If you could come to camp...

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

“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...

"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

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)

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?

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

"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"