

2008-11-29T11:40:00.002+01:00

...except it's a "crisis day." Has all the ingredients of a snow day in North Carolina:
-restricted to the house
-people gathering at each other's homes
-bad stuff happening out on the streets because of stupid people
-lots of tea drinking
-no outdoor activities

oh, but take away the cold, add a few dozen gunshots every 1/2 hour and the stench of burning buildings in the air.

BUT, we have a good crew of people who've banded together (yes, my sister is with me) and we're staying in good spirits, turning a trauma into a party.

The city's on a lock-down for the next 24 hrs (till Sunday morning @ 8am) as tensions, violence, and instability are very prevalent. I am safe and grateful for a walled compound with faithful guards.

If you want to read more on the situation, check out these online articles:

http://www.thisdayonline.com/nview.php?id=129452
http://www.punchng.com/Articl.aspx?theartic=Art200811292555081
http://www.alertnet.org/thenews/newsdesk/LT520810.htm

keep the prayers coming!

Black (and smokey) Friday

2008-11-28T11:01:00.001+01:00

smoke over Jos this morning

The day after Thanksgiving being termed “black Friday” is currently taking on a whole new meaning for me. While in the U.S., deal-seeking, door-busting, over-zealous holiday shoppers are getting up at 4am to be the first in line for ---------- (what IS the hot item this season??), certain sects of people in Jos were up at 4am with a very different agenda. Yesterday was actually a public holiday here in the Plateau State. Not in honor and memory of that first harsh winter survived by the grace of God and cooperation of two people groups coming together...actually it was election day. All the local governments positions in the state (equivalent of mayor and maybe House of Representatives), were being voted upon. Thus, there was a “no movement” restriction to prevent wahala (troubles). (on a side note...it seems to me that no transportation could make it difficult for some people to get to the polls, but whatever) While my friends and I opted to indulge in some Christmas craft-making while watching holiday movies, tensions ran high in the area. As I’ve mentioned before, Plateau State, and Jos in particular, is significantly located where the Muslim North and the Christian South of Nigeria meet. Thus, it is viewed by both groups as strategic for control and influence, not just for the local governments, but for the entire country. Plateau’s moto “Home of Peace and Tourism” has been true for most of its history, up until the 2001 Jos Crisis. Since then, Muslims and Christians no longer live in the same neighborhoods and bitterness, mistrust, and fear prevails between the groups. Leading up to elections, I heard a good bit of talk among Nigerians of all the corrupt tactics already going on--bringing in people from outside and forging residency papers, threatening people to keep them away from voting, and bribery. Perhaps it’d be easy for you to refuse a bribe to vote for the “other guy,” but these folks rarely get more than 1 good meal a day, and the Christmas season drives up the prices on everything. All sorts of promises were also made that if “our guy doesn’t win, we will attack!” I try to take all these bits and pieces of information with a grain of salt. After all, Nigerians do tend to dramatize things. So yesterday I layed low, gluttonized (not sure if that’s a legitimate word, but spell-check didn’t notice) at a big festive Thanksgiving dinner with the missionary/ex-pat community here, then enjoyed talking to numerous family members and my wonderful boyfriend. I went to sleep content, thankful, and without a single worry about the situation here in Jos. HOWEVER, as I write this blog, a smoke-filled sky billows outside my window and I’ve heard gunshots for the past 3 hours. Since early this morning, people were out on the streets gathering and stirring up trouble. Down in the center of town, where the main mosque is located, houses and churches are being burned, people are being attacked, and federal soldiers are attempting to keep order. I figured I would still get dressed and head over to the office (just across the street) until I heard otherwise, but in the parking lot I ran into a colleague and he said, “The city is not at peace. The office will not be open today. See the smoke? The city is not at peace.” Soon I was receiving text messages saying to restrict all travel around Jos and make sure all gates on our compound were secured. Akim, my colleague who lives near the hospital called to make sure I wasn’t gallivanting around today and told me that he’s seeing many people come to the hospital with gunshot wounds. It is all a bit surreal right now and I’ve no real idea if this could become a much bigger deal. For now, I’m as safe as I can be and it doesn’t SEEM like the gunshots are getting any closer. Please pray for us though. Even if things calm down, homes have already been destroyed and many people have been injured, or maybe even killed. May peace, love and light overcome bigotry, hatred, and darkness.

“Fill me with peace, that no disquieting wordly gales
May ruffle the calm surface of my soul.”

Stay out of neutral

2008-10-19T20:59:00.004+01:00

Eek! Has it really been that long since I’ve posted?! Oops. Well, apparently people have been too busy with crashing markets and clashing politics to care because I haven’t had a single inquiry as to weather I’m still alive over here. Don’t count on someone writing a post for me to inform you of my death! OK, that’s a little morbid...moving on.

SOO much to fill you in on. Because the most exciting thing happened recently, I’m going to go in reverse chronological order. That way, in case your attention span cuts out before you reach the end of this blog, you’ll have heard of the coolest news. Remember that time I went up to the desert, played on dunes and got stuck in some crazy mud hole? (Right...last post) And remember how a connection was made with that village and this all M-sl-m village chief said he was going to have his people listen to the “megavoice” every day during the month of Ramadan? Well, “Ma” and “Pa” W, went back up to visit them all last week. I’m a little fuzzy about all the details because I heard about this through a text message, BUT basically, 11 men have expressed a desire to follow Christ and made a confession of faith!! The chief (!!), 5 elders (!), and 5 others, one being our hero-Ahaji Muhammed! Ma and Pa have labored faithfully up there in northern Nigeria for 14 years, and for the most part, have seen very little fruit to show for it. That’s to say, these things don’t happen very often. Usually it’s a really long, slow process and even then, if a M-sl-im wants to follow The Way, he’ll do it in secret in fear of being kicked out of his community or killed. I totally have tinglies all over my body as I type this. Chad Verbeck, a friend of mine from camp BW/DR, sings this song, “Another One for the Kingdom.” (has a groovy sound so click here to download it for free yourself)
Another one for the Kingdom
Another defeating sin
Another one who’s loving Jesus
Another one’s been born again.
Another one who is lost and now is found
Another one who’s not alone.
Another one who is no longer tied down
Another one who’s comin’ home.

And I know the bells are ringing
Up in heaven I can hear the angels singing
And the Lord is smiling down
Cause He knows that we will live eternal
And wear a golden crown
Praise the Lord. Praise the Lord. Praise the Lord
Get up on your feet and praise the Lord!

AND, the village wants Ma and Pa to come up every Friday at noon to tell them more stories about Jesus aka, they want to be discipled! Cool huh? And it never would have happened if we didn’t lodge ourselves helplessly in a mud pit, desperate for help. Maybe, just maybe, it was our lack of expertise, our vulnerability, and our need for, well, grace, that opened the door. Maybe not, but the whole experience has certainly taught me a thing or two.

Speaking of stuff that happened up in northern Nigeria with M-sl-ms, at the end of September I joined in the Eid-al-Fitr celebrations in Kano. That’s the Islamic holiday at the end of the month of Ramadan and in Kano, the Imir throws a party called the Durbar, for hundreds of thousands of people. Since Eid-al-Fitr meant 2 days off work, followed by the public holiday of Independence Day (happy 46th Nigeria!), a few friends and I thought it’d be fun to check out this thing. PLUS, Kano has one of the largest fabric markets in Nigeria =) We spent quite a bit of time meandering through fabric stalls, ooing and aahhing at all the gorgeous colors and patterns, and trying, in vain, to not but too many.

We also took some time to check out the famous indigo dye pits in Kano. I wish I could remember all the details about them, but basically this artisan craft has been a trade of Northern Nigeria people for hundreds of years. Though suckers like us are the main ones buying the fabrics now, the intricate handiwork is stunning. I couldn’t resist buying one of them for my own cool Africa stuff collection...nor could I resist getting in one of the pits = P

Many more stories from the Durbar, but I’ll refer to you the captioned pictures on my web album to keep this blog short. Check it out, seriously.

My final blog-worthy happening was a 4-day backpacking trip a couple weeks ago. (I know...not really breaking news). Once again, a handful of fun-loving singles were rallied together for a little adventure. Donned with backpacks, food, stylish attire (note pink pants on Dana), and flexibility we trekked deep into Shere Hills, the mountainous terrain just south of Jos. Though we got l--, I mean, took the long way at few times, we had an absolute blast. For example, we gave out some trail names:
Our group --“Team Sexy” ; Kari –“Pre-heat” because she made the brilliant decision to wear non-breathable rain pants during one long day of hiking; Dana—“Pink Panter” for her lovely pink medical scrubs she wore every day; Hanna—“Swiss Miss” because she’s from Switzerland; Lisa—“Toasted Kiwi” because she’s from New Zealand and got totally fried in the sun; Matt—“Snappy” for his constant photo-taking, plus he’s british an “snappy” can sound really English; Marc –“Blinkin” after the blind guy from Robin Hood-Men in Tights. Poor Marc had the responsibility of leading us and got turned around a few times; myself –“Jukebox” for my ability to come up with a song for anything.

As you can see, we had a pretty international group, which made the whole experience all that much more interesting. And all the sore shoulders, scratched up legs, blistered feet, and funky smells were far-outweighed by our great fellowship and breath-taking views. Not only did we camp near a 100ft waterfall, but we also hiked up to the tallest point in Plateau State, affording us a 360 degree view of this stunning country. **sigh** Again, I’ll refer you to the web album for more pictures and tidbits. All sorts of nostalgia from the Appalachian Trail washed over me on this trip and I was reminded of my deep appreciation/infatuation with hiking. (By the way, if you’re ever super bored and want to read about my adventure hiking the AT, go to www.trailjournals.com/reneandjess
This blog might give the impression that I’m having the time of my life, moving from one fun-filled adventure to the next. I can’t lie, I AM having the time of my life...but ironically, this past week or so, I have wrestled with feelings of stagnation. The thought keeps circling around that I’m ignoring little opportunities to make a difference. That I’m displeasing God not by my actions, but by my inactions. I gravitate toward adventure and am inclined to take big risks and yet, I ignore the seemingly smaller chances to exercise my faith. Sure I’ll make time for my “official” discipleship group, but will I take 5 minutes to stop and help the little sales girl with her homework? And while I take a hike in Nigeria’s wilderness for 4 days, why can I not walk down the street on Tuesday evenings to the church’s youth fellowship group that could use some encouragement? You see, you don't have to live in Africa to treat each day as pregnant with opportunity. Really, it's just about "refusing to live a life in neutral and valuing the irreplaceable nature of every moment."(E. McManus) Not sure about what will happen? That's ok...God's into calling us out of comfort into uncertainty.

delicious desert...not dessert

2008-09-14T13:57:00.010+01:00

You set your people free, and you led them through the desert. ~Ps. 68:7

Though a month has passed since I took a little up to northern, desert-y Nigeria, it was such a cool trip I couldn’t pass on sharing the experience with y’all. (note: pictures were pretty much all taken by Kav, and you can see more by clicking HERE http://picasaweb.google.com/naekix/NguruTrip

So...I was supposed to be running a camp in Gombe, but due to the ridiculous cycle of teacher strikes, it was cancelled. What better to do with my free week than join my buds Katy and Kav for an adventure up in the desert?! Right. So off we were on the 8 hour drive to northern Nigeria-destination: Nguru in Yobi State where “Ma and Pa W.” (kinda need to substitute names for security) are serving among various desert people groups. Ironically, Nguru is actually called the Wetlands because of this crazy lake/marsh area located miraculously close to the Sahel Desert. Our first day there, we took a guided canoe ride through the wetlands with Hasan Hasan, a friend of Ma and Pa and the equivalent of a park ranger.
The wetlands are extra snazzy because they serve as a pit-stop for THOUSANDS of birds migrating to the Middle East and Serengeti in December. August was more like nesting season, so we weren’t mobbed by flocks, but it was still way fun cruising around, taking pictures and learning all about this unique eco-climate.

One cool thing about the North is that there are a TON of Baobab trees that a person can find all over West Africa, they are EVERYWHERE!! Anyway, if you don’t know what one looks like here is a pictureMost people recognize them from the movie The Lion King—you know, the tree that Rafiki,the monkey lives in. Right. The neat thing about the Baobab tree is that its roots grow like its tree branches should grow. In Senegal, the Wolof people tell an old story of the Baobab tree. The story goes in the garden of Eden the Baobab tree was one of the grandest trees in the garden--full of color and life and beauty. The Baobab tree knew that he was beautiful (had to be a he because females never think they’re beautiful) and got a little too proud and conceited. Seeing as God couldn’t have pompous trees in Eden, God disciplined him and turned him upside down in hopes that he would not be so proud. I guess it worked because now there is only a few short months where the tree has leaves and they look like roots just growing wherever they please. Baobabs get massive as you can see. I personally think they still look really cool...wonder what their roots look like.

Now, just a word about Ma and Paw...they are the only white folks for 4 hours in any direction. They’ve been there in Northern Nigeria for over 15 years and though fruit of their work comes slowly and often unknown, they have amazingly positibe, vibrant attitudes. One of the things they do is to up to the sand dunes near the Niger border to minster to nomadic groups who often bring their camel caravans through the area. So our 2nd day, we jumped in the truck and bumped our way 2 hours north. Using only a GPS (road quickly deteriorates and notable landmarks are non-existent) we made it to the highest dune in the area. Ma and Pa often go here because there are two nearby oasises (is that the right plural form? Oasi? Anyways...) Katy, Kav, and I were like kids in a candy shop on these absolutely gorgeous dunes. The pictures shows the sort of fun we had.

