Stories On The Way Home

Hello? Can you hear me?

2009-05-07T15:12:00.003-04:00

Currently my guy and I live in a place where the rumour is that your home is wired for both audio and visual monitoring of your every move. It may be true; it may not be true. I don’t care. But odd things happen and you have to wonder as well as find the humour in it.

The other day we were happily unpacking our stuff (it was packed up one year ago and we now have it back!!) when lunchtime rolled around. Not being able to get to much but spying a frying pan and realizing the stovetop just happened to be free of clutter at the moment I declared we would have scrambled eggs for lunch. My guy looked down at his feet and sheepishly said “We are out of eggs, sorry.” My reply was “Great, how do we get through the next few days without eggs? The car is broken and the only place with eggs is too far to walk to.” I wasn’t mad at him, there was food in the house, and we were rather busy with all of the unpacking so forgetting about eggs was not truly a big deal. It was just annoying at the moment. We launched into a discussion of what we could slap together from the things we could reach in order to eat and still had not come to a conclusion about 20 minutes later. And that was when the doorbell rang. We hunted down the keys, unlocked the door and the grill and made our way to the gate. There stood two women with 2 flats of eggs. Now we have lived here for more than a few months and not a soul has ever come to the door offering to sell anything. But as soon as I complained about the lack of something, and did so out loud, lo-and-behold it appears at the door. We bought both flats of eggs (60 eggs altogether and yes we will use every last one of them). After getting them all put away I looked at the ceiling and said “Thanks. I need chicken and pork too.” We both laughed and went back to unpacking.

The next morning we were trying to put stuff away, decide what to do with the packing materials, and just generally get the house in order. The doorbell rings, startling the heck out of us because everyone who knows us (ok, knows me) knows to leave us alone while we get this job done. But you may be sensing a pattern here. You would be right. After doing the unlocking business again we discover a man selling chicken, pork, and all types of fish. Hey – isn’t that exactly what we needed? We bargain for some of everything and he disappears for 30 minutes or so. When he returns he has tuna, chicken, pork, and lobster – all fresh. The slaughter in the kitchen begins. I make a graceful exit (if you can call gagging and whining “Ewwwww” a graceful exit – I do) to the other room. A few hours later the freezer is stuffed with food for the next three months, the kitchen is clean, and I begin planning dinner parties.

A “cookie lady” showed up today. I wasn’t supposed to be home, it is Thursday after all and work is the usual routine. But workmen needed access to the house and I was elected to stay home. Somehow (hmmm…… we were talking about this last night and were wondering about things like sweet and savory empanadas) she knew I would be here and just showed up with 24 sweet, jelly filled, fresh-from-the-oven empanadas. Yes, I bought them. All of them. What? Like you wouldn’t? Please. Fresh cookies? Who are we kidding here?

It seems as though I now have “people” that come and sell me food – right at my front door. And that they can, umm, read my mind. So, is someone listening in? I don’t know and I don’t care. But, just in case, - I am out of butter. Hello?? Can you hear me????

Tony, Oscar, Grammy, SAG and other assorted awards

2009-01-26T04:58:00.007-05:00

We’ve reached the season of the awards shows. These are very confusing to me -awards given by people who make lots of money for pretending to other people who also make lots of money for pretending. Why don’t they just pretend that they have all won an award, give the money for the razzle-dazzle to charity, and spare us the agony of watching them pretend to be thrilled when they lose?

How did these awards get their names? The “Tony” is given to people on Broadway which is in New York which used to be run by the Mob who are by tradition mostly Italian so the name sort of makes sense. After all the “Al Capone” just doesn’t sound right whereas the “Tony” would gain the approval of the Godfather.

The Oscar was purportedly named after somebody’s uncle who apparently looked like the little statue. It may just be me but I’ve known several Oscars and even a few Uncle Oscars but not one of them was bald, naked and covered in gold.

The Grammy and SAG awards are the most puzzling of all. These awards are given to mostly youngish people with nary a SAG on them. Where are all the grandparents? After all the Grammy would not only be a nice way to honor a grandparent but would be practical as well. The thing is shaped appropriately – speak into fluted open end while Grandpa holds it to his ear and he can actually hear you!

And what is an ”Emmy?” Was this one named after some random soap opera actress or is it supposed to be Grammy’s friend from elementary school? Which people are choosing the “People’s Choice” award? None of the guys at the gas station got to vote as far as I can tell. If they did then NASCAR and Monday Night Football would sweep every category with Super Bowl commercials receiving the lifetime achievement award.

Awards should not be given to people who play make-believe every day while being paid zillions of dollars and are hailed as role models. Look – here is someone who fakes their way through life – be like that! No, all awards should go to the every day folk struggling through life. Imagine some of the awards:

Best Actress – Mom for her believable interest in “4th Grade Concert”
Best Actor – Uncle George for his slapstick performance in the comedy “Thanksgiving Day Football Game”
Best Supporting Actress - Aunt Miriam for the gut-wrenching melodrama “I Was Always There For You”
Best Supporting Actor - little brother Jimmy for his finger-pointing role “It Wasn’t Me”
Best Animated Short – young Johnny for “Flip Book: Monster Chasing Stick-Man”
Best Musical Score - Grandma for “5-Bean Salad”
Best Sound Effects - Dad also for “Grandma’s 5-Bean Salad”
Best Cinematography - Victoria’s Secret. This isn’t an actual person but every man would, of course, vote for this and so would every woman who refuses to admit to wearing ‘Comfy Panties by Target.’ It also helps that the only other contender in this category was “Speedos for Men’ which no self-respecting person on the planet would vote for.

These are awards that would be worth watching.

Dads and Daughters

2008-06-15T21:29:00.004-04:00

My girl came down from where she lives and took my guy to a ballgame for Father's Day. They made their way into the city, wandered around, enjoyed a drink and a nosh and then yelled and screamed and cheered their team to a thrilling win. They came home glowing, full of stories and supremely happy. Not because their team won but because they had a whole day together.

My theory had always been that when a little girl is born and her father looks into her eyes for the very first time she reaches up with that tiny hand and promptly wraps that big 'ol man around her wee small pinky. And plays him like a yo-yo for the rest of his life...... "Daaaaaaady. Daaaaaaady. Daaaaaady." Of course they both love it. Daddy is the only man in her life for a long time. He is the benchmark against which all other men are judged. He is the superhero of her childhood and the protector of her young life as a woman. Eventually all little girls do "leave" Daddy when they find the man who meets the standards that Daddy set. And jealousy and confusion set in and the relationship gets a little strained for a short period of time. But there comes the point when they begin to become friends and to not only enjoy time together but to need it. My guy and girl have reached that point and I am the lucky by-stander of their joy.

I have two pictures which I will not share here. For me they are too personal. Both are of my guy and girl together. One is when she was just 13 and we were on vacation and they leaned into each other, contented, joyful and at peace with themselves, each other and the world. The other is the exact same picture only taken at the ballgame last night - 14 years later. Same two people. Same contentment in each other's company. Daddy and his little girl. It was the best Father's Day ever.

I Drove the Get-Away Vehicle

2008-06-11T15:40:00.006-04:00

There are all sorts of sad sights to be seen in Africa. Poverty, disease, drought, famine, child soldiers, animals of every kind being sold as food…. you name it and you will eventually see it. But even among all of that, there can be hope, freedom, and hilarity. There was a road I traveled frequently – wait, before I go further let me say that the word ‘road’ is used in the loosest possible sense of the word; dirt path used for years is a more apt description. At any rate, on this road was always a man selling puppies and those puppies had a ‘babysitter’. The babysitter was a small spider monkey. It not only watched the puppies and kept them in line but also observed everything going on around it. It was unnerving at first to see such a thing but, like many other sights, it soon became just a part of the neighbourhood and if I saw the monkey watching me I would wave. Just being neighbourly, you know. This went on for months until one day the monkey had company. About 10 other monkeys worth of company and they were all chained together with a rope. It was apparent that the new monkeys were not happy about the situation and I couldn’t help but wonder if they were to be sold as food or pets. The babysitter must have also had the same thoughts as I watched him worry the rope binding them all together. Again, like all such things, it became part of the routine to drive by and see the gang on the “corner” and wave if my ‘old friend’ was looking. Then came the day I got stuck in the dirt and spent a minute or two extracting the vehicle before continuing past. This was evidently the “moment” the monkeys had been waiting for. As everyone around was entranced with watching the white woman jockey her vehicle back and forth while revving the engine the monkeys worked their way out of the rope and made a break for it – straight towards me. Up and over the vehicle and off in the distance they went. There was quite an uproar as the monkeys made their great escape; everyone was yelling and rushing at me and I concentrated on getting out of there as fast as possible. What I did not know was that about 6 of the monkeys, including my 'old friend', had taken refuge on the top of my vehicle and that was why the locals were rushing it. After a few kilometers there was a banging on the roof and people were pointing and yelling in my direction. It seemed that the best course of action was to keep driving and get to the safety of my compound. Only to discover the guards there were freaked out, yelling and pointing at me and refusing to open the gate. Just as I started to become truly concerned, a little furry hand reached down and slapped the front window. Ah-ha! The little light bulb in my head popped on and the realization that all the yelling, rushing, pointing and banging was to point out that there were monkeys on board finally dawned. As soon as the vehicle came to a complete stop, the monkeys descended from their perch and scattered as fast as they could. It seems my little 'old friend' was pretty bright. He (or maybe she) watched me drive by, got to know the vehicle and waited patiently for the right moment. You have to give credit where credit is due. The great escaped had been well planned, the time was right and the poor, unwitting sap (me) drove the get-away vehicle like she was born to it. Good thing they didn’t let me on the plan. My nerves would have ruined the whole thing!

A Weird, But Informative, Conversation

2008-03-29T06:06:00.003-04:00

Have you ever wondered about the battle techniques of African tribesmen? Me neither. But I can now share a couple of interesting (or is that just plain odd) tidbits about those techniques. The conversation started with a discussion of the brightly coloured lizards that roam around everywhere here. They bob their heads up and down and do what appear to be push-ups when you get near them. It seems that is how the male lizards challenge intruders to their space and, as they consider everywhere their territory, we are invaders on a regular basis and so get the bob and push-up battle challenge every day. Someone then mentioned that men have some strange battle habits themselves and reminded us all of the Scots who in ancient times stripped down, painted themselves blue and tied ribbons on, um, a particular appendage. At least, he thought it was the Scots; maybe it was the Vikings because weren’t they called berserkers for getting all riled up with battle rage and foaming at the mouth? This prompted someone else to volunteer two facts about tribal warriors here in Africa. Warriors take juju bags into battle. Filled (with things I’d rather not know about) and blessed by the witch doctor and worn around the neck, these juju bags are supposed render the wearer impervious to bullets. The witch doctor rouses the warriors into a frenzy, hands out the juju and off they go to glory and victory in battle. Of course, if it doesn’t work out then it was obvious that the warrior (or warriors) did not have a strong enough faith. As we all thought about that, someone piped up with “Did you know some tribes wear dresses into battle?” It turns out that some African tribes do actually put on women’s clothing before fighting begins. Not only that but some do the full on drag queen treatment. Dress, wigs, make-up and then off to battle. Could this be to confound the enemy? Can you imagine your own reaction as a tribe of screaming drag queens come running towards you, spears high, shields waving? Or what it would look like as two tribes faced each other? Shouldn’t this be the subject of a National Geographic documentary?

