my new son

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

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

[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

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?

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)

(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)

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)

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!

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

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