So we didn’t actually get to meet up with any camel caravans (my dreams of riding across the dunes with a turban Arabian Knights style has yet to come to fruition), BUT, we did meet some beautiful fulani people and Pa got a chance to share The Story and give out a device that tells a 80 min story from the very start of Creation to the death of The Man that gave His life for the entire world. The cool thing about this device (they are a pretty penny, about 40$) is that one its solar powered! ha.. and two it has anywhere from 3-7 different languages! AMAZING!! So whomever Paw gives this device to, they can share the story over and over again and again because it needs no batteries!! PTL for technology yeah???
Alright, so after fun on the dunes and lunch down in the oasis, we started to head back to Nguru. There we were, bumping along through millet fields singing “Bare Necessities” from Jungle Book and BAM! Our truck lodged itself on a stump in hit a deep, soft mud pit. When we opened our doors, water greeted us just 2 inches from the bottom of the door.
One of the miracles of Africa is that even if you think you’re in the middle of nowhere, get stranded and people will show up. We had been there maybe 10 minutes with 2 guys come strolling by, one named Alhaji Muhammed. Immediately they dropped their farm tools. Upon primary survey of the scene, Alhaji told the other, Ka je ka kawo yara daga gari (=Go and get the kids from the village). So to our rescue, about 8 boys come running down the path...and by boys, I mean no older than 12...not very encouraging. But they were enthusiastic so we set to work. About 45 mins later, we hear a big cargo truck chugging towards us, heading to town. Thinking our savior has finally arrived, we flag them down and negotiate a price. The driver goes back to his truck AND DRIVES AWAY! We all stood there in disbelief—never have I ever met a Nigeria who wasn’t willing to help a bature out. Alhaji Muhammed smacked his lips, shook his head in disgust at his people, and decided this was going to require more people. He told a boy to run back to the village (have I mentioned it’s nearly a kilometer away?) and bring everyone. Meanwhile, storm clouds are rolling in and I’m contemplating the best sleeping arrangements for 5 people in this truck.Sure enough, 30mins later, jogging down the lane is the entire village’s male population, fresh out of the fields. We cheer and clap for them and being dudes, they all jump around, pound chests, make grunting noises, and flex muscles. Alhaji gives a motivational speech and organizes the team and soon everyone is hard at work...caked in mud. After an hour of digging mud, draining water, chopping at the stump under the front, and spinning tires-- freedom! You can bet there was great rejoicing.
note the mud-caked faces. Alhaji Muhammed is the guy on the far right

Upon taking pictures, Alhaji had 2 requests: 1)to take me as his [3rd] wife and 2) for us to return with these pictures someday. We deliberated awhile, and then opted for door number 2. [see newsletter or epilogue for how that turned out]

Once again, we’re on our way, but darkness is closing in, and we only have GPS way-points till we get to the powerlines, which normally isn’t a problem in the day light when one can easily keep them in view till the semi-paved road is reached. Just when we start to get really nervous about our blinded sense of direction, a van heading towards town comes bumping by. Ma commented, “I know it may not look like it, but that van right there is an angel sent to guide us.” Sure enough, we were able to follow the van most of the way until it made a stop and we felt confident. Just when we thought we had mastered the art of detouring around the water holes and numerous pits of death, we found ourselves stuck once more in a mini-pond, disguised as a tall grass. **sigh** Now we’re in complete darkness and if there’s a village around, everyone’s in their homes. 1 minute goes by and what do we hear, but a big truck coming back from town. Would you believe it was the SAME truck that dissed us earlier that day?? True story. We flag down the driver and once he sees who we are says, “Kai, you all have suffered today!” Then, without hesitation, he straps the tow-rope on and yanks us out of the pit. Talk about serving a God of grace and second chances! The truck driver also informed us that the road back to Nguru was “not good” (read- “mean armed robbers are known to target drivers on that road). GREEEAAAT. Once we got to the town, we stopped by the police station and they assured us many patrols were on duty on the road. I’m happy to report that we had NO problems. God seemed to even fill in the myriad of potholes that had jostled us on the way coming. Amazing, no?

The Lord led his people through the desert. God's love never fails. ~Ps. 136:16

525,600 minutes

2008-09-05T14:01:00.009+01:00

525,600 moments so dear.

525,600 minutes
how do you measure,
measure a year?
(from musical Rent)

In rainstorms, in sunsets, in head-ties
In bowls of rice
In smiles, in potholes, in laughter, in mosquito bites.

On my 1-year anniversary to arriving in Nigeria, it seemed only too perfect that I was found out in rural Nigeria, rounding up a week of camp. There I was, rejoicing with all the youth who had made life-changing decisions, commitments, and discoveries; heartedly belting out the national anthem as the flag was lowered; leading the group in one final rendition of our camp theme song (which was "Days of Elijah, btw...can you believe it BW/DR friends?!?!); and sweating buckets under the hot African sun as some VIP's said some (read, "way too many") words to the campers...and I couldn't have been happier. It struck me today I saw the realization of the eager anticipation that I felt a year ago when I left Greensboro, NC, USA. I remember being a little sad, a little nervous, but mostly absolutely certain that Jos, Nigeria was where I was supposed to be. Now, 12 months, 52 weeks, 366 days,8,784 hours, and yes, 525,600 minutes later... what's the scoop?

There are still so many things about Nigeria that hit me the same today as they did a year ago:
I still think Nigerian women have the absolute greatest laugh in the world. I still marvel and the variety and quantity of livestock carried on motorbikes. My heart both smiles and aches as I see half-naked (sometimes fully naked) toddlers playing outside with no parents in view. I still marvel at the unadulterated green beauty of the landscape. I still wonder what the men sitting idle on the side of the road think about all day. When I see women bent over, working away, I wonder if they're ever self-conscious about having their butts in the air. I'm still grateful for the mild weather of Jos, still savoring the rainstorms, still frustrated with inconsiderate drivers, and still exhausted from a day in the market. I still shake my head in disbelief at the lack of planning, ridiculous dressing (not cultural stuff, but a dude wearing stylish sunglasses with a kid's winter hat complete with ears), and selfless, unending hospitality. Basically, I'm still enamored with this place.

But then again, I can also see how I've been inculcated to Nigeria:
Women with babies on their back and full baskets/basins/plates on their heads doesn't cause my mouth to drop open quite as wide in amazement. I no longer hear the constant cacophony of car horns. I fully expect to be cut off if I'm in the least bit genourous with the space between me and the car in front of me. If traveling I know to pack food because there are no fast-food joints to stop at and what food you might find...you probably don't want to find. And to stop for a "bathroom break" while driving, it means I'm not looking for a gas station, but rather a bush or large ditch. I expect just a few hours of electricity a day and could locate matches and a candle in my sleep. I've learned to keep a "wrapper" handy in case I'm in pants or shorts in the house and a Nigerian stops by to visit. My Nigerian sisters have taught me how to limit my friendliness toward men in the market and I no longer get nervous at the prospect of haggling a little for a better price. Though I've rarely done this all the other places I live, I now routinely lock doors when I'm home, even in the daytime. I don't bat at eye when numerous men in uniforms toting big guns are on the streets around my house. On the other hand, knowing the propensity of corruption, my stomach knots up anytime my vehicle is stopped by "Road Safety" patrol. I have developed a profound appreciation for the missionary family here in Jos, having felt the support it provides when I needed it most. I now instinctively give a little curtsy when I greet someone and bend extra low when that someone is an elder. I've come to take great joy in reading the news, hearing the voices of those I love via Skype or the phone, and drinking tea in the mornings. After a year, I've discovered that deep, rich friendships be built and true worship can be given despite cultural differences. And though I could go on, the main thing I've learned in a year...is that I still have SO much to learn.

So I apologize if the list-y format of this blog wasn't captivating. This blog might very well have served me way more than inform/entertain/update you. If you've made it this far, you deserve something...like a promise that the next post will be about adventures in the desert. "Inshallah" ("God willing").

How do YOU measure a year?

If you could come to camp...

2008-08-17T18:06:00.001+01:00

Well my faithful readers, I can finally post a blog about the full Nigeria youth camping experience. I've now finished 2.5 weeks of camp at our home base here in Jos and no longer feel like a rookie. It's about time because I've almost been here a year now (Sept. 4). Anyways, I'd like to share ECWA Camp Youth Alive (ECYA) with you. Oh, if only each one of you could come experience a day at camp.
If you could come to camp, you'd sleep on a thin, but manageable mattress on the floor (we don't have bunk-beds yet) of a "hut" (cement building) named after one of the fruits of the spirit. As staff you'd be woken up @ 5:50am to the sound of whistle, beckoning you to stumble your way to the main dining hall for staff prayers. If you came to camp, you'd initially grumble about the early morning, but would soon discover the breath-taking beauty of the mountains as the morning sun rises up from behind them. If you came to camp, you'd look forward to waking up before dawn.
If you could come to camp, you’d grab your bucket and head over to the kitchen to collect warm water for your bath. You’d attempt to carry it by your side but soon learn that it’s actually easy to carry a bucket full of water on your head. (For beginners it’s a good idea to wear rain gear, though). There in the wash house you’d take a surprisingly delightful bucket bath, if you could come to camp.
If you could come to camp, you would marvel that 40 minutes have been set aside for you to hang out with God. You would have been given a devotional written by the ECYA staff called the “Morning Watch” and you’d probably appreciate the guidance it provided since you aren’t used to being alone with God. If you could come to camp, you’d sense the Holy Spirit’s special presence during those 40 minutes.
If you could come to camp, you might chuckle at the routine of flag raising, singing of the national anthem, and presentation of the color guard, but you’d also appreciate the respect it instills for one’s country.

If you could come to camp, you’d likely enjoy the breakfast meal best. Depending on the day, you’d either be served acha pudding (similar to cream of wheat) with kosai (fried bean cake that resembles hush puppies in texture) (see picture) or a huge cup of hot tea (with sugar and milk already added) with a small loaf of soft, fresh bread (recently delivered from the bakery), big spoonful of margarine, and a boiled egg. Both options would satisfy your morning hunger, if you could come to camp.

If you could come to camp, the Bible Study time would be very special. You would sit with your hut outside somewhere and this year, would be learning about the crowns of reward the Bible speaks about. Very rarely would you have been in such a small group where you could ask questions and voice your own thoughts.

If you could come to camp, you would pick which activity to do each day. Perhaps you’d join the step-dance group, learn how to bake a cake without an oven, or maybe you’d join the hiking group and learn fun facts about the mountains surrounding the campsite. Even though you would look forward to lunch, you’d be disappointed that the activity had to end to go to the dining hall.

If you could come to camp you’d be happy for rest hour after lunch. Perhaps you wouldn’t actually sleep much the first day, but later on in the week, you certainly would. If you came to camp, you might actually use that time to handwash some of your clothes and hang them on the line outside your hut.
If you could come to camp, you would really look forward craft time. This is when you would learn a craft with materials that could be bought locally so after camp you could begin to earn some income marketing those skills. If you came to camp this year, you might learn how to dye cloth, make great looking sandals, or a tin sand wall clock in the shape of Africa. At the end of camp, you would be so proud to take your craft home and show your parents and church. Maybe your youth fellowship would even decided to help start a little shop making the craft you learned, if you could come to camp.

If you could come to camp, you would relish in the afternoon game time, join in the frequent singing in the dining hall, and be challenged by the fun but spiritually centered evening programs. Though you’d hate to see the day end, you would be grateful for evening devotions with your hut so you could talk about what you had learned that day. Some of those late night conversations would lay the foundation for lifelong friendships, if you could come to camp.
And perhaps, if you could come to camp, you would learn some things about Jesus you had never known. Maybe you would quit pretending to be a Christian and actually make a personal decision, not because it’s what your parents believe, or because the preacher says so, but because the truth has finally struck your heart. If you came to ECYA, you just might come to a more profound knowledge of atonement achieved, debt paid, person redeemed, satisfaction made, hell vanquished, heaven opened, eternity made yours, and the glorious promise of Christ’s return.

If you could come to camp, you’d likely leave a slightly different person than you were when you came. Maybe you would know you’re valued because your hut leader actually listened to you. Maybe you’d have some real Christian friends for the first time. Maybe someone helped you to begin learning to read. Maybe you’d have eaten 3 full meals a day for the first time in your life. Maybe the t-shirt you received on incoming day was the only brand new shirt you will get all year.

And if you could come to camp, you might be surprised that the baturiya, Auntie René, who drove the shuttle van multiple times on incoming day, doesn’t seem to be up front very often. You’d see her handling many administrative tasks, getting a vehicle stuck in the mud, dashing around the campsite, typing during rest hour, serving the food during meal times, and smiling as she watched you do your craft. And if you happened to ask her if she enjoyed her job at camp, she’d sigh and tell you she does miss getting to know the campers. She would also tell you that she feels richly blessed by the relationships she has built with the staff. Then, she just might tell you that she’s slowly learning to serve even when she gets none of the glory. And though it’s not always as much fun, she knows that her menial tasks are part of the amazing, kingdom-expanding, youth-empowering, God-honoring ministry of ECWA Camp Youth Alive. Then, Auntie René just might ask you to keep her and the ECYA in your prayers...if you could come to camp.
Click here for more camp pictures: http://picasaweb.google.com/naekix/JosCamp

Ps—I’m supposed to holding camp in Gombe this week, but the national teacher’s strike as been called off, throwing all kinds of nuttiness into scheduling including that camp’s cancellation. Another opportunity has come up however involving camel caravan outreach...stay tuned :)

Like a rolling rainstorm

2008-07-08T15:04:00.006+01:00

“The incongruous, lawless, joyful, violent, upside-down, illogical certainty of Africa comes at me like a rolling rainstorm, until I am drenched with relief.”

–Alexandra Fuller, Don’t let’s go to the dogs tonight

When I read those words a few months ago, I felt a resonation within me in a prophetic sort of way. The author writes it upon returning to Africa and last week, as I drank in the familiarity of my life here in Nigeria, I felt the fulfillment of that prophecy. In fact, it even hit as I waited at the gate to board the plane in London, surrounded by a throng of Nigerians. The place smelled like Nigerians, not in a bad way...more like recognizing your dad’s aftershave. And there was no mistaking the dialect of English spoken. As Andrew said of his airport experience, “it felt like home already.” Indeed...but there have been a few more interesting reminders that I’m back in Africa.

Since we’re in the throes of rainy season now, luscious, green, vibrant foliage has covered the landscape. Total transformation of the dusty, brown, dried up land of a couple months ago. Now, it was a little drizzly in Ireland, but African, at least Nigerian, rain is completely different. You don’t have a gentle pit-patter on and off throughout the day that allows you to just carry an umbrella and be ok. Nope, these daily rainstorms roll in with authority and like Nigerians, are a beautiful blend of loudness and comfort. Sometimes it’s annoying, but usually I’m delighted to listen to the drum-set being played on our tin roof.