Hasn’t this been educational? What to do with this information from a weird conversation is debatable but it sure will make you the hit of the next boring cocktail party you attend!

Call Me Glinda

2008-03-11T06:18:00.012-04:00

I’m a witch. No, not like that. And not like THAT either! Actually, I don’t think I am a witch but the locals in one place we lived believe that I am. My neighbours and I shared household help – a man named Henri. Since we were all close and in and out of each other’s homes as though they were our own, it seemed normal that our househelp would split his days between our homes as well. One day Henri did not show for work. We didn’t think much of it. Illness and accidents do happen. After a week, we worried but as Henri’s family had not come looking for money we figured that whatever was wrong was not too serious. After two weeks we assumed that he had died or quit and leaned towards ‘he quit’ as we had not been approached for money. Yes, that sounds callous but it is a fact of life. We have always made sure to pay anyone we hire very well (according to the standards of the country we are in) and we understand that should illness, accident or death occur we would be expected to contribute to, if not fully pay for, the medical care/burial costs.

A few days more went by and another neighbour approached me with an odd request. His household help, Patrick, wanted to talk to me. As Patrick also came and went in our home, it seemed strange he would not just come in and talk. My neighbour grinned and said “Oh just come out. It’s about Henri and, really, you want to hear this!” Out I went and there stood Patrick. He wouldn’t look me in the eye (stranger and stranger) and was mumbling. Since I have almost no French and his English wasn’t great, the mumbling was a problem. My neighbour just stood there trying to hide his grin and looking like he was desperately suppressing laughter. Finally, I said “Patrick, just tell me. I won’t be angry with you no matter what it is.” That was evidently the right thing to say as he then blurted out “Henri does not work for you any longer.” Not wanting to say something along the lines of “No kidding” I settled for “Oh? Why not?” Again the mumbling and not looking me in the eye began and I sighed and said “It isn’t your fault, you aren’t responsible, I won’t be mad at you.” Patrick looked up and said, “Because you are a witch and so is Madame W.” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Accusations of witchcraft are still taken very seriously in this particular country and people are still stoned to death if they are believed to be a witch. So I took a deep breath and asked why. Patrick told me that Henri had related to him (and all the other househelp in the neighbourhood) how one of Madame W’s cats had strolled up to him (while Henri was working for me but had run over to Madame W's to get something) and greeted him with a cheery “Bon Jour, Henri!” And Henri came to the conclusion that since I was the dominant one (shush, the implications are obvious enough, thank you!) I must be ‘the witch’ and head of the coven and therefore he could not work for any of us but especially not me. Witches are dangerous, after all. My reaction was strange by any standard and I don’t know why I said it but it turns out to have been the perfect response: I said “Oh, Patrick, that is ridiculous. The cat could not have said Bon Jour, Henri. He doesn’t speak French; he is an American cat and only speaks English.” My neighbour almost burst a gut at that point, trying not to laugh, but the effect on Patrick was unbelievable. His eyes grew wide, he looked right at me and he gasped out “Madame, you are right. The cat does NOT speak French. Henri LIED!” And off he went to inform all the other household workers in our neighbourhood that, indeed, Henri lied and I was not a threat. My neighbour, my guy and I went into the house, shut the door and collapsed in laughter. It was just too funny. But that wasn’t the end, and it wasn’t funny at all.

The workers in the neighbourhood all knew us so once they were assured that Henri had made up the story about the cat (because I had ‘proven’ the cat only spoke English) then the rest didn’t matter as I had always been generous to them. Any ‘witch-y-ness’ on my part could be forgiven and ignored – in other words I am a good witch! The guards to our compound, on the other hand, did not know Madame W or me so well and were not reassured. They felt that we needed to be dealt with and that meant death. It took us a few nights to figure out what was going on. The guards were spending the nights trying to find ways into our houses. It needed to be reported, the guards had to be removed, new guards were brought in and I made sure to make them feel welcomed. That ended the threat but did not end the belief that I was a witch. No one tried to come after me (or any of us) again but tensions ran high and continued until a few months later when there was a coup attempt.

My guy suffers from gout and was in the middle of a rather wicked bout when the fighting broke out. He had to get to work, couldn’t drive himself and so was being picked up. As bullets were flying, it was all very nerve-wracking and, of course, the guards were on high alert. Suddenly, a vehicle shows up to pick up a man on crutches and go back into the mess. The guards stood there watching my guy with their mouths hanging open and expressions of incredulity on their faces. Our neighbour comes out, sees what is taking place, and yells - in French - to the guards “It’s ok, he’s in disguise, the crutches are secret weapons.” The guards visibly relax, high-five each other and grin madly. And off my guy goes. The coup attempt ended abruptly several hours later, my guy returned unharmed and the guards formed the belief that we, as a couple, were there to protect them from harm.

So there you have it: I’m a witch – but a good one!

Migration

2008-02-27T04:56:00.004-05:00

It is the dry season. It is the most desperate time of the dry season when the water is nearly gone but the rains aren’t close enough to beginning to be sure of survival. The cycle of the seasons is what causes the massive migration of animals that tourists pay thousands of dollars to observe. Elephants, giraffes, antelope, and millions of other animals make for stunning visuals and great pictures. What is forgotten is that ALL things go in search of water and some of those migrations are not pretty but disgusting.

We battled an invasion of ants in the past weeks. Big ants, medium ants, little ants, just ants, ants, ants. They were everywhere – the kitchen, the hallway, the bathroom, just everywhere. The tiny sugar ants are a way of life here. They are always in search of food, especially sweet foods, and you learn to take precautions against them – store things in rubber-ring sealed glass jars (the ants chew through paper and plastic) or in the freezer and clean-as-you-go while cooking – that keep invasions to a minimum. The other ants do not usually make appearances indoors. The appearance of all types of ants in mind-boggling but orderly numbers was unnerving. We tried spraying them (nearly asphyxiating ourselves in the process), cleaning the entire house with bleach and mopping the floors with PineSol almost hourly. Nothing worked; in fact, the invasion seemed to become worse. Then it occurred to me that we weren’t being invaded but were in the midst of a migration. Our frantic cleaning was increasing the amount of water available to these creatures and they were communicating this as fast as they could to others. Because we cook more than most in our building (we entertain a great deal), we had the most water flowing and so became the destination of choice for all those ants in search of life-sustaining water. My guy decided to up the stakes and put out ant traps that allow the ants to enter, pick up some poisoned food and return to their nest. This kills them at their source and ends the invasion. He had the (truly) brilliant idea of wall mounting the traps to keep the ants off the floors and counters. We watched in fascinated horror as the invasion mounted over the next three days. The line of ants circled the upper part of our walls as they marched in perfect lines in and out of the traps and back to their nests as fast as they could. As one young visitor noted “It’s like the Indy-500!” Not all the ants made it back or they died as they returned for more, we aren’t sure. Ant corpses of all sizes littered the floors and counters requiring several full-scale move-and-empty cleanings of the kitchen and bathrooms. It seems to have worked, as the ants have not returned, maybe having learned this is not the ‘place of good water’ they thought it was. This experience made me rethink migration. Somewhere in my heart I had romanticized the massive search for water. The truth is that it is a desperate search for survival and not all survive. I never thought that I would play a part – a deadly part at that – of a migration.

You're It!

2008-02-18T14:01:00.002-05:00

Driving outside of your own country is always a challenge. Road signs are different, the rules are different, even the roads themselves are different (sometimes paved, sometimes dirt, sometimes gravel, sometimes not much more than a trail). Driving in a third world country is a special challenge. Not only are all of the above applicable but frequently one shares the roads with pedestrians, animals, vendors, carts drawn by oxen, donkeys or humans, people who have no concept of vehicles, and so-called VIP’s who have their own flashing lights, sirens and men with guns to make you move out of their way or at least make you feel threatened when there is no possibility of moving out of the way. There is also the challenge of drivers who are afraid of driving, afraid of their vehicle or, worse, have no driving skills and are not afraid of flaunting that. I once read a line in a book describing traffic in India. The author noted that approaching an intersection it occurred to her that the traffic jam looked as though all of the vehicles had been scooped up into a dice cup, shaken, and tossed back out. It’s a much nicer way of describing what I simply call a cluster f*#@k! I have lived in countries where traffic is a game played by millimeters, horns have their own language (and woe to those who do not understand it or how to get those dulcet tones from their own horns), shopping is done from the comfort of your own car, and distance is measured in hours per mile. Dealing with what is known in Nigeria as “go slows” no longer bothers me. For everyone who commutes on a daily basis and complains about the 90-minute trip around the Beltway (Washington, DC area folk get that reference) I say, “Hey – traffic is moving. Sit for 3 hours without moving while in sight of your destination then we’ll talk.” Ok, I complain when I am on the Beltway too so I do understand but, really, it can be worse. Where I live at the moment is worse. The streets are paved, the roads are wide, there are traffic cops and lights that may or may not work (that goes for both the lights and the cops), and relatively little traffic. Sounds good, doesn’t it? Imagine a 6 lane divided highway with two cars going in the same direction that you are going. One is in the far left lane, one is in the far right lane and you are in the middle lane. You would like to go past them as they are moving very slowly. But the car in the right lane begins to drift (slowly) toward the middle lane. The car in the left lane does the same. You must slow down to avoid hitting both of them so you slow down and decide to move to the left to go around them. Now they both begin drifting back to their original positions. There is no way to get around them as they drift with no rhyme nor reason to the pattern of the drift. Now add 25 (or 50 or 100) more cars to the same scene and they all drift inexplicably across the lanes. The only time any of these vehicles speed up is in a residential area (and then it is 65 miles an hour down the street) or when approaching an intersection. The driver of a car making a left turn will look to the right while pulling out to turn across oncoming traffic. A car parked on the side of a road (or highway) will pull back into traffic at the speed of a tortoise without ever checking for traffic. I will not even attempt to describe intersections except to say the descriptions earlier in this blog are both accurate. Accidents here are frequent and deadly. Buckling up is essential. It won’t save your life but it sure makes finding the bodies easier. I have come to the conclusion that driving here is like playing pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey. Only everyone else is blindfolded, the room is only 12’x12’, 50 people are playing and you must avoid being stuck by the pin.

