Attempting Blind Post

Blind Post Attempt

Well, this time I am typing without looking.  I came from h - lost my place, starting thought over

I came home from work today and the computer was gone.  Notgone really, packed.  And tomorrow is my last day at work.  So, soon I will have no monitor whatsoever.  At least it will only be for about a week.

I managed to turn on the windows reader, now Stephen Hawkings reads everything to me and recites letters as I hit them.  But I type faster than he talks.  It will read entire Adobe Acrobat documents to me, but not what someone sends me in an aim window.  Oh well, I'll take what I can get.  Here's go nothing....

One Pill

One pill left in my Mefloquine bottle.  You know what that means?  It means I need to refill my prescription as soon as I get home.  I have to take the pills for four more weeks after I get back.  Want to make sure all those lil' evil parasites in my blood stream die before they get me!  They can't take me out before I get back to school; I'm took excited about next semester's classes!

One pill in the bottle also means I'll be home soon.  Less than two weeks!  (More excitement, more exclamation points!)  I'm ready for snow and cheese and - Mommy, did St. Nick bring popcorn balls?  I really want a popcorn ball - and all the milk I can drink!

One pill - anticipation...

You thought I was going to say "makes you larger" didn't you?  But I'm not Daddy, and this is not the breakfast table.  Daddy, when I get home, when we're all home, will you sing the family theme song for us? Pretty please, with sugar on top, and a cherry?

Happy Thanksgiving

"Happy Thanksgiving!"  That's how we were greeted as we entered church last Sunday (November 30th).  That might not seem strange, until you remember I'm in Nigeria.  No Turkey-Day here.  But, there is still Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving Sunday is a special day when everyone takes extra time to celebrate the Lord and give thanks for everything he has done for us.  I have to wonder if the timing of Thanksgiving Sunday has anything to do with the American Thanksgiving holiday.  I know our church here has a lot of connections to the US and participates in programs, seminars and other calendar events put together by a US organization. 

Instead of the normal 3, hour and half long, services, Thanksgiving Sunday had 2, three hour long services.  The church was jam-packed.  Standing room only.  No sermon, just lots of singing and dancing.  Boy was there dancing!  And a live high-life band.  (Only the 50, 60 and 70 year olds were allowed on the "dance floor" when the high life band played.)

There was one psalm reading, but it was hard to hear the pastor over the crowd's cheering.  Every time he said "the Lord," the crowd went nuts.  I was a little scared.  Large, excited crowds (with few escape routes) make me nervous, especially in Africa.

We also still had an offering, but not in the usual way.  Normally, we pass little plastic trash bins down the rows.  Every row has its own bin that is stored under the chair at one end of the row.  This week, we all had to take our offerings to the stage.  The entire, very full, very large, auditorium of people had to file to the front to place their naira on the stage.  The offering had been going on for at least 20 minutes before we finally reached the stage.  We left after that, so I have no idea how long it took the service to finish.

Although the style and length of the service weren't really to my taste, (I prefer pretty hymns and sermons) there was one part that I liked.  We had to get into small groups and tell the other people in the group what God had done for us.  I liked hearing what other people had to say, and unlike usual group-share, this one was easy.  God has done so much for me, especially this year with all my traveling; I definitely have many reasons to be thankful.

A Little Too African

You may recall a post I wrote last month about my trip to Jos and how much I liked the town because it finally felt like Africa.  Well, it turns out, Jos may be too-much-Africa.

Many of you have called or emailed me because the recent violence in Jos has made international news.  Results of a state-level political election led to claims of rigging and violent outbursts, a repeat of the violence that occurred at the beginning of the decade.

Kyura had told me about the previous riots when she was giving me the tour of Jos.  The town is, she said, fairly segregated by religion.  The Muslims live in one area, the Christians in the other.  During my visit, she mentioned that there hadn't been any new violence, but, she added, the tension remained.

Sunday's newspaper reported the current death toll at 400.  The local government instituted a dusk to dawn curfew, which soon turned into a 24-hour curfew.  I got a hold of Kyura; she and her family are safe.  I don't know if she's been able to attend her classes.  She sent me this text message about the situation:

We're all ok, but it's very tense here.  Am glad ur not here.  It's scary and tiring.  Gun shots, machetes, spears and angry people everywhere.  Pls pray for us.

How Did I Get Here?

It's a question I've found myself asking quite often the past few years of my life.  In my heart, I'm still that little girl from Cheeseland who'd rather have a glass of milk than a glass of wine (or of anything else for that matter), anytime.  And then here I am in Nigeria, interning for part of the Federal Government, talking to the American Ambassador's parents!  wtv?!

It hit me really hard this past week, and Thanksgiving added to it.  I was sitting in a group at the Thanksgiving Day Dinner, just chit-chatting with a bunch of people, and watching these two adorable little children run and play, and I started thinking about when I had been to the Embassy earlier in the week to meet with one of the people now part of this group. 

The gentleman is really nice, and from the bits of interaction I've had with him, I think very intelligent (that's probably a pre-req for working in the Embassy, I guess).  His Boston College lanyard around his neck put me at ease a bit.  Ba Tim went there, so it somehow made things more familiar.  Although, the Patriot's clasp on the bottom of the lanyard made me frown a bit inside.  Where I come from, there's only one real football team. ;) 

His office had these great, very Nigerian, calendars in the back corner.  Candid pictures of him above the months, probably snapped at some meeting or conference or something.  But the pictures on the side of his desk, those were the ones that made me start a little bit.  Those were the ones that came into my mind when I was wondering how I wound up at this Embassy Thanksgiving Day dinner.  Him and Colin Powell, him and Condy, him and W.  It was like when I go to Mr. Embassy-Man's house and there's pictures of Mr. Embassy-Man and Clinton all over the place. 

How on earth am I sitting here talking to someone who's been that close to a President?!  I thought Mr. Trizzle's picture of him and the Congress-woman he worked for was really neat.  And I remember, when I was 10, thinking that my mommy knowing Rosemary Potter was the coolest thing in the world.  She had to be important; she was in our Wisconsin Blue Book!  Along with the state beverage, milk, and the state wild flower, wood violet, and the state domesticated animal, Guernsey cow.  (No, I did not look those up, so I don't know if they've changed in the past umpteen years.  And in case you care, or are Wendy, the state fossil is the trilobite.)   To me,  presidents and politicians aren't real people, they're like movie stars or something.  You can't actually meet or talk to them!

I suppose it makes sense that people who work at the Embassy know the President.  They are diplomats after all, representing the country and stuff.  And I guess the President appoints the ambassadors, so he'd have to know them.  So what I find even more surprising than these guys having pictures with the President is that both this gentleman and Mr. Embassy-Man have friends that work at Google.  How can they both know such lucky people?  Of course, as the Ambassador pointed out, Mr. Embassy-Man seems to know everyone.