Also welcoming me back to Jos is a ridiculously minimal amount of NEPA (“Nigerian Electric Power Authority”, the word used for power or electricity). Now, I’m more than well aware that many people, even in Jos, NEVER have NEPA, and so I shouldn’t complain...but when you’re used to being able to count on at least 5 hrs a day, or every other day, it’s an adjustment to be reduced to 5 hrs a week. Can’t have left-overs because the ‘fridge is already taking on a bit of a funky smell; better carry your phone charger with you in case you’re in a place where you can plug up for ½ an hour; definitely go running the morning so when the hot water heater hasn’t been able to operate for a few days, you won’t mind the cold water as much. Whenever NEPA goes out, people say, “Wanene ya kai wuta?” = “Who took the light/fire?” I find that a rather amusing question to ask, for rarely is there any sort of logical answer. HOWEVER, the word on the street says that this latest shortage of NEPA has a direct cause.

The scoop is, a new president/CEO/some important position of NEPA was recently instated. He started discovering that some other important people had been embezzling the money given by the federal gov’t for the improvement of the nation’s power. Classic case of African corruption. Well anyways, this dude had threatened to expose some of these criminals and they, in turn, hired hit men. Thus, last Monday this dude was assassinated less than a mile up the road from my house. Comforting, huh? (sorry mom) The company naturally had to observe protocol and most workers attended the burial. In defiance of this crime, the workers have since gone on strike to protest. Now, none of this will be in the papers and even if it was, that wouldn’t confirm its validity, but I’ve heard the assassination part of it from two completely different sources. I’m naturally irritated that I have to go out and buy another pack of candles tomorrow and can’t buy much produce for fear of it spoiling in my not-so-frigid refrigerator...but I’m WAY more frustrated by the pervasive evil I’m forced to confront. Must people be so bent on their own self-interests and own betterment that they’re willing to cause hundreds of others to suffer? The hearts of people are no different here than in the U.S., but the communal nature of this culture means I feel the effects from the poor decisions of others.

Another absurd and recurring fact of life for me in Jos deals with the Federal Court of Appeals located just across the street from my compound and office. Whenever a big case is taking place, or an important person is involved, the whole block is barricaded with oodles of military police toting machine guns, trucks, horses, and tanks. The hightened (ßunderstatement) security is necessitated by the presence of all the people that fill the streets in support or opposition to the case in question. For instance, when some state’s election is being appealed, herds of men in their finest kaftan and hats are EVERYWHERE. Needlesstosay, the scene can be a bit alarming. I sneaked this picture one day, but for most cases, add about 20 more uniformed people. Anyways, my first day back at the office involved navigating such a circus and I found myself sighing and saying, “Ah, Nigeria...how I’ve missed thee.”

Hopefully I haven’t been too negative in sharing my first impressions of re-entry. On the whole, I have relished in catching up with my family here. When I returned to the office, my aunties there grabbed me and jumped up and down in joyful dance that I had returned. People were sincerely interested in how everything went both in the US and Ireland. Oh, and every Nigerian wanted to know how my family in the US was and if I greeted you all for them :) As I visited with some of my Nigerian sisters, I realized how very much I missed them. There are some beautiful souls here that I count myself blessed to have built a friendship with. AND, I am WAY excited about our camps coming up in a few weeks! Preparation has been kicked into high gear and with each task I complete my anticipation grows. Whether it’s in New Hampshire, North Carolina, or Nigeria, there’s nothing like camp. More on that later...

For now, I think the answer to the question, “How’s it been being back in Africa?” can best be answered, “Like a rolling rainstorm.” Yay.

Better Together...

2008-06-26T10:37:00.010+01:00

"To travel fast, go alone; to travel far, go together." African proverb

Ok, all you romantic saps. Here's the gushy post of the year. At least of the past 10 months. For those who read my blog for cool stories about Nigeria...this one might not interest you too much. Sorry about that. I have just returned from a near 4-week vacation to the US and UK and know if I don't write something now, life in Jos will take over and the ooey sentiments still swirling will fade.

Not terribly ooey, but crucial to this update, is that the first 2 weeks of my vacation were spent in North Carolina. Now, I REALLY like to post pictures when I update, but I'm still waiting for some dear siblings to send me them (ahem!). Thus, I'll wait to share about my time in the US until I can give you some visuals. Suffice it to say, I had a fabulous time connecting with people, getting quality time with my family, and rejoicing in the wedding of a dear friend of mine (Sarah Miller Schoen). The time was pregnant with people and errands so by the end I was like, "I need a vacation!" Off I was to Ireland...

I won't bore you with all the travel details because that's lame and you want the real scoop anyways. Basically, Andrew and I met up in London on June 13th, seeing each other for the first time in over 9 months. Those airport reunions are quality. This time it was me waiting at the gate for him to waltz out and don't you know i was so nervous my knees were shaking! I had all these fuzzies in my stomach, took my hands out of my pocket to look at them and they're just shaking away. Craziness. We stayed two nights in London with some cousins of his who were amazing hosts and graciously took care of us. I had never been to London so our first day together we set out and walked all over the freakin' city. Similar to Paris, every where you turn there's another famous building or historic landmark. Being on a missionary/Peace Corps budget, we didn't pay to go in anywhere (like the Globe or BUckingham Palace) and instead were content to walk by them, tip our hats, and keep going. In fact, this is the only picture I took, mostly to document that indeed, we were in London.
Then it was off to Northern Ireland for a week...woohoo! "Why N. Ireland?" some might ask. Basically, I had some connections there through some friends here in Nigeria and they offered us to say with their family for free, plus it was near England (which I had to fly through), and promised to offer plenty of free outdoor fun. Having been there, the question I have for you is, "Why have you NOT been to Ireland!?!?!" This place is absolutely GORGEOUS and it's all raw, God-made beauty. Even when it's drizzling, (which tends to happen) (although not too much for us) the views are still amazing. Of course, I don't have to waste time convincing you, the pictures will take care of that ;-) Our first set of Irish hosts (from now on, if I write “hosts” you can read “super wonderful people who fed, housed, loved, drove, and took care of us as if we were their own. “Angels” would be another adequate substitution), were Ruth and Terry Johnston (see adorable picture). They had served in Jos for 6 months so I got to know and love them there. Andrew and I really enjoyed being able to hang out and talk about couple-ly things with them. We voted and decided to be friends for a long time :)

Then we spent the majority of the week up on the North Coast, near Portrush and Bushmills (if you know the area) with the McCurdy family as our hosts. I’m good friends with Jayne McCurdy here in Jos and even though she wasn’t in Ireland when we were there, our welcome was totally warm. (Edith and John McCurdy pictures here on a long after-dinner walk they took us on)

There’s a saying/greeting in Gaelic, “A thousand welcomes” and I can see why. Using the McCurdy house as our base, we spent the week seeing all the beautiful things N. Ireland is known for, namely:

The "Giant’s Causeway" with it’s naturally-made hexagonal steps formed from volcanic rock...
Carrik-a-rede rope bridge which used to be used by fishermen to harvest fish as they migrated... Causeway coastal route which covers many miles of gorgeous coastline.... I think we walked almost all of it.

Caves... Castle remains... Long sunsets...
Because it stays light until 11 pm. Thus, it’d feel like 5 pm even though really it was 10. We took full advantage of this and would go for bike rides or walks after dinner and take naps in the afternoon when it tended to drizzle a “wee” bit.

Needless to say, Northern Ireland afforded us a perfect place and atmosphere for having the kind of long conversations that we had both been pining for. There was a little bit of anxiety in anticipation because, heck, we hadn’t seen each other in 9 MONTHS and so much as happened in our lives. Africa has happened to both of us. With much thanks to God, though, time together was incredibly natural, easy, and filled with laughter.

Now some of you undoubtedly expected a certain question to be asked while we were together. While that would have made this an extra gushy post, I’m actually content to say that Andrew and I have NOT moved into that next stage just yet. We both still have too much in front of us in our respective countries to launch into that phase of our relationship right now, where the focus and attention of our lives shifts dramatically towards marriage. It’s a great stage I’m sure, but not what’s supposed to be a high priority right now for us.

Ooo...this post is getting pretty long. I guess it wouldn’t be complete without a little excerpt from my heart on the inevitable separation that took place at the end. Tears were involved and while they rolled down my face, here’s the image that came to mind:
For 11 days it felt like I was flying across the open sea with wind filling my sails to the max. It was all I could do to hang on tight as I threw my head back and drank in the adventure. But right now, it feels like the wind's been knocked right out of my sails and I'm left to pick up the ore and begin paddling. I can see the shore way off in the distance and as I contemplate the arduous task of paddling, that shore does seem an EXTRA long way off. My faith is given strength in knowing that the Lord will fill the sails again when it's time. Until then, there are lessons to be learned in the paddling. Time to examine the boat, enjoy the view, and ensure I'm heading in the right direction. Sometimes it's hard to keep your bearing when gail-force winds are at your back. But we don’t move backward when the winds die down, just have a different sort of adventure.

There you have it. My fairly unedited, abbreviated account of our blissful reunion in Ireland. See my facebook profile (or my picassa account once I add them) for more pictures and drop me a line with inquiries.

Next post will have updates of time in the US and perhaps thoughts on re-entering Africa...

More of my favorite things

2008-04-21T22:50:00.009+01:00

And the list goes on...

Camp reunions. OK, so maybe this is one of my favorite things anywhere in the world, but I really enjoyed the ECWA Camp Youth Alive reunion last weekend.
The way Nigerians can double the capacity of just about any space. Think the taxi can only hold 5 people? Try 9. Truck bed only holds 4 big bags of rice, hahaha...more like 12. As long as the wheels can turn, you’re in business. The “25 seater” blue whale pictured above held over 40 people on all the shuttles I did with it for our camp reunion. Here’s the inside only ½ full:
Driving ridiculously large vehicles. Check out this beast of a bus I drove last weekend!
Being appreciated for trying to dress Nigerian. I may look ridiculous with a head tie on, but I get loads of compliments. So, I dress culturally in part to shamelessly boost my ego:)

Here the Nigerians had a timed head-tie wrapping contest at the camp reunion. When put to a vote, I won...but I think that’s just b/c they enjoyed seeing this gear on a baturiya’s head.

Nigerian’s improv skills. I know I wrote this in my last newsletter, but I had to re-emphasize just how fantastic they are.
My roomate, Corinne Gnepf!! I have been super slack about updating on my new living arrangement...and it's no longer news since I've been in this new apt for 3 months...but I really adore both the new flat and my flat-mate. She's wonderful, Swiss, and patient with me.
Driving. Could be narcissistic, but it feeds my adventuresome hunger. See video a friend of mine took. When you get to minute 2.33, he’s driving right near my neighborhood. I drive/walk these streets every day. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A6M4-BwzIjw
Speaking in Hausa to Nigerians. They are so freakin’ encouraging that I want to keep going. Especially during the Hausa church services I’ve been visiting to raise awareness for camp. As I walk up to the mic and everyone’s thinking, “Ugh, she’s probably going to speak in English and I’m not going to be able to understand her! Doesn’t she know this is a HAUSA service?!” And then, I bust out my Hausa and the entire congregation (usually well over 500) stares at me for a second, and then breaks into a huge smile. Inevitably, I invoke waves of laughter and hopefully, a little more interest in the camping ministry.
Random statues. Enough said.
Women throwing down some awesome beats on these snazzy drums. If I’m close enough to see them during a church service, I just stare and attempt to mimic one instrument at a time on my leg. Someday, I’m going to ask a lady to teach me. Heck, I already have the women’s fellowship uniform, right?
packages from home. I let out a squeal of delight every time I get one, no matter what's inside. THANK YOU to all who've sent something!
Swimming in potentially suspect water. Don't worry, this lake was tested...or so we hear.
Talking to my dear boyfriend once a week when all the communication gods smile upon us and we have a clear connection. Even though long distance (Nigeria-Guinea) relationships could potentially make my list of "least favorite things," I'm super grateful for our almost weekly talks. And yes, I've gotta put a picture for this one b/c he's so great:

As you might be able to detect, this list could go on for a while. BUT, I'll stop now so I can get this one posted and move on to more challenging, perhaps thought-provoking blogs. But my last favorite thing of living here in Nigeria, is getting comments on my blog! So drop me a line if you read this thing and let me know YOUR favorite things about life right now.

A few of my favorite things (part 1)

2008-04-13T18:15:00.008+01:00

Seeing as my last couple of posts have zoomed in a bit on some of the less pleasant things about life here, I decided to dedicate the next couple of posts to some of my favorite things. After all, as we all learned from “Sound of Music” if you remember what you like, the bad doesn’t seem so bad. You know, other individual almost as prolific as Julia Andrews, said it this way, “Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things." (Phil. 4:8)

reading a book on the couch, with every window open, during a rain/thunder storm.
Only thing better than reading when it’s pouring outside, is playing in a muddy, puddle plentiful field with some friends. Soccer and Frisbee...heaven on earth, seriously...here are some pics from the other weekend with some buds:

Kav, Corinne, Marc, myself and Kim in front
Nigerians getting WAY too excited over English premier soccer league loyalties. No better way to get a group of people rowdy than to shout “Man-U!” or “Chelsea for life!”
Watching kids faces change from a nervous stare to a beautiful bright smile when you look them in the eyes and greet with a smile.
Plantains-At first they were my guilty pleasures b/c I had only eaten them fried. THEN my neighbor accidently bought them for me when I asked for big bananas. I experimented with more heart/hip happy approaches to cooking them AND upon researching their nutritional value, found out they are SUPER healthy for you. More vitamins and nutrients than his sister (gender allocations completely random) the banana.
Mangoes- cut in cubes or gnawing on the pulpy seed, crunchy from being a bit too ripe or mushy, in smoothies or with granola, doesn't matter...absolutely, without a doubt, my favorite fruit.
Picking mangos and avocados in my back yard...and then eating them! What a deal! Mom, better go ahead and plant both a mango and avocado tree b/c I’m quickly becoming addicted!
Amazing flowers bursting out of trees with incredibly vibrant colors.
Rat poison. In Hausa it’s called, “shayin bera” = “rat tea” Come on you nasty little vermin...come take your tea! Revenge is sweet (see "pestilence and midday strikes" if you have any inkling of sympathy for this guy).

And those are just a few...

Ku ma Allah ya albarka ceku = "May God bless you as well!"

Got gas?