"TRAUMA!" Or "I Was Forced To Watch The Auditions"

2008-01-21T06:20:00.001-05:00

Over the years, living in places that are desperately poor and/or violent, a great many things – coup attempts, tanks in the streets, children with weapons, people being stoned to death, bombs going off – have happened that should have left me traumatized. Somehow I have managed to cope with all of them. This weekend, though, my friends made me sit through some of the auditions for American Idol. Now I am traumatized! This is what passes as entertainment? People stepping up and playing out some fantasy or delusion of grandeur for the amusement of all? Why does the Coliseum keep coming to mind? Perhaps the judges need to wear togas with red sashes and simply give a thumbs up or thumbs down to the – and I use this term lightly – contestants. I now understand why Randy, Paula and Simon (yes, now that I have seen one audition episode I can speak of them as though they are personal friends – that’s how this works, right?) are they way they are. We are witnessing three separate reactions to the horrors they experience every audition day. I am fairly certain that they were wholly unprepared for what they were to face when they first signed their contracts. As to why they continue, I assume that once a mind has snapped, there is no reason not to continue with the same patterns. That and now that the rest of the world has seen what they must endure, who would accept the position? Paula’s seeming craziness is clearly an attempt to cleanse her mind of sights such as need-a-chest-wax guy and the even worse sight of the same guy AFTER the chest waxing. Randy is fond of words such as ‘dog’ because what else can he call these poor, deluded souls that would be allowed on TV? Simon isn’t really mean; he is in self-defense mode and clearly the healthiest of the three judges. When he slips and attempts to encourage someone who had some talent peeking out of the rest of the wreckage that they call themselves, those people attack him for not instantly granting all their wishes. I’ve only watched this monstrosity once but two cases come to mind: Glitter girl – she would make a good lead singer in a cover band says Simon (or is that Simon Says). Not bad, one can achieve local fame and a decent living, especially in Philly, from such a gig and culture-hero Simon has given his blessing. But, no that was not the scenario that Glitter Girl had constructed in her fantasy and so she unleashed her self-proclaimed ‘actressing’ skills to tell the world that Simon is an evil troll lurking in the recesses of humanity waiting to destroy all that is good and pure. The other was Princes Leia – while her voice wasn’t bad, her appearance was, ummm, distracting. Evidently she wasn’t aware that the judges were tasked with finding an AMERICAN IDOL, not an American intent on bringing a sub-culture to the fore. Again, her fantasy did not go as so meticulously planned and a rant ensued. Her twist? There wasn’t enough diversity amongst those chosen. The show cleverly proved her wrong by showing a wide assortment of those chosen for disappointment in Hollywood. Because, of course, the diversity among the past winners of this oddity wasn’t clear enough (and you must live on some other planet if you are not at least aware of the past winners – oh, wait. I get it now. We’re talking Princess Leia – she just got back to Earth. Now her rant makes sense).

It was a disturbing evening for me. My friends – and my guy – enjoyed watching the various oddities display themselves and the fall-out that occurred from the rejection endured. They enjoyed watching the judges send poor souls with no hope of anything other than humiliation to the superficial Holy Grail that is Hollywood. They speculated on whether or not these people truly believed they have talent or whether friends and family were playing a cruel joke on these sad human beings (the “Moses” man singing “Let My People Go” springs painfully to mind). And I cringed, speculated and laughed right along with them. Images are seared into my brain and sounds are recorded into my memory that will forever haunt me. Questions like “These are my friends? What does that say about me?” will plague me the rest of days. The trauma is complete. My baser instincts have been exposed and my own delusions of grandeur exposed. They will watch more of the auditions, I will not. I will attempt to lift my soul and soar above the madness. Until “Dancing With The Stars”, “So You Think You Can Dance”, “Ghost Hunters”, or any one of the myriad “Your House is Ugly and So Are You” shows comes on.

2007 is done! 2008 is here!

2008-01-09T05:42:00.002-05:00

It's been a long time since I've written anything. My guy and I took a long vacation and then the holiday season started. Now, the long, difficult year of 2007 has ended. The new 2008 year will bring lots of changes and that is something to happily anticipate!

The events of the past year (and nearly dying is truly a BIG event) have forced me to reevaluate my life and how I am living it. My thoughts are still muddled about this. However, I came across a quote from Mother Theresa and it seems to mirror my thoughts so here it is:

"Life is an opportunity, benefit from it. Life is a beauty, admire it. Life is a dream, realize it. Life is a challenge, meet it. Life is a duty, complete it. Life is a game, play it. Life is a promise, fulfill it. Life is sorrow, overcome it. Life is a song, sing it. Life is a struggle, accept it. Life is a tragedy, confront it. Life is an adventure, dare it. Life is luck, make it. Life is life, fight for it!"
-Mother Teresa

May your New Year be a blessed one!

And then the Witch Doctor, he told me what to do…..

2007-10-30T17:24:00.000-04:00

Well, he was a she and I wasn’t actually looking for advice but you get the idea. It is Halloween and this seemed the appropriate time to tell my witch doctor story (What? You doubted I had one? Please. It’s me. Of course I do.)

My friend, who happens to be a doctor and seemingly quiet and straight-laced, and I went to the market just to hone our bargaining skills. There was no real reason other than we wanted to have fun and bargaining for whatever caught our eye (as opposed to having a need to buy something and bargaining for “real”) seemed like a good way to pass the afternoon. It turned out there wasn’t much we wanted. Ok. There were some purses - ostrich leather! You knew there was something. We got a great deal! Then Jill decided she’d like to visit a “colleague.” Why she turned to me, I don’t know but it worked (shush, I know I’m called ‘trouble’ for a reason. Be polite.) She said “Hey, do you think one of the market guys could take us to a traditional doctor?” I said “I don’t know, ask” We know where this leads so we will cut to me asking one of the market guys to take us to a traditional doctor. The reply? “Huh?” So I repeat “Can you take us to a traditional doctor?” Same reply. Now I try something a little different “Can you take us to see your doctor?” Reply, “I don’t have a doctor.” Well, this isn’t going so well is it? Jill is standing there smiling expectantly. So I try “Can we see the witch doctor?” And this gets a big response: He looks around quickly, leans in and says “Why?” I come close to sputtering. After all, how hard can it be to get into the witch doctor’s office?? I look at my friend and she says, “I want drugs.” Big mistake. We are instantly surround by dirty, stinking men who are turning out their pockets and going “Pssst, how’s this?” Jill looks at me aghast and says, “What are they doing?” Ok, this isn’t working either. After shooing off all of the dealers I turn to the market guy and say “We want to see a witch doctor so that my friend the doctor can talk about medicine with the witch doctor.” This gets a big grin, a flap of the hand and off we go. Out of the market, through the trash, over the mounds of I don’t wanna know, around the buildings that don’t look habitable and there is the witch doctor’s office. It’s disappointing to be honest. It’s little more than a closet, the witch doctor is a woman, and she is put out that nobody told her we were coming because she doesn’t have her hair wrap on and isn’t presentable. Jill works some kind of western doctor voodoo and they sit down for a chat among the herbs and bark and odd things in remarkably familiar bottles. Oh, and the clock. You can’t forget the clock. It appears to be an early 70’s battery operated wall clock and seems to be rather uncomfortable in its surroundings. The two doctors chat up a storm, touch, crumble and smell a whole host of ‘things,' and after 20 minutes or so are parting as friends. As we leave Jill whispers, with a chuckle, “She’s got a cure for everything!” I pop off with “Does she have a cure for Travis’s disease?” Now I must digress so bear with me…

We work with a man named Travis. Travis has one of the wickedest wits I have ever seen in action. Even when you are on the receiving end it is still funny. He is standing in the cafeteria line one day with another friend and Jill in front of him. The other friend – trying to be funny – says “Hey, doc, Travis has a question for you” and turns to Travis with a big grin. Not missing a single beat, Travis says, “Yeah, he wants to know when the scabbing starts to fall off.” The poor guy turns beet red and the rest of us crack up. Jill calmly says, “Well, it depends on what the problem is, can you explain it?” And Travis says, “It might be gynecephaherpelys.” Jill says, “Give me a day or two and I’ll let you know.” And so it becomes an on-going joke that probably isn’t as funny to you who are reading this as it is to those of us who have lived it.

So….. back to the story…

I pop off with “Does she have a cure for Travis’ disease?” and Jill turns right back and asks, “Do you have something for gynecephaherpelys?” The witch doctor thinks a moment and says, “Oh, yes, it is a secret blend.” Jill says, “May I buy some?” And the deal is made. Yellow bark, bits of several different herbs and a stringy thing (yes, this is the scientific version), about 50 cents and off we go with the cure in hand. Jill brews it up (well, ok she brewed up tea and coffee and cinnamon and garlic and who knows what else), bottled it, labeled it and waited patiently. The next time we all sat down together in the cafeteria for lunch, Jill pulls out the bottle and loudly says “Oh, Travis, I found a cure for your gynecephaherpelys. I’d like you to start taking the meds here and now.” She pulls out a big spoon, pours some of the 'medicine' into and hands it to Travis with a serene but expectant smile. His eyes got big and round and he stuttered a bit and ………............ then Jill let him off the hook.

It wasn’t a scary story but it had a real live witch doctor in it. And it was true. And – in the words of a great young writer – It was fun!

Happy Halloween

Another Infection

2007-09-08T08:43:00.000-04:00

This is going to be quick because I promised not to whine about my illness anymore....
The infection is back, or it didn't really go away, and it's off to the States for more surgery. Meds seem to actually be working this time so the situation isn't quite so desperate this time. It is still scary to know that this infection has returned and there doesn't seem to be a reason. Please say a few prayers that all turns out well.

