Stay out of neutral

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

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

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...

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...