2008-04-07T20:45:00.012+01:00

I'm completely oblivious as to what the gas situation is in the US right now, but I can guarantee by the end of this post, you'll be slightly more content and grateful. First off, let's have a vocabulary lesson:
gas = diesel fuel -> used in some vehicles but primarily for generators
petrol = petroleum ->used in most vehicles and motorbikes
kero= kerosene ->used with some stoves and lanterns; also helpful in starting a fire to burn your trash.
foil (pigeon english of fuel) = usually referring to petrol. However a "foil station" could have gas, petrol, and kero

Now, for reasons that I’m still trying to figure out, fuel has become scarce in Jos lately. This is quite ironic because Nigeria is the 6^th largest exporter of crude oil in the world. Problem is, there aren’t refineries, so most of the oil goes out to other nations who can refine it and make it available for all those wonderful SUV’s. Not going there. Anyways, fuel’s not easy to come by. I start to notice the lines at the fueling stations are getting long but I don’t think about it early enough one day and by the afternoon, my needle was dipping pretty low. Thankfully, there are these delightful men along the side of the road who sell foil in small quantities...this is the black market. Certain fueling stations mysteriously always have foil, but they charge more have a bit of a sketchy nature, and are termed “black market” as well. Not sure what the most moral thing would have been to do, but I bit the bullet, stopped at one of these places and paid 600 naira for a gallon of petrol on the black market. Normal prices are 70 naira/liter so that's over double regular price (4 liters in a gallon = 280 naira). With $1=N117, we're talking $5.13/gal! Feeling better yet? Let's keep going... I wouldn't want to deprive you of more joy :) Fueling at the black market looks like this: Dude fills up his 25 litre jug from a big barrel. Then he sticks a hose from the jug into my tank. THEN he covers the mouth of the jug with HIS mouth, blows into it, and thus creates the needed pressure to run the fuel into my truck. I watched as this man had a ring of petrol around his mouth and thought to myself, “Kai! How many times does he do this a day?? That CAN’T be good for him!” After that, I didn’t feel AS bad about paying N600/litre.

Well, I didn’t fill up so the next morning I made plans. I got up at 6am, thinking I'd get towards the front of the line at my favorite foil station so when the gate opened @ 7, I'd be in and out. The line was already 2km long when I got there @ 6:30 (see above picture taken while driving past it). Rolling the dice, I continued driving up towards the next town, Bukuru, hoping people weren't early risers there like they are in Jos. Indeed, I found a station who’s line was still mostly contained within its gate. I still turned around a couple times to figure out where the entrance and exit were, but eventually secured my spot in the que. Not to be one to waste time, I bought 2 books and my journal along with me. Almost more entertaining than these were the people I observed while in line. This one dude, we'll call him Mr. Grumpy Gills (that's for you, Kari), woke up on the wrong side of the bed and thus, yelled at nearly every customer that came in. At one point, a car came in the wrong way and wouldn't back up and Mr. Grumpy Gills said, "If you don't go back I will take the air out of your motor!" (I think he meant out of the tires...that's be interesting to see him take the air out of the whole car...) The driver, in typical Nigerian stubornness, refused to budge, incurring more threats from Mr. Grumpy-"I will remove your engine" and lots of angry waving of his hands, which happened to hold a wire fashioned into a whip. Seriously, I'm not making this up. Well, then there was Mr. Peacemaker, Mr. Grumpy's co-worker, who came over and mangaged to calm Grumpy down with the reasoning, "Look, if Mr.Stubborn doesn't want to move, he'll just have to sit in line and then we won't serve him when he gets up to the pump." SO Mr. Grumpy resentfully walks away yelling over his shoulder, "I will make you suffa when you reach here!" Meanwhile, this baturiya is scoping out the best way to escape should a fight break out. Apparently, the volatile personality of NIgerian men have sometimes given way to riots in the fueling stations. Then some genius will decide to strike a match...like I said, I planned my get-away early on. I'm happy to report the station did not go up in flames, although I'm not sure what became of Mr. Stubborn b/c I was in front of him in the que and took off as soon as I could.
Ahh...life in Nigeria.

Pestilence and midday strikes

2008-03-21T10:00:00.003+01:00

"Do not dread the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, nor the disaster that strikes at midday." (Psalm 91:6)

You know, sometimes scriptures come to mind in situations and you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. This past weekend I was a little too warm, and saw a little too much fuzzy. Here's the story:
Our ECWA Camp Youth Alive(ECYA, love the acronyms) office was asked to come speak/present at the ECWA National Youth Conference in Billiri, Gombe State, about 4 hours from Jos. We made arrangements to stay with Sam, a camp staff nearby and made the trek Friday afternoon. Once we left the plateau, the temperature jumped at least 15 degrees, and by the time we reached Gombe, my clothes were fairly saturated with sweat. Traveling, especially driving, tuckers you out so by 9pm I excused myself to my room. I was really grateful that Sam's cousin, Comfort, gave up her bed and room for me because I was altogether prepared to sleep on the floor. Instead, I plopped down on the bed to write a little letter to my dear Andrew, read, and hopefully, fall asleep. 2 out of the 3 happend. About 15 mins into writing, I hear some noises behind the headboard of the bed. There's always noises in Nigeria, so I didn't think too much of it. 5 mins later, I catch some movement out of the corner of my eye. I direct my headlamp in its direction and spotlight a little vermin! I don't shriek out loud, just write my surprise on the paper. Rationally, I tell myself , "René, 1)it's probably just a mouse searching for food 2)you've slept plenty of nights in the company of mice when you hiked the AT 3) it's not going to bother you 4) don't freak out." Thus, I go back to writing. Maybe 10 mins later, what was a few, faint, little scratching noises has become major construction work under the headboard and I've detected numerous critters running along the wall. I consider calling someone in, but really, what are they going to do? Around 10, Comfort comes in to get something and I say, "Hey Comfort, do you know there are mice in here?" She didn't understand me so I made little gestures and noises and said, "Bera?" (= rat). Then she got it and just laughed and went back out of the room. I'm thinking, "You're name's "Comfort"...couldn't you have given me a little more than a laugh?!?" Well, I resolve to just put some headphones in and read till I fall asleep. This plan seemed to be working until some wretched cacophony broke out and I shot up in bed with a little yelp. It sounded like cats fighting to the death...all under my headboard. All I have to say is, good thing I already went to the bathroom or else I would have had another issue to deal with. From that point on, my nerves were shot and peace had evaporated. The copious rodents were now in full force, scurrying from the bed, over plastic bags, in and out of boxes, to this desk drawer, then back to headquarters in the headboard. They also enjoyed climbing up these wooden blinds at the window at the foot of the bed. Basically, I was surrounded. Talk about "pestilence that stalks in the darkness"! When a respite from the activity occurred, I then became aware of the mosquitoes tagging me. No net and no sheet and my body was already slick with sweat. (I had brought pj pants to sleep in, but they were covered in the soap that spilled in my bag.) I grab the skirt I had worn that day and attempt to position it over my legs so no juicy bits of flesh are hanging out begging a mosquito to dine. I attempted to continue to read to take my mind off it, but my headlamp battery was draining. So now you have the picture in your head: laying in a hot room, perpetually perspiring, swatting blindly at the buzzing near my ears, jumping at each raucous that seems all to close to me, and just praying for the hours to pass quickly. I finished off a bottle of water and used the container as a weapon poised to defend myself should any perpetrators attempt to invade the bed. I'm 93% sure they never did, but at one point I thought I felt something graze my feet...or course, I was pretty delusional by that point. Around 4am, I decided this would have to be a blog and knowing that this post would be 10x better with a picture, Operation Rat Picture began. A little difficult since it was dark and these guys were fast. Alas, I won.

Note the size of this dude using my shoes as a frame of reference. They weren't cute little field mice. Seriously, the legion made noise the ENTIRE night, right up until 6:30am when everyone in the house was up and moving about. At 5am, the Muslim's call to worship from the mosque began and I'm pretty sure one of the speakers was right outside the window. Of course, since I was still wide awake, I wasn't nearly as perturbed as my colleague. When I was greeted with the standard, "Ina kwana?" (=how did you spend the night) I said, "I know I'm supposed to say, 'lafiya' (=fine), but that would be lying."
Fortunately, the Lord granted me the strength to stay awake throughout Saturday. Once again, when I arrived I was ushered to special cushy seats in front. This conference was HUGE. With Nigeria being the most country in Africa (over 140 million) I should have expected a national youth conference to be highly attended. There were over 100,000 people there. That's a LOT of people...and a new record for me-only white person in the crowd. In addition to a special seat and lots of stares, random people also came up and took pictures and video footage of me sitting there, squinting in the sun. I don't even want to know what it's used for. ("Hey Joe! Look at this picture of my new wife! She's going to get me to America.") After a few hours of sha rana ("drinking the sun") ECYA was finally given a chance to speak. A whopping 5 mins. Thing is, because of my white skin, I could have gotten up there and only said, "ECWA CAMP YOUTH ALIVE" and it would have been as effective as talking for an hour.
In fact, I'm learning to switch to Nigerian English so audiences can understand me. Give me a call sometime and I'll give you a taste of it:) By the time we left, I was a wee bit sun-burned and terribly dehydrated. Or you could say, I had been struck by the "midday disaster." Have I completely butchered that Scripture? Actually, it seems altogether possible to me that the psalmist dealt with rodents at night and blistering sun during the day. And though I seemingly just wrote a tome of complaint, I can say with utter gratitude that the Lord protected us, both at night and on the roads, and strengthened us to effectively share about ECYA to youth who'd otherwise not hear. Who knows, perhaps one day we'll hold a camp in a remote part of Nigeria and lives will be changed because someone heard this baturiya talk for 5 mins in Billiri.
Allah ya kai mu = "May God take us"

Get me to the church on time!

2008-03-12T20:19:00.005+01:00

I can count on one hand the number of people I know who'll know which musical has the song from which I took this blogs title...but that's ok, there's hope for the rest of you:) It's high time you saw some picture and heard a little bit about Nigerians weddings. Since I was just intricately involved in my colleague's special day, I'd be delighted to share.

Ah, Shammah(groom) and Ketuah(bride) looking just adorable. Everyone loves a good story love story, right? This lovely couple met at seminary, and though Ketuah had received advice not to bother getting involved until after she was done with her studies, she couldn't resist Shammah's charming smile and eloquent recitation of Bible verses:)

Now, Shammah's work was far from over. In this culture, the dude does 95% of the preparation for a wedding. You have the whole dowry thing to work out and that alone requires several visits to the potential inlaws, bringing along various members of your family each time. You also have to buy this assortment of "house-warming" gifts for your bride including things like toiletries, luggage, shoes, and material for outfits to be made out of. Then you have to plan the whole wedding from the music, colors and cake, down to transportation for the inlaws if they live in a different area. In the States, you're likely to find a bride-to-be sitting with friends doing "wedding talk" for months. I thought I would escape this in coming to Nigeria but nope! The first real talk I had with Shammah was about his wedding and for the past 6 months I've been privy to him and Akim (my other colleague) having "wedding talk" in the office.

Every photographer at a wedding has to get a shot of the cake...so here ya go. Pretty good, I'll say. In many ways, Nigerian weddings have all the same elements of weddings we're all used to. Ridiculously insane mornings, beautiful brides, processional, prayer, vows, rings, sermonette, recessional, picture time that takes way too long, delaying the beginning of the reception, tons of guests you don't know, music and dancing. Oh, but there are distinct differences that kept me chuckling throughout the day.
OK, for starters...this picture was taken about an hour into the ceremony. I didn't take one at the beginning of the ceremony b/c the place was nearly empty. MOST of the time, weddings start over 2 hours late in order to wait for the church to fill up. Shammah, however, committed to starting on time no matter what. Consequently, Ketuah was not walked down the aisle by her own father because her own family hadn't arrived yet! "Who gives this woman to be married to this man?" "Good morning. My name is Ishaku Yakob and on behalf of the family, I know that Ketuah's dad would want her to be given to this man." No joke, that's basically what he said! The family all rolled in about 15 minutes later. I was pretty sure the pastor read his opening Bible passage EXTRA slowly. Plus, you can't tell from the indoor picture, but this church was still under construction. No one in the US would get married at a church with scaffolding all on the outside. Of course, you probably wouldn't start without the bride's parents either.
Another fun feature is that groups of people will often buy the same material and get matching outfits made for the wedding. My department opted to do this so we looked WAY cool at the wedding. Along the lines of attire, weddings also offer a great chance to wear an extra big head-tie. The bigger the better. And even though it was pretty darn warm and humid (check the sweat glow on my face), we still had plenty of dancing at the reception. Not a big dance floor where only the young or intoxicated come out, but the emcee would call the bride and groom and other random sets of people forward to dance, at which time people would boogie up to the front and throw money at them to pay tribute. "Spraying" as I've said before. I wasn't ALWAYS sure when I could go up, but b/c I was the only white girl, they encouraged me each time. The band would thrown down a beat and I had to move my feet, know what I mean? I didn't get a good video of me dancing this time, but here's a little pic.

Speaking of taking pictures...one slightly annoying but perhaps useful practice of Nigerians is not to smile for pictures. Your average american bride/groom will have sore cheeks from smiling so much...but not here. I had to poke and chide Shammah to show his aware-winning smile in some pictures. Here's a classic with the two sets of parents. Notice how NO ONE looks happy. Depressing if you ask me.

What WASN'T ironically depressing was the rain at the end of the day. If you recall, it's been dry season here...meaning it hasn't rained for 5 months!! Not a drop. Thus, when some dark clouds started to roll in, the wedding party wasn't bummed out, they were elated! Ok, so maybe the people who had to hop motorbikes to get home were a bit disgruntled, but I was thrilled! Kind of like the first snow fall of a season...here I am catching rain drops in my mouth.

Even though I ended up loading/unloading the rental furniture and then the band's music equipment in the rain (only person with a truck... I should have seen it coming), hearing the beating of rain on the hood, smelling the wet pavement, and seeing the dust washed away TOTALLY made my day. Even when I returned home to no power, I took completely joy in opening all the windows and doors, laying on the couch and savoring the storm. Rain on the wedding day? Just fine for me:)

Hausa word of the day: wedding celebration = bikin aure

6 month anniversay!