Call to Prayer for Any Religion

2007-08-26T11:24:00.000-04:00

The country of my current residence, a country that claims democracy, is divided into Christian and Islamic regions. Living in both regions has allowed a certain observation, politically correct or not. In the Christian region of the country religion is not an issue. Churches, mosques and temples all live harmoniously together. In the Islamic region, this is not true. In this particular city there is a large mosque and a cathedral. The mosque not only issues call to prayer at the requisite times during the day, it also broadcasts the prayers themselves (and is loud enough to be heard even when sitting before a very loud stereo). It goes on for what seems like hours although it is most likely only 45 minutes or so at a time. The cathedral on the other hand is not even able to ring its bell for call to services on Sundays. This is appalling. All, regardless of religious affiliation, are subjected to the drone of Islamic prayer day in and day out and yet other religions are not granted the opportunity to call their own to weekly services, let alone bombard all others with their prayers. There have been mosques in other countries that have no pretense to democracy. Those mosques also put out a call to prayer and churches in those countries ring a call to services with bells. Neither was intrusive or off-putting but merely a beautiful reminder of faith in many forms. Here, the intrusion is overwhelming, creates anger and is even a bit intimidating when the realization that no other religions are able to perform their own version of call to prayer. Religion is an issue over which the world is at war. As with Catholics and the Crusades (a period which is embarrassing for this Catholic, even if seen in context and not through the eyes of modern-day revisionists), Islam is fighting to rule the world and exterminate all other religions and those who believe in them. History is doomed to be repeated by those who ignore (or revise) it. Islam, or to be fair, radical Islam is doing just that. Does the lesson of Christianity during the Crusades not teach anyone that religion cannot be crammed down the throats of others? Believers will fight for their right to freely practice their religion. Governments cannot be run on the basis of religious principles because men (humankind, for political correctness) continue to review the principles of faith and make changes accordingly (hence different Islamic sects, different denominations of Christianity, Judaism, etc.). These shifting views are not compatible with the governance of a country. The values, or rather laws, of government must remain static, or at least not be as easily changeable. Being bombarded with prayer is not just off-putting but creates dislike for the religion imposing itself. Religion, or even the lack of religion, cannot be forced upon others. What beauty could be found in the call to prayer of another religion becomes lost forever in the arrogance of the lack of recognition for the need for others to hear their own call to prayer.

Of Roses, Veggies and Reconnections

2007-08-14T16:03:00.000-04:00

There are moments in life that are very, very good but get lost in the shuffle of living. They brighten your life immeasurably but seem to dim quickly because we just forget to take notice. A moment (or two) happened to me this week and I do not want them to go un-noticed. Here, in this miserable, crumbling third world country, there is a farm that sells fresh veggies and roses and delivers them to your doorstep. Expensive? Yes. Worth it? I have no idea about the veggies. They were no better or worse than any others. Not having to bargain my way through the market for them is a bonus this week, I may not feel that way next week. The roses, though, made the expense seem trivial. These aren’t just any long-stem roses. These are roses that are full of colour and scent. A heavy, perfumed, rich, hot summer day, fill the house with beauty type of scent. When these roses came through the door, memories of my mom and her bushes and vines of wild roses came rushing back. Mom stills grows a rose bush or two and they still smell wonderful but now it takes a trip around the world once a year at precisely the right time to smell those roses. Now, here in this dingy place, the smell once again surrounds me. It is one small moment in a life but one big thing that changes the perception of a place.

Another moment too good to go un-noticed is a moment of reconnection. Part of the life we have chosen (my guy and I) is many, many farewells to people we’ve come to love. There are always promises to keep in touch and, for the most part, friends – real friends – do keep in touch. But every so often this life pulls apart even those of us who love and need each other. There were two women at one particular place that meant more than I can express. We laughed and cried together, supported one another and shared our lives. Parting came, as it must, and we stayed in touch. Life had other plans. Illness and death separated us. Years passed and the longing to reconnect never changed. This week my girl let me know that my friend found her and was looking for me. After a few false starts, we talked on the phone for the first time in more than a decade. As soon as I heard that wonderful giggle, the time vanished and I was with my friend again. And, in a way, with our friend who has passed on. A circle of friendship was restored. It may be a small moment in life but it’s a big one in my heart.

Veggies, roses and old friends - things that make up the beauty of life.

Potter Fever

2007-07-21T11:49:00.000-04:00

Harry Potter fever has gripped the world. Never has a book been so anticipated. Even miserable third world countries waited with excitement for this book. I am no exception to the fever. Pre-ordering my book from Amazon and being patient enough to wait the extra weeks it takes to wend through several mail systems to me was going to be my way of "battling" the fever. At a party last night the talk revolved for a good hour around the book, the new movie and the fact that Harry Potter parties were raging even here. This morning (ok, it was a great party so this morning was really this afternoon - 3:30 this afternoon!) a lovely friend appeared on my doorstep with a copy of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows" for me!! Squealing is probably inappropriate for a woman of my age (all I will say is that I am closer to 50 than 40) but it was my response anyway. We then began bouncing up and down, chattering - again - about possible endings. Then we dissolved into laughter about our sudden reversion to the age of 13 and hugged like friends who really care about one another do. Things turned serious at that moment as we realized that tomorrow I depart post and, much like with this book, an era is ending. Not that this means goodbye; if my travels have taught me anything it is that real friends never say goodbye. We may live apart but we are always a part of each other's lives. So how did we become so invested in characters that are fictional and have no real part in our lives? Why do we care so deeply about who lives and who dies? Isn't this just a story, albeit a good story? J.K. Rowling is an exceptional writer. She has developed characters that we all know. We may not really know any wizards but we all know someone who has loved and lost, suffered, been extremely blessed, is unhappy, is inherently evil, is uncommonly good, is truly brave, is a coward, is intelligent, or is just average and muddling through. We identify with these characters whether we are 8 or 80. We are these characters. We struggle with the same basic issues. We want good to triumph over evil and we want doing the right thing to be what drives us through life. We want to know that doing the right thing allows us to look in the mirror with a clear conscience. How wonderful that an author has reminded us that doing the right thing, even when unpopular or difficult, is rewarded in the long run. I haven't read the book yet. But I know this - whoever dies, whoever lives, right will triumph over wrong and the human struggle with good and evil will continue. Not a bad ending. It's a great deal like life itself.

Room Service

2007-07-19T05:56:00.000-04:00

Room Service - the longed for event on every young traveler's wish list. Young could mean age or experience when it comes to traveling, either way room service sounds exotic and something that must be experienced. For those of us who have done a bit more traveling it is something to be avoided if at all possible. Recently I ordered room service because it was simply too late and I was too tired to go out. Ok, and it was in New York on a Friday night and every place was packed with people. So room service it was. Things went fairly well. Nothing vital was fogotten and the bill was almost correct. Not bad. It brought back a room service memory though that I thought I would share.

Picture China. (Yes, the country) Decent hotel, nice even by Western standards and located centrally in Beijing. We've been out doing touristy things all day and are hot, tired, sweaty and thirsty. Oh, and cranky. Really cranky. This is the first country we had ever been in where my guy didn't have a total command of the language and he had to rely on my point and grunt technique for communication all day. It works, don't knock it. But when you can speak damn near any language in the world and suddenly find yourself relying on this method...well,it is frustrating at best and that is what was happening to my guy. I'd managed to score us several cans of Coke (the drink of the world, trust me on this) from a street vendor and we had them in the hotel room with us. What we didn't have was ice. Warm coke wasn't going to solve the thirst problem. My guy decides the answer is room service. Not that anyone in the hotel has had the ability to converse in English so far but, hey, hope springs eternal. He looks the phone over and discovers a "room service" button and pushes it. Lo and behold, the person answers in perfect, nearly unaccented English "Hello, this is room service. How may I help you?" My guy gratefully says "I'm in room 2451, may I have a bucket of ice delivered, please?" In return he gets a torrent of Chinese. He repeats himself, gets another torrent of Chinese and so on and so on and..... you get the idea. Finally he slams the phone down, turns to me and lets fly with things I just won't repeat. He is upset to say the least and I do the exact wrong thing. I laugh. Out loud. He says "You think you can do better? Be my guest!" Now, having been a smartass, I have no choice but to pick up the phone and push the room service button. And I hear "Hello, this is room service. How may I help you?" Being not so smart at times I repeat the request for ice. And, yes, get a torrent of Chinese in response. However, I am a master of the point and grunt language and those skills do not now fail me. I say "ICE" (loudly of course). Another torrent of Chinese. I repeat "ICE" The response is now "Water?" "No," I say "ICE." "Water?" "ICE." "Water?" "Yes, water, brrrrrr" "OK (torrent of Chinese)." Click. Evidently I made a connection of some sort because the person hung up. My guy is looking at me with his mouth wide open and eyes bugging out. "Water, brrrr?," he says. "Well," I answer "now we see what happens." About 20 minutes goes by and there is a knock on the door. "Room Service" rings out a distinctly Chinese voice. We bang into each other trying to get to the door first. My guy wins and yanks open the door. There stands a man in a 1950's-straight-from-Hollywood red bellman suit complete with square cap and white gloves. He holds a beautiful silver tray and placed ever so carefully in the center of that lovely tray was a delicate bone china teacup containing exactly three pieces of ice. With elegance and panache the man entered the room, placed the tray on the table, turned with a large smile, said in clear-as-a-bell English "You are welcome" and held out his hand. My guy tipped him, sent him on his way, turned to me and said:
"Next time can you say BIG water- brrrr?"

Sometimes you just have to love room service.

It is a Happy Fourth of July!

2007-07-04T08:54:00.000-04:00

Today is July 4, 2007. It is the day that the United States of America declared independence from Great Britain in 1776. We are still declaring independence only now it is for others, not just ourselves. We may be reviled for doing so but we are also accused of withholding our strength and wealth if we do not. Do you know the old saying "Damned if I do, damned if I don't?" The USA would rather be damned for doing.

I am a citizen of the USA and proud to be so.

Thank you to the men and women who work and fight around the globe to protect our right and the right of others to independence.
Happy Fourth of July!

The picture above was taken during a fireworks display at a church in my small hometown.

When We Were Crapulous

2007-06-30T19:54:00.000-04:00

Recently I was able to spend a day with my daughter. It was my first outing since becoming ill and was fantastic. We talked, laughed, got our hair done, became famous for a moment and otherwise had a great time. We went out to dinner and I had 1 beer. Drinking really is not supposed to be on my "to-do" list and so it went straight to my head. I wasn't drunk but I was glad we were walking! It made us laugh and brought to memory the night at the fondue place a year or so ago. The two of us plus my guy (her dad) decided that it would be fun to spend an evening eating fondue. As we don't get to see each other much more often than once a year this seemed like the perfect way to enjoy being together. And it was. It was the sort of enchanted evening that happens when your children have become adults and you finally accept it. We lingered for hours. My guy also encouraged us (he doesn't drink) to try the wine I noticed on the wine list. This was a really nice restaurant, the kind where the menus for the ladies have no prices (if you haven't been to a restaurant like that - find one and go. It is a great treat!) so we excitedly ordered a bottle. We enjoyed it so much that we ordered another and then another. We spent the evening sipping wine, eating fondue slowly, and chatting. Eventually, though, it was time to stand and go to the ladies room. Giggles ensued and off we went. Glossing over the next few moments......my daughter and I found ourselves washing our hands. The blue soap I was using was a bit runny and wouldn't foam properly. But I kept on trying. After a few tries we took a closer look at the "soap." It seems this was a VERY NICE restaurant. There wasn't just soap in the ladies room but also mouthwash! Now we understood why our hands smelled oh-so-minty fresh! More giggling and off we went. We staggered back to the hotel (or possibly took a cab, I don't quite remember), made plans for the next day and said goodnight. The next day we were crapulous. Our crapulousness was a thing of beauty. The museum/historical house we visited will never be the same again. People were scandalized at the effect of our crapulousness! And our hands were minty fresh!!!