2008-02-26T23:25:00.006+01:00

Today marks 6 months since my feet touched African soil. “Already?!?” you might exclaim…tell me about it. It truly doesn’t feel like I should be ¼ done with my time here. The cultural lessons I receive daily remind me that I’m still a novice at this whole Nigerian thing. Some days, I feel I’m totally acculturated...these would be the days I converse in Hausa without making a complete fool of myself, walk away from the market KNOWING I wasn't scammed, or walk down the street thinking no one notices I’m not really Nigerian. The past couple weekends have afforded me both experiences.
A few weeks ago throngs of women drifted in and out of my office building collecting “uniforms” for their women’s fellowship. I asked a colleague what one has to do to get a uniform and she said, “Oh! You want one? I’ll sew one for you.” Sure enough, a week later, my dear Auntie Deborah puts one on my desk and tells me I should come to the area’s Women’s Fellowship Conference the following weekend. Apparently, the conference is one of the only times you wear the uniform, and since I now owned one, I made arrangements to go. As I walked into the sea of green and purple I thought to myself, “This sure doesn’t look like a Beth Moore women’s retreat!” Can you imagine a women’s retreat where 5,000 + women all wear the same thing? And we’re not talking about an attractive outfit here that everyone looks good in...look at it!

They deliberately picked a hideous color scheme. Plus, you don’t have much latitude of how the uniform is sewn; just one terribly unbecoming style permitted. Some women look quite lovely in it, but not this little baturiya who doesn’t fill it out at all. Speaking of my whiteness, I should mention that I was the ONLY baturiya in this crowd. Consequently, Auntie Deborah and I were ushered to the seats of importance behind the podium and anyone who knew me easily detected me when I joined in the dancing and singing.

Pictured here is one of the ladies from my office giving a special number with the rest of her church’s women’s fellowship. Doesn't she just epitomize a heart of gold oozing with joy? And you know, she has that every morning during devotions before she spends hours sweeping the floors and cleaning the office. One of my favorite parts was when the speaker said, “Please stand up if you are married and/or have children.” Literally every other women in the place stood up except for me. Did I mention the unwritten rule about having to be married to join a women’s fellowship? As if I wasn’t already the odd ball. Then the speaker said, “Or, if you WANT to get married someday,” then I stood up proudly, drawing hearty chuckles from my neighbors. The whole experience delighted me and was a reminder of how much I want to dive deeper into the community here.

Now, this past weekend I attended a "sendforth" for my colleague's fiance. A sendforth takes place within a week before the wedding and serves as the ceremony where the groom-to-be brings the gifts to the soon-to-be-inlaws...traditionally this would involve cows, goats and such things. Dancing, singing, speaches, and prayers are done in honor of the bride-to-be as she is "sent forth" to get married. This is also a chance for people to give monetary gifts to the families. For instance, Ketuah (the bride-to-be) had written this pamphlet for the young women of Nigeria, but before they would pass any copies out, the master of ceremonies said, "Let's see if something can be put in this bowl strong enough to open up the package of pamphlets." Thus, the trumphet and drum band struck up a song, Ketuah started dancing, and people filed up to "spray" her with money. What a riot! I wonder if I could get my friends and family to throw money at me when I dance the week before my wedding. Stay tuned for an update on the wedding itself coming up this coming weekend...I'm so pumped:)
So, on this culture and tradition-rich day were a few notables:
--while dancing up to the front to spray Ketuah, one girl wore an Avril Lavinge t-shirt. Wow, talk about counter-culture. "I'm off again in my world..."
--white pieces of trash tied to tall stalks in a field that serve as fetishes to curse anyone who tries to trespass or steal from the land.
--kids in the ceremony literally did not take their eyes off me the ENTIRE time. The kids sitting near me inched closer every chance they got. Some even dared to put their little hands on my arm to touch white skin, then looked at me perplexed.
--Once I got back to Jos, driving through a pretty busy section of town, what do I see on the side of the road but a man walking BUTT NAKED down the road. [sorry, no picture] Not a stich of fabric on his body. Unfortunately, this guy probably wasn't aserting his right to dress however he wants...he was likely deranged. Rounded off my day of experiences though.

SO, there are some glimpses into my life her in Nigeria in the past couple of weeks. And you know, I'm continuing to love it as much today as I did 6 months ago...naked men and all.

Hausa word of the day: Tsirara = naked :)

Brrr....

2008-02-20T07:12:00.003+01:00

Along with the normal string of greetings, "Ya ya sunyi?" has been added for the past couple months. Believe it or not, "How it the cold?" is a perfectly appropriate question for Jos, Nigeria right now. For an entire week, I felt like I was back in Vermont, donning leggings under my skirt, wool socks (worn with crocs, my only pair of semi-appropriate closed dress shoes), and scarves. I'm not ENTIRELY sure what the thermometer reading actually was, but my guess would be about 45 or 50 in the mornings. For houses that have sealed windows and insulation, this is no big deal, but insulation doesn't really exist here in the land of brick and concrete. Plus, the louver windows, which delighted me when I first arrived, have proven to be my arch nemesis in keeping the chilly wind out of my apartment. Try as I might to close them, the curtain hanging in front still go horizontal from the breeze throughout the night. SO, what does this former Appalachian Trail thru-hiker/ seasoned Vermont resident do to sleep? I dig out the long wool socks that come up to my knees, throw on my warmest set of sweats (oh wait, I only brought one), yank a hat on, slide into my faithful sleeping bag, and pull my thinned comforter up to my chin. I kid you not; this is how I slept for an entire week!

See the picture below a friend of mine took one Sunday afternoon. (My expression is extra grumpy because I had the onset symptoms of malaria, feeling like I've just been run over repeatedly by a mack truck.) All this is due to the dust blown south from the Sahara which blocks the sun and brings increased wind. Now, I'm not really complaining, just trying to paint you a picture. There may not be -20 wind chill, but let me remind you, THIS IS NIGERIA AFRICA! Would you expect to see people come to work with gloves, hats, scarves, and blankets on? Though my sleep may be slightly less sound, and stepping out of the shower a bit less pleasant (I actually abstained a couple days b/c I didn't want to endure the torture of the wind tunnel in my bathroom), for many Nigerians here on the plateau, it can actually be quite dangerous. Many live in much less insulated homes than me and have to travel around on the public motorbikes. Another effect of the "sunyi" is an increase risk of malaria. "Wait, aren't mosquitoes supposed to die in the cold?" That's what I thought! They do, but many migrate to warmer areas aka, your living quarters. Additionally, as any good mother will tell you, the cold makes you more susceptible to sickness because you're immune system is lowered. (As a kid, I'd always get the lecture about not wearing sandals when it's cold or going outside with my hair wet.) As a recovered victim of malaria, I can testify to this theory. Perhaps this is enough of a culture lesson today. After stepping outside this morning and dashing back in to grab a scarf, I knew I had to share the phenomenon with you. I am enjoying not sweating in my seat and getting a chance to wear the few long-sleeve shirts I brought but I'm also looking forward to answering the questions "Ya ya sunyi?" with "Sunyi ya gama!" (=The cold is finished!)

Dinner in Jos

2008-01-31T21:40:00.000+01:00

An hour in the life of René:
Some loud voice outside my window yells something resembling my name, awaking me from my pleasant little afternoon nap. Since I have malaria, I'm entitled, in fact, ordered, to such indulgences. The man wasn't really trying to get in touch with me, but rather, talking to someone on his cell (which Nigerians do VERY loudly). I stretch my arms wide and noticing it's about 6:00, concede that waking up would be the wise decision. "Hmm, what shall I fix for dinner tonight?" I ask myself. Since I've been laid up the past several days, people have brought by food, or come by to hang out and cook with me, so I've used up many left-overs. ALSO, my dishes are starting to form a nice little resemblence of the Andes Mountain Range over by the sink. Wait all you moms, before you begin to chide me for my poor domestic skills, you should know that we have been on a water shortage this week. As discussed in an earlier post, this is not because the city resevoir is dry, but because the water workers are on strike since the governor has not given them the pay increase he promised 2 months ago. SO, I've done the bare minimum rinsing to keep the critters away (from kitchen and body...that's another story) and worked to make it till Friday when Mama Tabitha comes and cleans them (if I do them on Thursday, she'll be out of job). OK, back to dinner-making. One of my go-to meals is some variation of the veggie omlette. A quick glance in the fridge encourages me with peppers, onions, tomatoes already cut up in nice little tupperware containers (see, I DO have some domestic know-how), cheese, homemade salsa, and a few homemade tortillas that just need to be fried up. (Hope you're not reading this too far from your lunch break) The problem, aforementioned, arises with my dish situation. I have no clean frying pan and the dirty ones are past the point of a quick scrub and rinse...but this dinner will NOT be stopped! Deciding a small saucepan will do for the eggs, I toss some oil into it and light the stove. Several broken matches later (what does it take to make a box of matches where at LEAST 43% of them work??), oil is being heated and the veggies get tossed in. Meanwhile, I'm strategizing how to fry the tortillas. Ah-ha! The sliding lid to a bread pan stares at me from the counter. Metal, heat-conductor, oven safe...why not? Once I finish with my little scrambled egg concoction (which stuck a LOT to the sides b/c saucepans are meant for SAUCES not eggs) I toss the greesed-lid on the stove, gingerly place the tortilla down and wait to see if I've made a horrible mistake. Then...NEPA goes out. Great. I dash to the room, fumble through my drawers, and victoriously emerge with my headlamp. With the LED glow coming from my forehead, I carefully fry the tortillas. Inevitably, they burn a little, but totally still edible. (At some point, I had grabbed the glorious remants of a box of Wheat Thins someone had sent me from the states to satiate my hunger.) I grab a fork and plate from the edges of the Andes (meaning it was used either today or last night) and finally, I'm sitting down at my table with two sad excuses for breakfast burritos on a plate. Knowing my salsa is kickin' I look for water to find that I only have 1/4 left in a small bottle and one more big bottle left, that I should probably save since there's not telling how long this water issue's going to last. I bowed my head, giving thanks for this provision, knowing there are plenty of people less than a mile away going to bed with far less and worse in their stomachs. As I ate my delectible dinner by headlamp (could have lit candles, but I was still annoyed with the matches) I couldn't help but chuckle at the process I just went through. Thing is...this sort of stuff characterizes my daily life here in Nigeria. And you know what else? I love it. Every make-shift meal, broken match, malaria test, bucket bath, hard avocado, humbling part of it. However...I'm also REALLY grateful for those Wheat Thins :)

good food = "abincin da dadi"

Kamp Kurmin Musa!!

2008-01-28T10:43:00.000+01:00

At long last, I was able to be a part of my first Nigerian youth camp January 6-13th, and it was INCREDIBLE. I've delayed making this post in part because I really don't know where to begin or how to describe it. Not only was this my first camp, but it was the first time ECWA Camp Youth Alive (ECYA) had held a camp in this little village called Kurmin Musa. Kurmin Musa is a ginger farming community with little else going on so when we came in, everyone knew about it. Plus, I was the only bature (white person) for miles. I'm sure other white people have been there, but it's been a long time since one stayed all week. I've gotten fairky used to the staring and kids calling out "baturiya! baturiya!" in Jos, but this week was a whole new level of celebrity-ness. Regardless of what I was doing or what time it was, the neighborhood kids would gather around the porch, grass, or windows and takes notes on what this strange bature was doing. Honestly, I often forget that I look any different than everyone else because we're all doing the same thing and THEY don't look strange to me, so why should I look strange to them? Apparently just the site of my white skin is cause for hours of entertainment for these kids. (Note the picture of the kids in the window. This was pretty common).
Back to the camp. Though this was a YOUTH camp, all the campers were between 16-25. In Nigeria, if you're not married, you're still considered a "youth" so our ministry usually divides into two age groups: junior (12-16) and senior (16-28). Seems pretty crazy since 16-28 would never be an age group in the US, right? Wasn't a problem here. We had 38 campers and 11 staff as "hut leaders" (the equivalent of cabin counselors) from Kurmin Musa. 6 of us drove in from Jos as the administrative staff, in charge of activities, sports, crafts, hut chiefs, etc. Oh, and let me not forget some of my favorite people at camp, the cooks (see picture). These 8 women were nothing short of delightful and served up some of the best Nigerian food I've had yet! Several afternoons I sat down by the fire with them chatting about all the little things women chat about. Once they found out I have a special man in my life, we had a hysterical conversation about how I need to send a vehicle to take them the airport and then a plane for them to come to America so they can cook for my wedding. I tried to explain that I am a missionary, and consequently, don't exactly have a private jet to send out to bring them to my wedding. Not sure if they believe me. But, I wouldn't mind having them cook me some food any day. Truth be told, I was a little nervous about eating Nigerian food all week because the high concentration of palm oil, in just about every dish, can do a number on your GI tract. But this stuff was GOOD and agreed with me the entire week, save one night involving a frantic dash through the dark to the "toilet." (see picture) I was never so grateful to get to a hole in the ground. This may seem rustic, but it's typical 'round here. When I went to visit some neighbors' homes, their toilet was set up pretty much the same way. Once the whole filled up, they'd just move the little thatch enclosure. As for bathing, it was all bucket bath style. Part-way through the week we were able to rig up a tap that worked most of the time so if you felt like a little "yi wanka"(= bathing) you'd take your bucket, fill up, and find some secluded place, like the girls' washroom, pictured below. Casting aside all inhibitions along with your clothes, you then stand there and do your best at alternative between scooping water with a cup and lathering up. This was one of the reasons I got my hair braided...didn't have to endure cold water over my head. It was all wonderfully refreshing though, especially after game time.

last. Singing came joyfully from the heart, notes taken during speaker's talks, and engagement in the hut Bible studies. Hearing some of the testimonies at the campfire on the last night blew my mind with their sincerity and openness. Several shared that they were expecting something completely different, but learned so much that they couldn't wait to go home and tell others. I could go on and on about some of the things campers shared, but one of the most striking thing I heard was how this camp was the first time many had heard anything about spending time alone with the Lord, doing personal devotions...and these were mostly church-going Nigerians. One of the foci for ECYA is discipleship so we were thrilled to hear so many campers and staff express a desire to be involved in discipleship after camp. THEN an older gentleman that played a big role in getting ECYA to Kurmin Musa, offered to head up a discipleship program. Personally, I'm eager to come back next year and see what all the Lord has done in these lives. In my own life, even more rewarding than the food and times of bathing, were the changed lives I got to witness. From campers and staff alike, I saw noticeable differences from their first day to the, there was incredible confirmation that right now, youth camping ministry is totally my element, my calling, my passion. Somehow, amidst the snakes, scorpions, stares, Hausa conversations, and bucket baths, I felt just as comfortable here that I did serving at Camp Brookwoods in NH, USA. As Max Lucado says, "“There's inexplicable joy and peace at the wedding of my trust and God's faithfulness."
If you are interested in contributing financially to this ministry and helping more youth attend such a life-changing camp, follow the link on the right. ECYA relies on contributions from generous folks like yourself to make camp happen each time and right now we're starting to raise subsidy for the 2008 season. Email me if you have any questions!