Oh, you don't know what 'crapulous' means? Look it up - it's a real word. Think of this as an amusing (maybe) story AND a vocabulary lesson!! There will be a test later. I won't give it to you but you know somewhere, sometime this word will make an appearance in your life and you (and you alone) will know the meaning.

One last word about my illness: I am much better. There is some permanent damage, the extent of the damage won't really be known for at least a year. I am not myself yet but I am getting there and may get to go home soon. Unless there is a major relapse, I promise not to bleat about it on this space anymore!

Recovery

2007-06-13T10:00:00.000-04:00

It's been just a month since I was released from the hospital. Recovery is slow. Muscles still don't work right in my neck and jaw and exhaustion is like a companion. No complaints as I am alive and that seems to be, if not rare, at least against the odds after having sepsis.

There isn't much to say. No funny stories, no witty observations or social commentary. I am healing. Slowly. Maybe soon I will get to go home and return to my life and my guy.

Seriously Ill

2007-05-30T07:19:00.000-04:00

It is frightening how quickly an infection can overwhelm a body. 3 weeks ago today I had a sore tooth; 24 hours later the pain began, 24 more hours and the swelling began. By the time I arrived in South Africa my head was swollen like a balloon and the pain was intense – like electric shocks coursing through me. The dentist decided that he would wait to take action until the swelling went down. About 48 hours went by and I have very little memory of what happened. I can tell you that the pain was a living thing and I wanted only to escape from it. I know that I was unable to open my mouth. I know that I was sent to hospital and whisked into theatre (surgery). Doctors struggled to insert IV’s into my tiny, uncooperative veins and decided to put me under prior to getting them in to spare me the pain. It was risky as I was dehydrated from lack of food and liquid for 3 days. When that mask came down over my face, I gulped greedily, knowing the pain was about to end. The next memory I have is of being hot. Hotter than I have ever been or could have imagined. And I felt like I was encased in something hard. I wanted out of there so badly. It didn’t hurt but I was trapped and hot and would have taken any out offered me. My guy was with me through all of this. He (and the doctors) tells me that the tooth was infected and the infection spread throughout my entire body. I ran a fever of 105 for more than 24 hours, not responding to the intravenous antibiotics. Evidently, there was real fear that I wouldn’t pull through. It was a Monday morning that I went into hospital and late afternoon on Wednesday before I remember anything. I clearly remember opening my eyes and seeing a beautiful male face inches above mine and he was saying (as he cradled my face in his hands) “My dear, my dear, how are you today?” My first thought was “I’m dead. Oh. But this isn’t quite what I was expecting. Not too bad, though.” Then the smells kicked in. Nope, not dead, I stink too much. Hasn’t anyone even wiped me off (they had but still…. laying in a hospital bed for days sweating is going to leave a stink)? It was one of the team of doctors attending to me. He lifted me into a sitting position and began to probe my head and neck. I wanted to hit him, the pain was intense. He knew how I would react and gently moved away from each of my feeble attempts while continuing his probe. Then an odd thing began to happen. My head and neck began to contract and expand and my mouth filled with something that felt like barley soup (although the taste was horrifying). I was helped to the bathroom and bent over the sink and opened my mouth – well, parted my teeth about 1/8 of inch – and out came this stuff. It was some of the infection. It went for several minutes and Michael (as the doctor insisted we call him) was very pleased. My fever had broken and now, at last, the infection had found a way out. I was exhausted but anxious to do something. I realized that I was attached to IV’s (12 in all but that was reduced to one very quickly) and poles and was a mess. My guy helped me to bathe and took me for a short walk to a courtyard where I sat for 2 hours trying to gain enough strength to walk back. I won’t go into the troubles I had with the night nurses and the anger of the doctors when I was finally able to tell them. I won’t tell you about the IV they dislodged and the damage it caused. I will tell you that on Friday, after 5 days of intravenous antibiotics I was released from hospital but not allowed to leave South Africa. My guy was in a guesthouse and he took me there. It is impossible to describe the people there. Kind, loving, concerned, gentle, and compassionate are words that only begin to describe them. I was barely able to move on my own and couldn’t open my mouth enough to get anything in. The manager, Sonnike, and her husband, Ian, made soup for me and brought it to the room. It was probably a packet of cup-o-soup but it tasted like heaven. They took my guy to the store to buy yogurt and ginger ale for me. There were other guests, Silvia and Javier, who fussed over me like I was their own. My guy had to return to where we live 2 days after I was released from hospital and he was none too happy about it. He said to Ian, “I’m leaving her in your care.” And Ian took it as an oath to live by. He checked on me, coaxed me down to the veranda to sit in the sun and drink coffee, tea or water. He shredded meat for me so that I could stuff it in my mouth and (painfully) swallow it down. They all took turns reminding to take my medicine and spending time with me so that I would be up and not just laying in bed. No one ever showed signs of repulsion when I ate (it was and still is an ugly sight). They helped me through every step of my days as I began to get some strength back. Each millimeter of progress with my mouth was met with congratulations and the day I slipped a toothbrush through my still clenched teeth and was able to do a little scrubbing they gave me a standing ovation! These strangers became family for me. I am so grateful to know them, so blessed to have them in my life. A week went by and I went to the doctors for follow-up appointments. It was astounding to see their reactions to me. It was the first time I realized how ill I had been and still was. One doctor blurted out “Oh, you look beautiful, I was prepared to put you back in hospital but just look at you!” They were in agreement that the crisis had passed but with a caveat: I was at great risk of re-infection and would not be able to be treated with antibiotics without destroying organs, I needed physical therapy to regain use of my jaw and neck muscles and that I would be exhausted for at least 6 more weeks. They urged me to return to the US for rest and rehab. I have returned to our current home to collect clothing and will go to the US in a few days. Exhaustion is a mild term for how I feel. The big event of each day is showering and dressing. Eating is still difficult as chewing hurts and is tiring. Every inch of my body aches. Infection is scary. I didn’t know it could spread so far so fast and do so much damage so quickly. I have a great chance at full recovery though. Thank God for bringing me through this so far!

Mother's Day is May 13

2007-05-04T11:05:00.000-04:00

Things My Mother Taught Me

1. My mother taught me to APPRECIATE A JOB WELL DONE:
"If you're going to kill each other, do it outside. I just finished cleaning."

2. My mother taught me RELIGION:
"You better pray that will come out of the carpet."

3. My mother taught me about TIME TRAVEL:
"If you don't straighten up, I'm going to knock you into the middle of next week!"

4. My mother taught me LOGIC:
"Because I said so, that's why."

5. My mother taught me MORE LOGIC:
"If you fall out off that swing and break your neck, you're not going to the store with me."

6. My mother taught me FORESIGHT:
"Make sure you wear clean underwear, in case you're in an accident."

7. My mother taught me IRONY:
"Keep crying, and I'll give you something to cry about."

8. My mother taught me about the science of OSMOSIS:
"Shut your mouth and eat your supper."

9. My mother taught me about CONTORTIONISM:
"Will you look at that dirt on the back of your neck!"

10. My mother taught me about STAMINA:
"You'll sit there until all that spinach is gone."

11. My mother taught me about WEATHER:
"This room of yours looks as if a tornado went through it."

12. My mother taught me about HYPOCRISY:
" If I've told you once, I've told you a million times. Don't exaggerate!"

13. My mother taught me the CIRCLE OF LIFE:
"I brought you into this world, and I can take you out."

14. My mother taught me about BEHAVIOR MODIFICATION:
"Stop acting like your father!"

15. My mother taught me about ENVY:
"There are millions of less fortunate children in this world who don't have wonderful parents like you do."

16. My mother taught me about ANTICIPATION:
"Just wait until we get home."

17. My mother taught me about RECEIVING:
"You are going to get it when you get home!"

18. My mother taught me MEDICAL SCIENCE:
"If you don't stop crossing your eyes, they are going to freeze that way."

19. My mother taught me ESP:
"Put your sweater on; don't you think I know when you are cold?"

20. My mother taught me HUMOR:
"When that lawn mower cuts off your toes, don't come running to me."

21. My mother taught me HOW TO BECOME AN ADULT:
"If you don't eat your vegetables, you'll never grow up."

22. My mother taught me GENETICS:
"You're just like your father."

23. My mother taught me about my ROOTS:
"Shut that door behind you. Do you think you were born in a barn?"

24. My mother taught me WISDOM:
"When you get to be my age, you'll understand."

25. And my favorite: My mother taught me about JUSTICE:
"One day you'll have kids, and I hope they turn out just like you."

I owe my Mom alot! Happy Mother's Day to every Mom!

That's It? - Post Script

2007-05-02T18:07:00.000-04:00

American Idol announced tonight that they have raised $70 million (and counting) from their American Idol: Idol Gives Back show. That's a bit better. It still doesn't seem like enough from a show this large but that could just be cynicism on my part. At least this amount of money will bring some relief to a larger number of people. It won't be long term relief, this is only a band-aid that is being provided. Small comfort is still comfort and this is about the 'warm fuzzies' not serious, long-term change. So, in the style of the ever articulate Randy Jackson "Yo yo yo, AI - listen up - that wasn't bad, dawg. I kinda liked it!"

That's It?

2007-04-27T16:57:00.000-04:00

Watching American Idol: Idol Gives Back this week left only one thought: That's it? Really? That's All??

Not that what AI did was wrong - charity is always good - but really, $30 million is not that much for a show that size. If every celebrity that appeared on the show gave $100,000 then the total should have been much higher (if every celebrity had given a hundred grand then 10 million could have been raised without blinking!). 70 million phone calls (even if each call was only worth a dime) was enough to push the total up. What happened with all of the sponsors? Could only one afford the 5 million? At least 1 million per sponsor would have driven the total to well above the 30 million mark. Contrary to popular belief, businesses do support charities but if a business is going to claim sponsorship on a show as big as AI then the money should have been just as big. Why was the money spread amongst so many charities instead of doing some real good with two or three charities? And where, oh where, have the people involved with AI been living? Was Ryan really so shocked that there is poverty in Africa? Was Simon truly surprised to discover nice people all over the world and had he never seen a food bank before? What was Randy thinking when he promised that woman that it would "all be better soon?" The lack of reality in the lives of these 'celebrities' was more shocking than any of the poverty scenes that were shown.