Welcome to 2008!!

2008-01-18T11:00:00.000+01:00

I realize that my post are have some serious chronology issues. Sorry about that. Some pictures and stories are too good to pass over. And besides, this keeps my newsletter updates from being 20 pages long. People often want to wonder how the holidays are spent when they aren't in their "normal" habitat. Where else would I spend New Year's Eve than at the Wildlife Park? A group of us smiling singles serving in Jos thought it'd be cool to camp out ontop this overlook in the park, so rather than try to dodge security and sneak in, we had a chat with the guards. For a small price (especially when split amongst 15 of us) we were greeted at the entrance with smiles as the gate swung open. Other than the savage, wild beasts we were now enclosed with, our safety was taken care of. We toted firewood, guitar, sparklers, s'more fixings (sent from the US...no marshmellows to be found 'round here), sleeping bags, and reflections on 2007 up to the look out. For hours we sat around a fire talking, singing, telling jokes, sharing stories, and daring each other to go ride the elephant. At some point some of us found ourselves in a sleeping bag or under a blanket attempting to catch a few winks. But we all were awake for the first dawn of the year. Here is my first view of Africa in 2008, the sun rising up on my city of Jos and a year of untold adventure.
Well, what better way to celebrate the first day of my entire year in Nigeria than at a tribal dancing festival? So, a smaller gathering of friends and I headed out to the town of Miango for their celebration. I honestly don't think I could ever do justice with my words. First of all, there were tons of these awesome kids that were constantly being yelled at by adults for getting too close to the front. Of couse, since we're batures and we had cameras, we could get as close as we want. We sided with the kids, put our arms around a couple, and secured them a good viewing location. Here's a great pic with Dana, her mom and friend, and myself with a crew of these cuties. When we walked back to our cars, each of us had both hands held by kids who wanted to honor us by escorting us back to my car.

Oh, so the festivities also included all these different groups taking their turn to do a dance in the center of the square arena. Most of the time this involved some sweet drums, stomping, dust flying, singing, and groovy tribal attire. Then, the group would head into this center ring area and people who wanted to pay tribute or reward them for their good performance would go in and place small denominations of money on their head, also called "spraying ". I found out later that spraying has been outlawed in Nigeria. WELL, Dana and I didn't know that at the time, so at one point, we decided to join in the fun, boogied into the center ring after one group, "sprayed" a few performers and started shaking our groove thang. We were the only white people that had done such a thing all day so all the Nigerians got a kick out it. We even got a little spray action ourselves! Dana's mom was able to catch some footage of the jubilation in this video. All in all, I can't think of a better way to start my first full calendar year in Africa. Can't wait to see what else 2008 will bring!

We didn't start the fire...

2008-01-06T10:41:00.001+01:00

In addition to the dust, cloudless days, and brown landscapes, dry season also means these incredible bush fires. Now, I haven't figured it all out, but I think the idea is to clear the tall grass and land to make it easier to farm. So they'll set this one area on fire and just let it go. I don't think there's much control about where it goes. Usually footpaths or fences curb the burning. Also, another benefit is that the fire pushes all the bush rats and rodents to a certain area, making them easier to catch. Yum yum!

These shots were taken out at Miango, where we had our annual SIM-Nigeria Spiritual Life Conference. Brings a whole meaning to being "baptized by fire." Jocelyn and I are on the run here.

Soon I'll be posting a blog about the INCREDIBLE week of camp we had last week in Kurmin Musa, so don't turn that dial! Pictures of it have already been uploaded. If you just click the right link that says, "Lots of pictures" you'll be escorted to my web album.

Word of the day: "Wuta" = fire; light. This is also the word used for power so when NEPA goes out, they say, "Who took the fire?" = Wanene kai wuta?"

Lovin' lots of locks

2008-01-05T11:48:00.000+01:00

Who doesn't like a new look for a new year? I finally got to go Nigerian with my hair. A couple neighbors came over last Saturday and spent the entire day grafting the extensions into my hair. When I say the entire day, I mean from 8:30am to 5:30 pm. Hey, beauty takes time! If you're thinking, "Rene, I can't believe you spent an entire saturday getting your head yanked on" then may I remind you that Nigerians (and actually, many African Americans) do this at least once a month. No wonder they're ok with having to wear head-ties. It's a quick fix until they can find time to sit for 6+ hours.

I didn't have it too bad because I was able to sit in my house and catch up on emails and other computer work.

I delighted in chatting with Comfort and her sisters Abigail and Patience, who came to help a little bit. Comfort is studying Geology at the university and taught me a bit about the unique rock formations here in Jos.

Um, but there were definitely times when it felt more like torture than pampering. Yanking on little bits of hair so the extensions could be tied as close to the scalp as possible. Some people stopped by to visit throughout the day and I think if they weren't there I would have been in tears. And I definitely thought I was within 10 mins of being done at least 20 times. The home stretch seemed to take longer than the first 90% of my head.

Now, this may be a stretch, but I think this experience epitomizes cross-culture living. While you're doing "work" your native culture and the new culture are gradually being entwined together. Sometimes you reach your hand back to check out the progress to be delightfully surprised at how far you've come. This can lead to misjudgement about how far is still left to go. Sometimes, the blending hurts. Sometimes, it pulls you off balance. Sometimes, interruptions slow down the process. And sometimes you're not sure if you're doing the right thing or if it's going to be one huge ugly mess that will take a while to correct. However, if the final product on my head now is any rule of thumb, then the joining of your "normal" life with the new life will be a beautiful, fun, new creation that you'll absolutely love.

Safest Place

2007-12-29T09:10:00.000+01:00

Over the past couple of months I've pondered about the issue of safety. Now, those who know me know that I tend to sideline this factor in the things I choose to do (see "Breaks and Boons" post picture). Much to my mother's dismay, safety isn't held in very high value for me. However, living in Nigeria has challenged my stubbornness and I've begun to be a bit more cautious. Whether I like it or not, I have to be more prudent in how I live daily life here. All this has given way to questions in my mind-how God thinks about safety? What's been ingrained in me growing up is that God protects, shelters, and guards us from danger because He wants us to live safe lives. But the more I get to know this Lord of mine, the more blasphemous that sounds. A quick survey of the lives of those who've followed that radical Nazarene indicates that things don't end with a white picket fence and peaceful death while sleeping. On the contrary, for those first followers their days were marked by prison, danger, lashings, ship-wrecks, danger, ostracizing, beheading, danger, crucifixion, hunger, and oh, danger. Hmm...we really don't talk about this very much in our churches. We toss out the warning that people might not like us for what we believe, but to that we should just pray for the "lost souls" of those who mock us. How often do we do all we can to avoid anything uncomfortable? I recently devoured this book by Erwin McManus, The Barbarian Way and found some refreshing words I'd like to share.
"Jesus understood that His purpose was to save us not from pain and suffering, but from meaninglessness."

Erwin goes on to talk about the cliché, "The safest place to be is in the center of God's will." The saying has it's origins with Corrie ten Boom and her sister, Betsie, who were captives in Nazi concentration camps. This is the context in which the "safety of God's will" was being fleshed out and I must say, I think we've strayed quite a distance from the original meaning. Here's what Erwin says,:

"Clearly neither of them concluded that this expression conveyed a belief that God would keep them from suffering hardship and even death. Betsie’s statement was a declaration that to walk in the character of Christ is always the right choice, regardless of outcome or consequence. We have somehow perverted this more primal understanding to a far more civilized one. Instead of finding confidence to live as we should regardless of our circumstances, we have used it as justification to choose the path of least resistance, least difficulty, least sacrifice. Instead of concluding it is best to be wherever God wants us to be, we have decided that wherever it is best for us to be is where God wants us. Actually, God’s will for us is less about our comfort that it is about our contribution. God would never choose for us safety at the cost of significance. God created you so that your life would count, not so that you could count the days of your life.”

Though there's a part of me that wishes my God was one that would never let anything bad happen to me, never let armed robbers in, never let corrupt people get to leadership positions, never let my heart be wrung, a deeper part is relieved to know that my God has a more eternal perspective than that. Significance and contribution to the Kingdom of Light win out over safety and comfort.

Mama, kada ki damuwa = Mom, don't you worry :)

Good cheer

2007-12-23T15:46:00.000+01:00

"Gloria" and I

At this particular juncture, my time is a bit limited, as is my power supply (NEPA is off, big surprise), so I just want to share a few pictures of the past week's festivitites leading to the holiday. I imagine that this time of year has you quite busy as well so you're checking my blog i between batches of sugar cookies, so hopefully the brevity isn't scorned. Unless of course you're bored out of your mind and you're hoping I'll have some tantilizing story to entertain you. Uh...sorry about that;) Little drummer boy/René

These pictures of nigerian's are all from this Christmas celebration for one of the SIM ministries here in Jos. These kids were kicked out of their homes for one reason or another and live in this village community called Gyaro under the guidance and structure of SIM City Ministries. At the celebration, each "family group" presented a song, memory verses, and/or a little drama. I wish I could share a video but blogger isn't cooperating with me. You're just going to have to trust me that the afternoon was priceless. The girl's group presenting their memory verse from Luke 2.

And what holiday season would be complete without a little caroling? Some of us singing, smiling, singles went out to various houses on compounds and then the hospital in an attempt to bring tidings of great joy to many people. It was a blast and well-received just about everywhere we went. "Felize Navidad" didn't go over quite like we hoped :)

Here's our crew at the hospital with your's truly dressed up as Father Christmas. Can you believe that some kids DIDN'T buy that I was Santa Clause?! They pulled on my beard and said, "That's not real!" Most broke out into a huge smile at the sight of me, especially when I started Ho-ho-hoing.

Thursday was actually Salah, a Muslim holiday so some of us took off to go play and conquer this area. It's called _[some african sounding name]_ Tribal Rocks. Lots of fun, sun, and battlewounds were had.

As they say in Nigeria: HAPPY (not merry) CHRISTMAS!!

SO, not under the radar

2007-12-17T21:51:00.000+01:00

You know how when you arrive to a function already in full swing you just try to slip in under the radar? Ever tried doing that when you're the only white person within at least a 30 mile radius? Right. So this past weekend, I traveled to the delightful little ginger farming village of Kurmin Musa for a youth conference. Go ahead and scratch out all visions of cushy hotels, conference rooms, stickers, and catered lunches. You can hang onto the picture of oodles of people, because over 2,000 Nigerians were gathered there in Kurmin Musa. OK, so I show up with my colleagues, Shammah and Joseph, and the outdoor conference in the middle of a field, is well underway. We weren't expected to present until the evening, so I'm thinking we'll just slide in the back,under the make-shift thatched shade somewhere, wait till a break, and then locate our contacts. Oh no, there would be none of that. Despite my attempt to blend in with Nigerian atire, I stood out like a polar bear on blacktop. Pretty soon we were being ushered to the seats of honor in the center of the U-shaped area, right behind the podium...while the speaker was still

talking (all in Hausa). About 5 mins after we sit down, I start to get the notion that we're going to be introduced. Sure enough, the emcee gives the mic to Shammah and he starts talking (all in Hausa) and then asks me to stand up. Shammah says a few more things (in Hausa) and then hands the mic to me saying, "Go ahead. Greet them in Hausa and then sing a song." !! What else could I do? There I was, singing...to 2,000 people...in Hausa...with body movements. As soon as we sat back down, I said, to Shammah, "Remind me to give you a bulala (beating) later." However, later on that evening, the fun only continued when we gave our presentation about camp and I found myself dancing by myself in front of this crowd. If there's one thing I know about winning the favor of Nigerians, I know you can't go wrong with some good dance moves. From the cheers and squeals of the masses, I think I did alright. Even more importantly, the youth seemed really excited about signing up for the camp we will host there in Kurmin Musa the 2nd week in January. Something else I found fascinating this weekend was the process of taking up an offering. First of all, they must have collected money at least 5 times just in the 24 hours I was there. You learn to carry small bills so you don't look like a schmuck for not giving anything. OK, so anytime an offering is being taken, the band (or just drummers) go to town and pound out a sweet beat that makes people want to dance. And dance they do, making their way to the bowl, basket, or bag up in front. Usually in churches, people are dancing down the aisles, dropping their money in, and dancing back to their seats. After all, God loves a cheerful giver! We're so used to having solemn music playing while the pretty trays shift down the rows, no wonder people don't look forward to the offering. Well, at this conference, when certain offerings were taken, people didn't just bring money, they brought sacks of grains and huge green bars of soap (see picture). Here, churches need these items for various functions, speakers, and pastors. Can you imagine doing this next Sunday in your church? Try dropping a bar of Ivory soap or a box of cereal in the plate next time. At least you're not dragging in a goat.

Singing, dancing, giving for the kingdom...always detected by the King's radar.

Mun yi ma Yesu waka da raira = "We sang and danced for Jesus"

At a moment's notice

2007-12-05T23:09:00.000+01:00

And this is what missionaries sometimes feel like...

ok, so perhaps a couple of us had too much fun with the ol' photo booth program. Some pictures just have to be shared.

I suppose I should use this opportunity to share a little story. A common adage around here is that in Nigeria, you need to be ready to preach, pray or die at a moment's notice. Just the other day...

**We were throwing a little program for all of our camp staff from Jos, intending to feed them, entertain, encourage, and then challenge them towards discipleship. And preferably, that would have been the order. BUT, since nothing goes according to plan here, one of my colleagues and I were an hour late to the shindig due to extended cooking time. I tried not to show it, but I was kind of freaking out because I was supposed to be orchestrating this thing. Anyways, we get there and the 3rd member of our office team, Shammah, is up, preaching away. I rush in and just break into a huge smile, watching the impromtu-ness of Nigeria at it's best. And you know what, it was a fantasic message. I certainly couldn't have done that!

**Opportunities to pray are PLENTIFUL. Ok, so I guess they are plentiful no matter where you live, but as a friend of mine said, "Out here, everything God says seems to have an exclamation point on the end." For instance, in the states, we pray for safe travels, 'journey mercies', etc. But here, it's not just something nice to throw in a prayer. We are ALWAYS praying for people as they travel with great sincerity. So many factors that can make a pleasant 2 hour drive to a village turn into a living nightmare. Tire-busting potholes covering 80% of the road, huge trucks with no regulations on the load their carrying, cars passing on both sides while oncoming traffic isn't budging, and then...we have the various traffic stops where "officers" set up road blocks so they can "inspect vehicles." Anyways, all this is to say, that the nature of life here demands constant prayer. Which leads me to the final thing...