Living in an African country and being surrounded by those sights every day leaves me with the understanding that it is not possible to save everyone. Feed them, clothe them, medicate them, and even educate them and still the greed exists that wipes out most of the strides made in improving the quality of life. The woman who takes care of 13 AIDs-stricken children was touching. She is working to improve her corner of the world. Isn't that what we should all be doing? The woman who was rushing her baby to a doctor and didn't make it was sad but aggravating. "Witch-doctorism" is the medicine that these people turn to first (see the picture below). They don't trust western medicine but will turn to it as a last resort and therefore western medicine fails more than it succeeds. So getting all choked up and teary-eyed over the raising of $30 million isn't happening with me. It isn't going to change much in the big picture no matter how much AI says it will. Want to do some real good? Help people near you. Don't ask for or expect anything in return. If they offer to "repay" you ask only that they, in their turn, help someone else without asking anything in return except helping someone else. Remember the movie "Pay it Forward?" Live that way. Then the world will begin to change. Expect that things will never progress forward smoothly. It will be two steps forward, one step back and hold - then start all over again. Don't give up hope. Keep things in perspective. Change is slow and almost imperceptible. If it isn't then it is called revolution and, while that is sometimes the only way to effect change, it very often makes things worse before making them better. We can make the world a better place but the hoopla surrounding American Idol is not going to do it. It is hard to believe that with all the publicity and weeks of build-up this was all that could be managed.

Election Results....for now

2007-04-23T14:02:00.000-04:00

Today it was announced that Alhaji Umaru Yar'Adua and his running mate, Goodluck Jonathan, were elected as the new Nigerian President and Vice President with around 93% of the vote. If you have read any of the newspapers around the world, you are undoubtedly astonished to hear the news. Ballot boxes were stolen, ballot boxes were stuffed with forged ballots, some states didn't even hold elections (because the ballots never arrived - see the pattern?), and elections observers observed that in many other places nobody showed up to vote. Add violence to the mix and you have to wonder how many people, if any, actually voted. But this is Nigeria and the incumbent president proudly hailed this election as a victory for democracy.

It feels as though the country is holding its collective breath and that when it is exhaled it will be the most horrendous case of halitosis ever. There are militant groups that are unhappy with, well, everything. There are groups who are unhappy about being Nigerian and wish to secede. There is the millions-of-people group who feel oppressed and angry and are looking for someone -anyone- to lead them. Then there are the groups of politicians who are unhappy that they lost. If any of these decide to take matters into their own hands, it will be a disaster. If two or more of these unhappy groups band together, it will be worse.

My "political acumen" fails me at this point. No matter what my world experience may be, the desire for power at any cost is beyond my understanding.

Here is the new President, A. U. Yar'Adua:

And here is the new VP, Goodluck Jonathan:

Guilty Pleasures

2007-04-21T23:00:00.000-04:00

Reality TV is a waste of time. There is enough reality to live through without watching fools put themselves in some sorta-kinda hardship place and prove their worthiness. I live and work in 3rd world countries where life is truly hard and the dangers are real. The Bachelor, Survivor, all of the "your house is ugly and so are you so clean up already" series, Amazing Race and the myriad of other like shows speak poorly of what we are becoming as a society. It brings to mind the Roman Colosseum, gladiators and the feeding of the Christians to the lions. I give all these shows a thumbs down. Let them die!

Having now spoken from the soapbox, I have a confession: I have gotten sucked into the world of weirdness that is American Idol. Worse yet, I am a fan of Dancing With The Stars. It's embarrassing, but there it is. I eagerly await the next episodes, know who is who, and, although I don't vote, I have favorites and root for them shamelessly. And I am now going to bore you to tears with my take on both shows. Enjoy :-)

When Sanjaya got booted this past week, I was glad. He needed to go. If I was a 12-year old girl eagerly awaiting my turn in high school, I would have loved Sanjaya too. He sang with all the fervor of the senior who is finally getting the lead in the spring musical. But he wasn't any better than that and won't be. Close your eyes and listen to him. That isn't what you want to hear blaring from the radio every 30 minutes. That, and Phil and Chris need more time to be seen for the talents they are. Yes, I like Phil and Chris. They won't win but they will have careers. And Phil's smile is worth tuning in for; it's just beautiful. Blake can sing but his beat box 'gimmick' will only take him so far. LaKeisha is amazing but has faltered and my heart goes out to her. That leaves Jordan and Melinda. I think Jordan deserves to win because Melinda is already a professional. But I am rooting for Melinda. That girl has talent and pizzaz oozing out of her very soul. Many years ago I had the distinct pleasure of meeting Gladys Knight ( I worked in the concert biz for a few years and trust me, very few 'stars' are a pleasure to spend time with). She is a warm, caring, good soul. Melinda seems to carry the same vibe. She should win for that reason alone but her talent should make her a household name and, eventually, a legend.

Dancing With The Stars is not really about people with dancing talent vying to be the next Baryshnikov. These people have already achieved their 15 minutes of fame and fortune and, for the most part, are 2nd string. The person with the biggest fan base will win whether or not they can truly dance. This is the fourth year and I was drawn into this show the very first season (unlike American idol, which I am really watching for the first time this season although I was aware of it's existance and the top 3 contestants for the last two years). It is the first time I am at a loss as who to root for. There are still some contestants who need to be sent home (Billy Ray - this means you; John - your wife will be pleased to be seen on the dance floor with you after this; Heather - you are impressive, I can't dance like that with two good legs, but ballroom excellence will never be yours) and then it's going to tough to really root for any one person/couple. Ian started out like a pro but has begun to struggle and I don't think he'll make it to the top. Apolo, Joey and Laila should be the top three. Each one should win. They can't so I am going to root for Apolo because he and his partner are just too cute together. Well, maybe I'll root for Laila because the dancing is much harder for the women and a woman has only won one season and even that was contested in a re-match and she lost. Then again, Joey started the season like he had been doing this all of his life and has only gotten better so he'll be the one I cheer on.

Reality TV. How embarrassing.

Oh - here's one more Reality TV show to watch - Ghost Hunters. It is what it sounds like. They hunt ghosts. Sometimes they find hauntings, most of the time they debunk the snot out of the stories they've been told about the places they are hunting in. If that's not enough to lure you in, there is this: the two guys (Jason and Grant, otherwise known as Jay and Gee) running the team are plumbers by day. Could you ask for more? It runs on the Sci-Fi Channel. And I'm going to keep watching no matter what you think - but I promise to feel guilty about it! :-)

82 dollars and thirty four cents

2007-04-19T15:31:00.000-04:00

Today is the Thursday before the Friday that is the Holiday before the Saturday that is the Presidential Election Day in Nigeria and that made it a good day to do some food shopping.
Here's the shopping list:
3 baguettes
4 hamburger buns
1 loaf of rye bread
1 loaf of white bread
6 small tomatoes
2 red peppers
2 yellow peppers
1 little container of cherry tomatoes
1 head of butter lettuce
1 head of broccoli
1 head of cauliflower
3 tiny containers of sour cream (an oh-so-rare find)

The price? N10,540 or $82.34 or an average of $3.17 per item. The finding of the veggies (fresh broccoli! cherry tomatoes!! fresh cauliflower! yellow peppers!!) and the sour cream (!!!) was so exciting that $82.34 seemed like a bargain. People even said "Wow, that was a good deal!" After a few hours of reflection, and the realization that $82.34 is a very great deal of money for the little bit purchased, there is still a small voice inside saying "No, no, it WAS a good deal."

We will need to stay indoors and hunker down again this weekend. We will get to eat fresh veggies with dip, cook up a stir-fry and make salad. 82 dollars and thirty four cents may have been the right price - if it will help to make a tense, possibly violent weekend in Africa seem sorta-kinda enjoyable.

Hunkering Down

2007-04-15T04:18:00.000-04:00

It's April 15, a day known generally to all Americans as the dreaded "tax day." But here, it is the first weekend of the 2007 General Elections. This weekend is when local elections (gubernatorial, senate, house of assembly, local government) take place. We are hunkered down inside our flat waiting to see what happens. It has been eerily quiet so far. There were a few explosions yesterday but no movement on the streets of people or vehicles. The lead-up to the elections has been rather violent. Large groups wandering the streets chanting political slogans and randomly firing guns into the air have been a common site; reports of candidates leading physical attacks on other candidates were also common. It is hard to imagine, say, the governor of Iowa attacking and beating senseless (or killing) his political opponent, but it is a normal part of political activity here. Gangs of thugs called area boys travel the streets under the best of circumstances and are using the elections as an excuse to increase their activities. Even normally quiet residential areas have been invaded in recent weeks. The littlest activity sets off violence. For example: One party pastes their political posters over the posters of an opposing party and that opposing party goes up in flames. Instead of pasting over those posters they instead go after the other people. Homes and vehicles are destroyed, lives are lost and they all feel justified in their actions. Political parties are not above intimidation either. Those found chanting and firing guns in the streets are there to let other parties in the area know what they can and will do. Money flows freely; political votes are purchased for large sums although many are given the money, told how to vote and informed what will happen to their loved ones if they don't. The money is a sort of band-aid on the wound not an incentive. The corruption at higher levels is as bad or worse. Are the ballots really going to reach the polling places? Will the election observers reach the polling places? Will their presence mean anything if the elections have been pre-rigged by the government or others? How often can the government (federal and local) proclaim it's intent to not interfere in the elections while manipulating it's agencies to indict candidates, declare spurious holidays to block court decisions from being made, not release funding for election preparations and so on? Once the election results are announced, what will happen?

It is interesting to be an observer to another country's approach to democracy. The uncertainty and violence aside, it is the determination to move towards democracy that is fascinating. Much is gained and lost over and over again on the road to democracy. Great strides for "the little people" are made during the promising moments and those same strides are taken away from those same people when the slide begins. The leaders tend to either escape with their lives and loot to a life of exile or lose it all when the next leaders take over, either way they don't live through the mess they created. Never has this country seen a peaceful transfer of elected power. This would be the first. But "the little people" continue to regroup after each violent episode of loss and begin the struggle forward again with hope that democracy will be, eventually, achieved. A frequent thought is "Would we be as determined in America to slog forward if faced with the same conditions?" Would we stand for no electricity, no clean water, restrictions on movements, failure of infrastructure, loss of law and order? Would we just stand and whine as so many of us now do or would we pull up our bootstraps and get to work?