**When someone dies here, quite often, family and friends won't REALLY know the cause. A typical story will be told like this: Man had an injured leg, so he went to the hospital and died. That will honestly be all the details you get from the family, not because they are witholding stuff from you, but because that's all they know! Strangely, I find the acceptance of death refreshing because our western culture likes to believe that one's invincible...and that promotes such a false sense of hope. Don't worry, I'm not eager to die, but the fact is, at a moment's notice it could happen and I better be ready.

Ku yi mani addu'a = pray for me

Breaks and 'Boons

2007-12-01T21:18:00.000+01:00

Have you ever begun a letter, email, or, let’s say, blog, half a dozen times and can’t seem to finish it? Welcome to my life. There’s seem to be big fat road barrier keeping me from posting a blog. Tonight, however, I’ve committed not to go to bed until I can post something. Thing is…I’ve been having a hard time deciding what to write about. So I’m going to go with what I have the coolest pictures of first. Worth a thousand words…even those I should have writted a week ago? Good.

Right-o. So over a week ago, I officially finished my Hausa language training! **the crowd goes wild** To celebrate, our class decided to take a trip to Yankari Game Reserve for a little safari and time in the natural warm springs. The safari was decent (of note we saw lions, crocs, and bush bucks), but didn’t change my life. Way more exciting were the baboons and warthogs roaming around the premises terrorizing patrons. (pictured is one trying to intimidate George into turning over his cookie. Didn't work) I’m serious, the ‘boons opened our sliding windows to our rooms and came in, looking for food. The guys that were with us came back from swimming to find 8 baboons in their room, lounging around, having polished off all the food they had. They may look cute, but they were pretty vicous. Of couse, that’s what made it exciting. The warm springs (constant 31 C) also made the trip worth it. Check out the pictures…absolutely beautiful.

I returned from the trip refreshed and ready to dive back into full time camp ministry. It’s been difficult the past few weeks trying to do intensive language study as well as remaining involved with the daily ministry needs. Now, I’m focused and excited about writing materials for next years camp, raising awareness, and connecting with former and future camp staff. Time to jump out and get my feet wet!

Here's another classic René-favorite, leaping from something ridiculous into water. The 3 pictures before this one were of me standing on top, pondering whether the potential gain outweighed the potential loss...rational thinking gave way to my physics estimates and well, you can see what happend.

Word for the day: Na gama!
= I finished!

Kashe bera

2007-11-17T23:47:00.000+01:00

So many fun things have been happening, I haven't been able to chain myself to the computer long enough to post a blog. Also, my computer is currently still in the states, awaiting transport back to my bosom. I've been snagging other people's laptops shamelessly for about 2 months now. Since I moved a bit, I've also had to steal (or ask in a really guilt-instilling kind of way) the use of other's internet. Furthermore, the mooching had reached it's climax in my moving in with this awesome couple, Jocelyn and Mark (pictured) Redekops. Because of the whole incident that happened over a month ago, the general concensus was that I should live with some people for a little while. This has been way better than I would have imagined because the Redekops are amazing and we really clicked...yes, I'm giving myself a compliment indirectly. At any rate, one of the joys of living in another home is the novelity and constant discoveries that are made. Lucky me, I got to be around when this little guy(pictured) was discovered! Jocelyn and I returned from Hausa class and a neighbor of ours came to tell us that we had a visitor. Mark informs us that Rogers, a Nigerian who works on the compound, killed a rat. Well, lunch was going to have to wait because I wanted to see this sucker. Since we are buddying Hausa language scholars, Jocelyn and I attempted to ask, "Where is the rat that you killed?" = "Rogers, ina bera da ka kashe?" but didn't pronouce it right and said, "Rogers, ina bera da ka kashi?" which means, where is the rat that you pooped. Mental image? Beautiful. We continued to get giggles out of that one for the next couple of days. At any rate, Rogers was leary about showing us because he was afraid we'd want to keep it and eat it...and he was hoping to have some nice "bush" meat for dinner. Jocelyn reassured him that anytime he killed something in their yard, he was welcomed to take it home. Rogers responded with a huge grin.

Speaking of grinning...my dear friend and partner in crime, Shannon (pictured here in front of Miango Falls), has headed back to the states. Ok, so I'm not grinning because she's gone, in fact it's been a bit sad, but the time we had together was full of grins...and giggles. I'm continually amazed at how quickly relationships are formed out here. Part our of necessity, but also in part because if you've made it out here to Jos, Nigeria to serve the Lord in some capacity, they're something that runs through your blood that'll unite you with others. And especially as single white females attempting to be about God's business here, we have an extra special bond. Shannon and I hangled many a street vendor, caught taxis, investigated sketchy churches, and basked in the beauty of Nigerian culture. She is just one (but a very snazzy one at that ;) )example of how God has answered my prayer for fellowship and sisterhood out here.

In other answers to prayer... Hausa class will be wrapping up this week and so from now on all my entries will be in Hausa. Wait...maybe that would only be cool for like, 1 sentence...ok, I'll keep it in English for your sake, but just know that I COULD do it all in Hausa.

AND, I must say, "Na gode domin kin hakori" = thank you for your patience. I haven't been as avid of a blogger lately...but the tides are turning my friends. Hope you have your life vest on!

My anchor holds

2007-11-05T16:39:00.000+01:00

It's been quite a while since I made a post but with all the stuff that's gone down lately, I think I'm going to use my one "pass" to avoid the criticism of my readers. As ridiculous as it may sound, I have felt guilt because there has been so much going on and with each passing day, I know I'm failing to keep y'all updated. Well, this post isn't so much to chronicle the past couple of weeks with all events, but to share some words that have spoken to my heart.

"My heart was embittered and I was pierced within...
nevertheless, I am continually with You;
You have taken hold of my right hand
with your counsel You will guide me,
and afterward receive me to glory...
My heart and my flesh may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart
and my portion forever...
But as for me, the nearness of God is my good;
I have made the Lord GOd my refuge,
that I may tell of all your works."
--Psalm 73: 21-28

When darkness tries to hide His face
I trust in His unchanging grace
In every high and stormy gail
my anchor holds within the veil
His oath, His covenant, His blood
support me in the whelming flood.
When .all around my soul gives way
He then is all my hope and stay
--Hymn "On Christ the Solid Rock I Stand"

For all who have been praying for me and my friends, thank you. KNOW that God is answering. He's healing. He's comforting. He's restoring. He's strengthening. He's bringing morning sun after the night. Please join me in continuing to pursue and fight for light to dispel darkness.

" Biki zai zo da safe"
= "celebration will come in the morning"

Ch-ch-ch-church time!

2007-10-14T00:19:00.000+01:00

(Corinne-Swiss buddy who arrived on the same flight, Kauna-gracious mentor about culture and shopping, and Shannon-fellow US of A native who is sadly only here for 3 more weeks...I love these women!)

A post about church experiences has been in order for a while. Today was the first time since I arrived that I haven't been to a new church. I wanted to get a taste of various congregations before I settled on one. The thing is...when you're a visitor at a church here in Nigeria, it's not just a matter of being asked to fill out a visitor card or something. No, no. I've had to stand up, get sang to, introduce myself and why I'm here in Jos, be asked to come down front so the entire church could come shake my hand, and pretty much be welcomed in ways that would scare the majority of first-time church visitors in the states to death. Over all, I really dig church here.

Right now, I'm shamelessly going to allow a dear partner in crime over here, Shannon, to tell the story of our church experience last week. It took me several days to sit down and journal about it and since Shannon described it so well, why make a futile attempt to do better?

"Another really bizarre experience I had this week was attending an African Pentecostal church, which was called, ahem, Church of God Mission International Inc. Solution House. The name "Solution House" gives you an idea of what kind of church it was, the whole sermon was a litany of prosperity theology, the preacher loudly proclaiming that if you can just earn "divine approval" you will achieve "open heaven" and you won't have to pursue miracles, your miracles will pursue you! Amen, hallelujah, praise the Lord. Basically, the gist of it was that if you can just situate yourself properly with God, he will give you anything you want, whether it's a promotion, a good marriage, a child, a new car, a boat, a cell phone network that actually works, whatever it is, God is all about giving it to you. But the fundamental problem with that kind of message is that no anointing is going to force God's hand into giving us what we want. The whole point of Christianity, from my perspective is "Thy will be done," not "MY will be done." But part of the reason that the Pentecostal church is one of the fastest growing denominations in the Southern church is because many of them preach exactly that.

But even if the sermon wasn't problematic enough, I was also disturbed by the degree of control that the preacher had over the congregation. The volume and demonstrativeness of their response was basically directly proportioned to his shouting and vehemence on the stage. After the sermon he actually had us all standing with our hands folded on top of our heads and our mouths open! I'm sure if he asked everyone in the church to stand on their heads they all would have been bottom up in a blink. He actually said if you don't do it exactly the way the "man of God" tells you, you will not get "the result." But it was by these bizarre poses that he was trying to spread his anointing to as many in the church as possible. Not satisfied with the number that were slain in the Spirit on their own, he actually went through the church knocking people over himself. Then, to ice this cake, he actually had every one who had been brought to the altar stand to their feet and a little clump while all the ushers stood around them like a human barricade. Then he waved his suit jacket over them and made a popping noise into his microphone and every last one of them went down. But just when I really thought that I had fallen completely off the map of sense and comprehension, he told us that he was trying to raise money for a plane ticket and if those in the congregation would come to the front and give him money, they could step in the anointing oil that he had poured on the floor and he would pray for them to receive the same anointing that he had. I am telling you, I have never before witnessed the kinds of things that I saw at that church. Which, for me, begs the question, how many more are there even just in this city that are just like it? I really honestly shudder to think. "

More on other church times later...stay tuned!

Word of the day: koyi = learn

worth 1,001 words

2007-10-13T13:38:00.000+01:00

With all due respect to the inventors of our languages, I find them lacking every evening when I come home from a day of smells, sounds, sights, and feelings. I've not only neglected this blog all week, but also my personal journal because it's so taxing to put words what Nigeria is putting into my heart every day. Take the above picture, for example. These kids are watching a Christian wrestling show by a team here for 2 weeks from Texas. Some other time I might talk about this "wrassling-gospel" ministry, but what I want you to notice is how entranced these kids are with the (not shown) very large batures in spandex pounding on the wrestling ring. If this was a video, you'd see the kids shrink back from the rope when the "bad guy" came out of the ring and ran toward the crowd. Note also the little girl with the plate on her head, selling the last few bags of groundnuts for the day. She watched entire show without taking the plate off. I wasn't all that mesmerized by the dudes jumping on each other, but my heart was enriched from observing the precious reactions of these kids.

Now this guy... tell me he doesn't give you warm fuzzies all over. Not much needs to be said here, just a cool freakin' bug in Africa. Also, I'm glad I found him outside and not in my shoe or on my toilet seat.

Something else that words just don't do justice to is my cooking. Stop that laughing! Look, cooking in Africa is TOTALLY different, so just because you've eaten my creations in the states has no bearing on your right to chuckle at the idea of my cooking here. **sigh** In all seriousness, even the simple things, like rice, take extra work here. Not to be one to shy away from a challenge, I've busted out the mixing bowl a few times. It's actually a goal of mine to learn some culinary skills over here. With no shame I admit that I've made my first carrot cake, icing, batch of coleslaw, yogurt (now a weekly afare), and a couple stellar variations of banana bread. I've also cook and cut up my first whole chicken, but have yet to kill and pluck one. AND, today I learned to make the classic Nigerian dish, jollof rice, thanks to my friend, Myriam (see picture). Basically, it's minced meat (=ground beef), oil, onions, peppers, carrots, green beans, cabbage, tomato paste, curry, garlic, salt, and peppe. Myriam then got excited about my other spices and decided that they could all go in. I'm pretty pumped about having leftovers for next week. I have had a number of blunders, but I'm willing to wager that Betty Crocker didn't bake the perfect cake her first time. Maybe soon my cooking/baking will leave partakers speechless...in a good way.

And of course, the quintessential sunset that so often beckons us to silence. Selah.

Phrase of the week: Ban sani ba =
"I don't know"

Yep, you know I say this one a lot:)

Not too near, but not far away...

2007-10-06T22:23:00.000+01:00

I make this post with a little bit of trepidation because I don't want anyone to freak out and start contacting Amnesty International or something. This is just a piece of Nigerian news that I found notable and I want to share it with you. Remember, Nigeria is a BIG country with millions of people. That said...
In case you didn't know, we are currently in the Islamic month of Ramadan where Muslims take 30 days to fast and seek enlightenment from God. It's a holy month and with Nigeria being 50% Muslim, I'm well aware of it. Every Friday night I can hear the call to prayer from the loudspeakers at the mosque. As one can imagine, in a country divided staunchly between Muslim and Christian, a time like Ramadan has the tendency to tense things up a bit. Such might be part of the reason for the incident in Tudun Wada near Kano (up north) last weekend, but then again, religious differences have long been an issue here in Nigeria.

Allegedly, a cartoon was found with Mohommad's head on a dog's body and it was though to have been drawn by a Christian student in one of the schools (Later, after some investigation, it was discovered to have been done by a Muslim boy in Bangledesh). This set off a riotous group of teenagers who went around rampaging shops and known Christian homes. The fairly small group turned into a much larger mob once word spread and by the end of it all, churches (nearly all in the area) were burned to the ground, 9 people killed, and over 130 Christian homes were looted while families were driven out without any belongings in hand. In an attempt to "protect" went around to Christian homes, asked where they would like to go, and helped to ship them out to other towns. In reality, this served the Muslim ideal because they'd rather have it segregated anyways.
Article about the incident.

Now, you may be wondering why I am waiting over a week to write about this to you. I heard about this by word of mouth and kept looking for something in the papers about it. This article I refer you to is some of the only coverage of this terrible travesty. Can you imagine something like this happening in the states and not hearing about it? But censorship prevented any newspaper from publishing on it, partly out of fear that it would only fuel reactionary violence. One can understand that, I certainly heard a few Nigerians voice their strong opinions about what actions should be taken, but the lack of coverage also help to cover-up the grave injustice that took place. Not just the looting, the "help" provided by the authorities.