The presidential elections are scheduled for next weekend. There is a good chance the results of this weekend's elections won't be announced by next weekend and the tension in the country will be tight to the breaking point. The risk of violence erupting isn't so much during the elections - that violence is almost incidental in nature - but will come when the results of all elections are made public. Losers don't go quietly in places like this. In the meantime, we will be hunkered down, watching.

General Elections 2007

2007-03-26T04:34:00.000-04:00

There are elections coming soon. All positions - from local council members up to and including the presidency of this country - are to be voted on in April. The elections will be spread out over the course of a week. Voting registration has been going on for months and doesn’t appear to be going well. The registration machines are broken and can’t be used or political parties that are trying to manipulate the voting process to their favor steal them. Even the machines that have actually been used to register voters are looked upon with skepticism, as it is apparently hard to know if that data is true. There is the issue of actual balloting (see the picture); it is all done on paper, which is easy to duplicate, leaving the process wide open to fraud. Of course the government is taking precautions in an attempt to keep the elections as fair as possible. But there is already violence and fraud - we see it, hear it and read about it in the newspapers. Candidates must go through some government process to be declared eligible for running for office. The current vice president was disqualified from running for the presidency in the election. He (and many others) were indicted – but not charged – with fraud by the government’s fraud agency. Another government agency, in charge of conducting the elections, declared the VP and others as ineligible based on the indictments. If they haven’t been charged and brought to trial then it seems that the decision to run for office should be left up to the party that is carrying them as a candidate. That the government should have a say in who can run and who can’t run seems to be an undermining of the democratic process (remember this is the personal opinion of someone who does not know all the ins and outs of the laws of this country). Yet, ‘democracy’ is the word every political party and candidate uses as a rallying call. The word ‘democrat’ is in the name of many of the political parties. This is the first time that this country will pass the torch of power from one elected government to another. Think about that for a minute: the FIRST time that one elected government will leave office for another elected government. That is if all goes well. What a different world this is from what we are accustomed to. We take a peaceful transition for granted. There aren’t gun battles between political parties in our streets, those running against them don’t attack our politicians in their homes, and if we wish to change our political affiliation, we can do so without fear of reprisal. Of course, we don’t have 24 candidates running for the presidency. That alone is very interesting. How does anyone receive enough votes to win? There is a lot of unknown in this election. The world is sending in observers to watch at the polls to help ensure free and fair elections but maybe, just maybe, the oversight is needed now before the voting begins.

Lagos at Random

2007-02-18T06:50:00.000-05:00

Here are some pictures of Lagos and a few thoughts to go with them:

The sign above is not a joke. It was placed by city officials to help deal with a problem. Make of it what you will.

Of course, signs about the stuff means that there must be a business opportunity! (A friend has allowed me use of these 2 pics - thanks!!)

But then again with this many people (in just one market) business must be good!

And with that many people, the traffic is always a nightmare:

In turn, that much traffic makes good driving schools a must!

That concludes today's trip around Lagos!

On Being the Claus'

2007-02-16T07:25:00.000-05:00

Once a year my guy and I are able to pull out our alter egos and share them with the world. Santa and Mrs. Claus. It has always seemed a shame to us that children stop believing in Santa. He may not be the actual one who runs around the world delivering presents in a 24-hour period but his spirit does. It invades the hearts and minds of many people around the world and well...... Santa lives and we are proof of that. But before you begin thinking that we indulge in some sort of ego trip about the "good" that we do and the "joy" that we spread and the "material goods" we share, etc. - stop. Santa and Mrs. Claus may do all of those things and that is wonderful. But what Santa and the Mrs. get in return is an embarrassment of riches that can't be fully described. Let me tell you about this year and one of the stops we made:

In Nigeria there is an orphanage called Arrows of God. It is full to bursting; the orphanage itself is poverty stricken and struggling. The children are, unaccountably and miraculously, full of joy and health. We were privileged to visit this year and help the US Marine Corps deliver toys gathered through the Toys for Tots campaign. We were greeted with shouts of disbelief, shrieks of joy, tears of happiness and smiles. Miles of smiles. Plus hugs. And dancing. And giggles. We were swarmed by children, young adults and adults who wanted to touch, hug, kiss, talk, and share with Santa and Mrs. Claus. We heard about dreams. Fears. Failures. Successes. And, of course, who wanted what for Christmas. But not the things you would think. Yes, dolls, balls, and other toys made the occasional appearance on the list but most of all, each wished for something good for someone else. The arrival of the Claus' did not herald a rush of greed but a kind, loving thought for others. Life can be hard, unfair, and even miserable but the giving of a gift (or chance to instigate a gift) is still more precious than the receiving of a gift. Children came to us and asked us to seek out their friends who were too shy to approach us. We couldn't tell who was happier - the shy ones or the ones who pointed out the shy ones. Even when it came time to hand out gifts and Santa loosed 50 soccer balls among the children, not one ball was touched until Santa called out “Pick one up. Everyone pick one up!” Once all the toys had been handed out, each person sought out Santa and Mrs. Claus to say “thank you.” Unprompted. There was an official thank you ceremony, the children performed songs and dances and skits, but the unscripted moments spoke louder than anything that could have been planned. When it came time to go (and that time always arrives), one little girl – who could not have been older than 3 years – followed behind whispering something over and over. Finally I leaned down to hear her. She was whispering “Please come back to me. Please come back.” I gathered her in my arms and sat down. She and Mrs. Claus talked for several minutes and what was said between them is their secret. I can tell you only this much: That little girl and Mrs. Claus will walk in spirit for the rest of their lives. They both know it in their hearts.

Whatever you may believe about Santa, whatever you may think of us (and others like us) for stepping into the Claus’ shoes, understand that we are given more than we give. Joy, happiness, and hope given always seem larger to the receiver. We feel that we are the receivers.

Here are two pictures that we think capture the essence of what is given:

The Results

2007-02-07T15:12:00.000-05:00

The results from the biopsy are in! The doctor got it all and it is gone, gone, gone! No treatment needed, just over and done with! It is impossible to express my feelings. Grateful, blessed, lucky...all good words but not quite strong enough. I feel like a winner in the life lottery and, wow, it feels GOOD!!

To all of you who prayed and worried and sent love my way - Thank You. You really did give me the strength to be brave and not give into fear and despair. Again, thank you doesn't begin to express my feelings but at the risk of blubbering all over the keyboard, I'll stick with it and say it again "THANK YOU!"

And one more thing....... my stitches are out and it looks like there won't even be a noticeable scar!

Good Morning

2007-01-20T04:23:00.000-05:00

It's 4:30AM. I am awake. I am sore. My incision itches. And this is NOT a complaint. The doctor is confident that she was able to cut out all of the cancer and that there should be no need for any follow up. Of course, the biopsy must confirm all of this but, this is a doctor who isn't prone to sugar-coating things or giving false hope so I am as confident as it is possible to be under the circumstances. For now, the surgery was successful and hope abounds. This is a good - no, a great - morning!

The Night Before Surgery

2007-01-18T21:07:00.000-05:00

<--- How it will be:
Calm Doc, Scared Patient!

We've been in the States for a couple of weeks now. This is time for rest and relaxation, yearly doctor's visits, re-connecting to family and friends and shopping. It has been great. My physical, however, wasn't so great. There is a dime-sized spot on my body and it is cancer. My doctor says it could be a "weenie cancer" and the removal of it might just be the end of it. But, even though she can tell it is cancer, she won't know for sure what type until the biopsy comes back in 10 - 14 days. The surgery (minor, meaning in and out and no hospitalization) is tomorrow. I'd like to be really upbeat but I don't feel that way. This is scary and I feel numb. My guy, my daughter and our friends are all showering me with love and support but I feel some strange sense of obligation to smile and act like I am more or less ok. I really just want to scream "No-o-o-o-o" and cry. The hardest part is the not knowing. If it's not a "weenie cancer" (what a phrase! but I like it actually) then I want to fight like mad and beat this. There isn't anything to fight right now. This is a waiting mode and patience is not a virtue with which I have been blessed. So, I will get through to tomorrow when this damned spot (I keep thinking "Out. Out Damned Spot" like Lady Macbeth although she was dealing with something far different than cancer) is removed and then will do my best to take each day as it comes without panic over what might be.

Harmattan

2007-01-03T04:49:00.000-05:00

The Sun During Harmattan Season
-> -> -> -> -> ->

It is Harmattan here. What is Harmattan, you ask? It is the dry, dusty, sandy wind that blows through West Africa every year from December to February (only it kept up until late March last season and started in early November this season). The sands from the Sahara whip across the continent and create a fine grain, slow moving, strangling sand storm that grounds planes, blots out the sun and causes respiratory problems for all. Ok, at least for me. My asthma isn't overwhelming and I usually live with it sans medicines. Harmattan is, however, keeping me in a low state of asthma attack all the time. I am exhausted and in pain. There could be 2 1/2 more months left of Harmattan and it is scary. The good news is that I get a break and will be out of here for a while. The bad news is I will come back to it much too soon. It is hard to describe Harmattan. It looks foggy or hazy all of the time. We can't see across the river to the port or the mainland for large portions of each day. The wind howls at times like a pack of circling wolves. The wind blows hard enough to open locked windows. You can taste the sand and feel it in your hair and on your skin. It doesn't look like sand; it lays on the furniture like dust. It seeps into every crack, every crevice, every nook and every cranny. There is no escaping it. It smells like sand, is gritty like sand but is as fine as powder. I imagined sand storms (and had the opportunity this year in another country to be caught in one that was like my imagnation) to be fast and furious and noisy and painful and able to obliterate sight and sound ....... for a short time. Not here. This is long and slow and subtle.

Harmattan viewed from the beach
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2006 into 2007 - My Resolution

2006-12-31T06:47:00.000-05:00

This is the last day of the year 2006. Good things happened this year: my husband entered remission (!), my daughter got a job in her career field that she really wanted, my work is fulfilling, new friends were made, old friendships were strengthened, and everyone I love is reasonably healthy. Bad things happened too: a dear friend died, my dad had another heart attack, we are living in another difficult country, and various family members are slowly destroying themselves. It was, though, a good year that is ending with a quiet, happy day. Making resolutions is the traditional act for this day. I've never been one for resolutions. But I was inspired by Father Jonathan today. Who is Father Jonathan? He is a Catholic priest who blogs for Fox News (go to www.foxnews.com, scroll down to their "Fox Blogs" and click on Father Jonathan) about the events that are going on in the world around us. I don't always agree with him (most of the time I do) yet always he is inspiring. Today was no different. And I am flat-out stealing his idea with no apologies:
This year I am making a New Year's Eve Resolution for 2007. You are my resolution. This year I will strive to cherish you, love you, forgive you, thank you, ask forgiveness, get to know you, let you know me and remember each and every day how blessed I am that you are in my life.
Happy New Year.