Other conversations and mentions of it during prayers, the incident last weekend in Tudun Wada has not had any affect on life in Jos, as far as I can tell. I don't fear for my safety when I walk past a Muslim kneeling on his prayer mat, and neither should you. I share this news with you just to help you understand an underlying issue in Nigeria and ask you to pray for profound peace and for Christ's love, light and truth to be stronger than the hate, darkness, and lies that reside in the human heart.

Hausa word for the day: Semi = love

http://allafrica.com/stories/200710011288.html

Fields of Gold

2007-10-04T10:24:00.000+01:00

I realize that Sting was actually talking about fields golden with wheat in his song, but the golden fields here in Africa are worth singing about too. These yellow flowers have blanketed the mountain sides and meadows here in Jos for the past couple of weeks. It's absolutely beautiful and I wish I could tell you what they're called but I'm a far cry from a botanist and everyone I ask calls them "the end of rainy season flowers." I'll give you one guess what time of year they bloom :) Yes, yes, these droplets of sunshine pop out along with some orange buds during the last few weeks of sporadic rain. It's as if they are the giving everyone a final burst of color before dry season sets in and everything turns brown for the next 6 months. When I say dry season, I'm not just talking about having dry skin and no rain. There is this amazing phenomenon where the winds start blowing more from the north, bringing with it dust and sand from the Sahara. I remember flying over the Sahara a few weeks ago thinking how incredibly huge it was. Well, the vastness is not without consequence. I'm told a haze settles and the views of the mountains I currently enjoy just outside my gate will be hardly visible. Oh, and there's a name for this wonder of nature: harmattan. Sounds like some monster from the Odyssey if you ask me. Then again, considering the increase in dusting I'm going to have to do, the harmattan is a bit of a monster. Word is, mere hours after dusting you can have a layer of reddish/brownish dust on your furniture. That does NOT motivate me to even attempt. You know what other havoc the harmattan can wreak...boogers. Enough said.
But for now, I'll just savor God's beauty in my fields of gold. Ahhh...

Happy Independence Weekend!

2007-10-01T21:47:00.000+01:00

This weekend I really connected with this country for Nigeria celebrated 47 years of independence from British colonial rule. Together, Americans and Nigerians raised up our voices saying, "No taxation without representation!" Ok, so maybe that's not exactly what my local friends were saying...I don't even think there is a tax here...but regardless, I rejoiced for Nigeria's Independence Day, October 1. To celebrate, I took some fun little adventure trips. I didn't want to overload my blog with pictures, so please check out my photo album for more.

Shere Hills

Water packed, sun shining, trekking shoes on, and a crew of us set off to spend some time up in Shere Hills, about 1/2 and hour outside of Jos. It's really amazing how quickly we can go from conjested street city to beautiful, lush, mountainous terrain. I'm a big fan. Of course I had no clue where we were going but we had a few people with us that have lived here for 20+ years and they guided us way out to park in this random village. One guy fluent in Hausa asked some boys to watch our vehicles and off we went. Now, these "trails" aren't exactly well marked; it requires a bit of guesswork, but I couldn't have cared less, it SO beautiful. These pictures really don't do justice, of course, but maybe they'll persuade you to come check it out someday. We trekked up this one overlook and then went down into a valley in search of a waterfall. Once we found it some people parked it at the bottom to have a snack but I followed the lead of this wonderful lady, Beaj, and climbed up the sucker to the top. (Mom wouldn't have been too thrilled EXCEPT, her and Beaj grew up together in Liberia! Small world, huh?) Anyways, I stood there looking out over this awesome terrain of fields and rock outcroppings and praised God for the beauty of his creation here in Africa. As they say in Hausa, Kai!

Jos Wildlife Park

Now, don't get TOO excited because this was a "wildlife park" not a "wildlife game reserve." Big difference. Parks have fences and cages around their animals, game reserves don't. Nevertheless, I had a blast yesterday scoping out all the animals native to Nigeria with my buds from the office, Shammah (picturesd) and Akim. Lions, elephants, and headless vultures (see picture for proof). The sad thing was that many of these animals looked really skinny. PETA people would go nuts here but really, when you think about, it makes sense. With most of the population living on less than $1 a day, making sure Mufasa over there has a fresh antelope each week really does not make it very high on the priority list. So as bad as I felt for the critters, I feel worse for the people I see every day who also won't have much for dinner tonight.

Golf Ball and Cobra Rock

THIS was a cool day of hiking. We may not have covered 20 miles, but today was not for the faint of heart. A totally different crew of adventurers convened and decided there was no better way to celebrate Nigeria's freedom than to take advantage of her natural beauty. Particulary the state we live in, Plateau State, is known for its unique rock formations. We first went to Golf Rock, who's name sake should be pretty obvious from the picture. But this was just a mild 15 minute hike. While up on top, taking in the surrounding beauty, some of us spotted this other rock that looked like a giant cobra's head. 5 of us were in the mood for a challenge so we hopped down and began forging our way to the cobra. If trails had been hard to come by before, this one took the cake. George, our leader, trailblazed the way through some pretty thick jungle and briar patch. At the end of the day his arms were shredded with cuts and scratches (of course when someone pointed it out, he just said, "Ah, a price worth paying for the adventure). I'd have to agree because once I finally got on top of Cobra Rock, I forgot about the 2" long thorns that had dug into my legs and the stinging nettle plant that left a myriad of bumps on my forearm. This was a GROOVY cliff with an INCREDIBLE view of the area. We hadn't even known that just a little ways away was a little village of about 10 mud and thatch huts. Some of the kids spotted us at the top and yelled up, "Hello Baturis, how are you?" haha! They're probably wondering why the heck we're climbing on rocks like this for fun. Luckily, we met a Fulani man (Fulani's are a nomadic tribe of people who heard their cows and goats all across western Africa) and were able to ask him for a suggestion on a better way down. Turns out, there was a more reasonable trail than the torture foliage we swam through.

So those are a few of my adventures thus far. I can think of no better word to teach you today than "Kai," pronouced "ki" with a long 'i'. It is used in a variety of ways but mostly to say, "wow." Sitting on those mountain tops drinking in the views, with the breeze cooling off my face and the symphony of noises in my ears, I could only praise God and remark, "Kai!"

CSI: Jos

2007-09-27T22:15:00.000+01:00

Some days just don't turn out like you think they will, know what I mean?

This past weekend we hosted a sports ministry retreat at our campsite just outside of Jos proper. We were not in charge of the programming, just the facilities, food (recall my shopping trip with Mamma Hanatu), and a little canteen. Things had been going fairly well during the first two days, except that due to the number of participants fluctuating on a nearly hourly basis, we had to keep making runs into town for food. Saturday morning Claudia and I were doing just that but we kept getting these texts on the cell phones asking us to hurray up because people were not happy and there was a bad atmosphere at camp. No more details were given except some mention of running out of bread for breakfast, so we grab a few extra loaves and get out there as soon as we made our purchases. Upon arriving, however, we discover that there was a much bigger issue at hand than just some hungry bellies (though, that can be a pretty serious problem here, too).

Apparently, when one of our guards did not show up for work the night before, a search party was sent out and discovered him dead in the river bordering our property. So when we arrived, the body had been pulled out of the water and now needed transporting to the hospital. The chief of the village was there to oversea the procedure and several other men helped to pout the corpse in Claudia's truck. It was fairly bloody due to to some gash wounds to the head. Now, I did not have a chance to go near the corpse, much less take pictures, so you'll have to use your best Hollywood imagination. When Claudia returned from the hospital, we began to try and put some pieces of the puzzle together. Babba Afan, the guard, normally walked the couple of kilometers from his village to work. but unfortunately, often spent a good deal of time with the local brew before coming. He was an older gentleman and we had had an intense rainstorm the previous evening so not only was the river swollen, but the footbridge across it was mighty slick. We heard that a shoe was found on the bridge but the body was pulled out a couple hundred meters down a winding, narrow, -river, which seemed odd. Also giving us some pause were the seriousness of the gashes in Babba Afans's head, he messed up jaw, and the amount of blood he seemed to lose. So, the only thing to do was to go check out the crime scene. Four of us went down to the footbridge to have a look around and I'm telling you, it was straight off of CSI. I watched, somewhat bemused, as the tree trunks were inspected (with the naked eye) for skin or hair remnants and attempts were made to identify footprints on the boards of the bridge. I had to stop myself from asking out loud, "But what would the motive have been?" At the end of the day, we concluded that he might have fallen a couple times en route and then slipped and knocked his head really hard on the bridge as he fell into the river. No autopsy was done (they rarely are here), nor was a police report officially filed, so we'll never know for sure. I do know that Claudia's truck has never been so clean, though. She was just going to take a hose to it and was told that it had to be completely cleaned out and sanitized so that there would not be any suspicion of any of the blood being used for any kind of idol sacrifice. I was thinking more along the lines of disease transmission prevention, but was informed that animistic worship is still pretty rampant here and that's the reason for the thorough cleansing.

Babba Afan's death certainly caught me by surprise, but it has opened up a neat door to the village where he was from. The participants of the sports camp took the initiative to gather a collection of money to give to the bereaved family and Babba's family hardly knew what to do. Then some of us camp staff attended the funeral and burial on Monday (a whole other story) and the family and village elders were profoundly touched that we could make the effort to attend. This is not a Christian area and yet when we were leaving the village, the chief said, "We could really use a missionary like you, Aunty Claudia, here." Maybe, just maybe, Christ's love and compassion was communicated. You won't hear a CSI episode with that as the closing line.

Rare Ruwa

2007-09-22T23:22:00.000+01:00

Word of the day: Ruwa (pronounced like it looks) = water

I couldn't resist sharing this with you. The other day I come back to my apartment and have a note on my door. Here's what it said:

Severe Water Shortage
Ground water takes are empty!
No flushing except 1x per day
No washing machine
No showers- only bucket baths
Save all water for flushing.

The funniest part was that the stationary it was written on had this poem by J. Howared Payne:
"Mid pleasures and palaces
though we may roam
be it ever so humble
there's no place like home."

Ha ha! Now, in case you don't remember, we are still in the rainy season until late October. And this picture is of the water reservoir for Jos... yes, it is full. So, you may ask, what's with the shortage? Well, apparently the water workers went on strike. Strikes are quite popular around here, especially with government paid jobs like university workers, federal farmers, city facility employees, etc. The workers timed it just right too because it hadn't rained in a few days so many people's extra supply, like ours, was low. Then, I guess the power company workers wanted to join in on the fun because that same night, the electricty went off for a few hours. Ah... T.I.A!

Mamma and Market

2007-09-18T22:46:00.001+01:00

There's someone I'd like you to meet, her name is Hanatu, but to me, she's "Mamma Hanatu." Besides being beautiful, smart, and strong, Mamma Hanatu is our head cook for all the camps we do her in Jos and I had the pleasure of meeting her this week. For you Brookwoods/Deer Run people, she's like the Nigerian Momma St. John :) When she's not cooking for camp, she runs this shop in her neighborhood, selling Nigerian stables like cose, ache, maize, clean rice, "village" rice, beans (actually black-eye peas), ground nuts (peanuts, which, let's be honest, ground nuts makes more sense), and a few other things that I can't remember the name of. The picture is of M. Hanatu in her shop. Since a sports ministry would be utilizing our camp facility this weekend, we picked up M. Hanatu so we could go shopping for all the needed provisions. Not only does she know exactly where to go for each thing, but Claudia and my white skin would immediately drive up the price. So we picked her up and off we went to go shopping.

Now, perhaps you know something about shopping in countries like Nigeria, but just in case you don't, allow me to explain a few things. First, It is an absolutely wild experience. If you thought it was exhausting to make a Wal-mart run, try shopping for a week's worth of groceries here. Rather than having a super market with things ordered into aisles, the goods are loosely divided into sections of the market. And I mean, VERY loosely. Plus, there are several main markets in Jos and you certainly wouldn't get your yams the same place you buy your meat because the yams at this market are better and the owner of the meat stand at the other end of town is your cousin. I tried to take pictures of the market but what's not included is the bustle of people, motorbikes, cars and the aromas of smoking fish, picked this morning guavas, and fresh ginger root. All of your senses are on full alert. Well, thankfully, Mamma Hanatu was with us. I had done a bit of exploring in the market near my house, but hadn't ventured through all the alleys, squeezing around palm oil bottles and over trash-strewn gutters. At one point on this shopping adventure we divided up a bit in order to expedite the process. Claudia stayed to pay and M. Hanatu and I set off. Grabbing my hand, M. Hanatu steered me up and down the labiryth of shops. Her tough, calloused hands gripped mine with such a protective, motherly touch, I naturally followed her lead. She was never too rushed to stop and explain the use of items to me or answer my myriad of questions about what the heck I was looking at. In fact, I think she rather delighted in sharing her vast wisdom about her culture with me. I'm secretly trying to scheme ways to get her to go shopping with me more often :)

I'm sure there will be days when I'm dog-tired and just don't feel like plunging into the whirlwind of the market place, but right now it's pretty darn exciting. All the vegetables are fresh, delivered form the village that day and the meat, though potentially a little repulsing to my vegetarian friends, lays out on the table and is cut right in front of you. After a while, you drop these silly notions about flies contaminating food just by landing on them and you happily purchase a chunk of beef for dinner (like this girl in the picture is doing for her family). I'm beginning to get the hang of bargaining with people for I have a better idea now of how much I should be paying for a pineapple or a bag of lettuce. "400 Naira?! No way! I'll just go down the street." The key is to start to walk away and see if they call you back offering a lower price. Or the classic line they'll say, "OK, bring money." **chuckles** I love it, and so do they. At first I felt bad trying to get a lower price when compared to American prices it was already a steal. But I learned that 1) Nigerians enjoy bargaining; it's part of their culture, and to not do it is slightly offensive. 2) If we baturis (white people) pay the higher price all the time, then that will only help to drive up inflation. Thus, I'll pay no more than 250 Naira for a pineapple, and even then, it better be a big one.

Oh, and though Nigerians typically thing big when considering quantity, vegetables and fruit does not keep long, even in the refrigerator, so you end up having to shop at least a couple times during the week. Again, since you have to go 5 different places for 5 different things, you could end up shopping every day. I'm still getting the hang out it.

Well, I think I better stop there for the market post. I shan't leave you with out a Hausa phrase for the day, though. Here's a good one.

Nawa ne? (NOW-ah nay) = How much?