Shopping for Veggies

2006-12-30T07:19:00.000-05:00

Buying veggies in the market is something I take for granted. It's outdoors, there is no refrigeration, no sanitization, nothing that would be found in a supermarket but that doesn't matter. To me. Anymore. It's just a normal thing in my life to go to the market and haggle like a fishwife amid the veggies, eggs, dirt, flies and chaos. A newcomer came marketing with me this week. It was very difficult for her. She didn't buy veggies but she didn't run screaming to the car either so it was a success. It also set me to thinking about the market stories I have written about before and how a little visual aid might go a long way to help those of you who read my brain-droppings understand what I am babbling on and on about. So....... Here are two pictures of the ladies I haggle with weekly and the market we are haggling in!

Christmas Obliterated

2006-12-28T16:04:00.000-05:00

This was supposed to be a blog about Christmas. About the wonderful Christmas Eve party that lasted until 4:30am and the great gift swap that ended with my winding up with a candy cane and a condom. About the joy of being with friends who helped ease the pain of being away from family. About dressing as Santa and the Mrs. and visiting an orphanage as part of the Toys For Tots campaign and how wonderful and happy the children were and how much fun it was to dance with them. But it isn't. Events have overtaken the Christmas spirit. There is a picture at the end of this blog. Don't look at it if charred bodies make you ill. That's what this is about. People desperate enough to tap into a pipeline and blow up themselves and hundreds of other people as well as homes and businesses. This is about a country that is so corrupt that all the wealth of oil lines the pockets of politicians. The people kidnap oil workers, sabotage the production facilities, destroy the environment trying to get to the oil, and are unwilling or unable to work together to better their country.

On December 26 a pipeline in the city of Lagos was broken into. The vandals got what they wanted and ran. The oil flowed from the broken pipeline into the middle of the city and the people rejoiced. They thought God had given them a "Christmas bonus" and brought fuel to them. They leaped into the flow with cans, cups, bottles, anything and everything that they could carry the fuel in. And then, somehow, it exploded. The body count, as reported by the Nigerian newspapers, is over 700. Homes and businesses were destroyed. The homes may have been shanties at best and the businesses no more than a table on the side of the road but they were a beginning, a hope for the country. I believe that if you are stupid enough to break into a pipeline then you get what is coming to you. I believe that of all criminals. But innocent people, desperate people were led like sheep to their horrible, flaming deaths. That should carry the penalty of eternal damnation.

We are blessed not to have to seen the devastation up close. We couldn't smell the burning or hear the screaming. We could see the flames and the smoke from our flat. The papers are full of the pictures (like the one below) and there is nothing we can do about what is going on. We can't spend enough money (it's an oil rich country - everyone should be swimming in money) to ease the suffering, we can't tell them how to run the country (ok we can but all we can do is advise), and we can't allow ourselves to fall into the trap of pity. The politicians only get richer if we do and then everyone loses, including us. This country needs to take control of itself and follow through on the the hard work of those willing to make things better for themselves and their families. But today, say a prayer for those who were so desperate that they risked their lives to get a little fuel to cook with or to heat water with and lost. As bad as it is here, they had hope. May the survivors find that hope and continue to grow and improve the country - no matter how slowly.

This is also about the crime that sweeps through 3rd world countries at this time of year. We hear gunfire both during the day and at night, we have seen two shootings (for crap's sake we were dressed as the Claus' and a guy used our vehicle for cover!) and our friends were carjacked. Poor people steal from poor people, people die from random violence and the fear is a living thing. It would be nice to say that we can fix this; that the 1st world can pour enough money and aid into these countries to make them whole and healthy but that won't work. Who supervises? Who is accountable? Who has the patience to work for 100 or more years to change the minds and hearts of people who know nothing else? We can't sustain the work needed. We need to understand, like parents, that 'children' must learn some lessons for themselves. We can watch and guide and offer some assistance on occasion but overall, we show them by example and protect ourselves from the fallout. This is an age-old problem. Man is cruel to man given the chance.

Soap opera for Men

2006-12-19T15:29:00.000-05:00

- Are these two wrestling's idea of a perfect couple? Couldn't one of them be pretty?

My guy is busy tonight. He's watching his soap opera. The special edition. Not that he calls it that. No, he calls it professional wrestling, WWE, Armegeddon! And he has a buddy to watch it with. Two grown men are in the living room watching other grown men pretend to beat the snot out of each other while masquerading under names like "The BoogieMan" (sorry, not scary) "UnderTaker" (just how old is this guy??) "The Tye-Dye Guy" (odd, really odd), "Jimmy Wang Yang" (that sounds vaguely pornographic) and "The Miz" (miz-what? miz-taken? miz-understood? miz-erable? miz-ter?). They are cheering, whooping, clapping, doing weird hand shake things, waiting with great anticipation for the 'lingerie show' by the women of WWE and generally enjoyng themselves. I railed against this for years. It's violent and has no discernable plot. Everyone involved seems to be a few pennies short of a dime. Intelligent, successful men turn into star-struck little boys while watching. They even argue the 'merits' of each act, um, wrestler. Soap operas were never like this. This looks suspiciously like fun!

Birthday Thoughts

2006-12-15T04:44:00.000-05:00

Today is my birthday. I don't like to celebrate this occassion. It isn't the getting older. I've been an 'old lady' since I was very young so the years really make no difference. I just hate being in the spotlight. But today feels different. My daughter sent me several cards this week and the two that arrived this morning were inspiring. One reminded me of a very special moment flying through the Andes in a small plane, seeing the world at it's most beautiful, and being with the two people I love more than life itself. That was a lovely way to start the day. The other was two little kids playing at being all grownup with a reminder to not grow up too fast. And that, too, was wonderful. It is too easy to be grown-up and serious and forget to celebrate life with all the ups and downs. I may have learned a lesson today. From my daughter. I am in her debt.

Last night my husband took me to dinner. And invited some people along. Not many came. The 3 that did understood how I feel about my birthday. We had a great time. At first I was not happy with my guy but as the night wore on and I realized that those who were there shared similar feelings about birthdays and just wanted to dispell those feelings for me and for themselves, I realized how blessed I am. My guy knows what he is doing and our friends really are friends. Another lesson learned. What a birthday this turning out to be! Real happiness can be elusive. I have a husband and daughter who actively work to make me truly happy. This is a happy day because of them. Can it get much better that that?

Now, it is off to share this birthday with only one of two other people that I know who also have a birthday today. Until just a couple of years ago I had never known anyone with whom I shared this day. Here in Africa, I have met two such people. One is back in the US now, the other is here and I can't wait to go to her office, give her a hug and wish her happy birthday. Wish them both happy birthday in your hearts, will you? They are great people!

The Boys From The Market

2006-12-05T14:51:00.000-05:00

We go to a local market called Lekke almost every weekend. It is where we buy our fresh fruits and veggies, bootleg DVD's and other goodies. The challenge of shopping outdoors, in the heat, in the dirt and surrounded by the very poor can make you want to lay right down and cry. But, if it's fresh fruits and veggies you want then this is where you have to go. Well, we could go to the beach market but Lekke is where the beach vendors get their goods so it makes sense to go to the source. We have developed a rapport with many of the vendors and enjoy hearing how their week went, how their families are, etc. And since we bring money, they are always glad to see us! Of course we have "the boys." I am not sure quite how calling them "the boys" got started. It may have been how we asked for them the first couple of weeks we went to the market. You know, "We have boys who help us, thank you. Where are the boys?" - that sort of thing. Today it is a badge of honour for them. We show up and you hear the call go out "Get the boys - they're here!" They even refer to themselves that way. We will take a newcomer to the market and they try to engage the boys in conversation and to a person they start with "Who are you?" The reply is always "We are the boys - their boys" or "I am one of the boys - their boys." We all feel like we belong to each other and it seems they like that feeling, we certainly do. John, Paul and Michael have been lugging our purchases - big and small- for almost a year now. It is amazing to see how they have grown. There is a 20-something man who works where we work but lives in the same neighbourhood as 'our boys' so we are able to know quite a bit about them. He knows that we worry about the boys and would like to help so he keeps us informed on the daily routines of their lives. The boys get a little freaked out when we ask them about things that it doesn't seem like we should know about but are thrilled that we care. Our 'informant' hasn't given up the game and neither have we. It helps the boys to try a little harder in many things knowing that we somehow find out about what they are doing and that we really do care. We are helping them with school and learned this week that John is really "doing" school, while Paul and Michael are just "going" school. We will talk to them this week but it may be a lost cause; we are glad they are still going and are safe for some portion of each day. John, though, really has goals. He wants to work as a driver when he grows up and understands that to work for "important people" (he believes we are in that category; it just means we can afford to hire a driver but, well, that is important in a country where jobs are scarce so his meaning is understood), he must be able to read and write and do math, be trustworthy and have a knowledge of his own country. And that means school. He talks to my guy every weekend about what he has learned druing the week. The feedback and encouragement he gets from my guy lights up his entire face. It is such a joy to watch. So we will support his efforts as long as we live here. We love these boys. They aren't our own but we worry about them and pray for them and want them to live and grow and succeed in life. We can't change the world but maybe, just maybe, we can make a difference in the lives of John, Paul and Michael.
The picture at the top of the post is "the boys." From left to right are Paul, Michael and John. John may be the littlest but he is the oldest at 14!

Headlines That Make You Wonder

2006-11-20T08:38:00.000-05:00

One of the things I attempt on a daily basis is to read the local newspapers. Not all of them but at least three of them. It helps me to understand what is happening around me or understand what the inhabitants of this country think is happening. General elections are coming up rapidly and the vote will encompass everything from local ward positions to the president of the country. Corruption runs rampant; candidates live in fear of their lives. Several candidates have already been murdered, many incumbents are being impeached under sinister circumstances and political violence can be bought cheaply so every candidate has his or her thugs doing their level best to intimidate voters into not voting or are out buying the votes. Oil companies are having their workers attacked and kidnapped on a regular basis and tapping into oil pipelines (causing environmental damage, the loss of jobs and millions of dollars and resulting in deaths when the tapping is - as always - poorly done) is a daily occurrence. So when I read the following headline, I laughed until I cried: "Customs Officials Seize 7,000 Rounds of Live Ammunition and 1 Million Pairs of Shoes!" There is a multitude of problems in this country but the big headline of the day is that a million pairs of shoes were confiscated at the border. Oh, and some ammunition... What army is this supplying? It certainly explains all the flip-flops; cheap shoes are evidently not allowed. If this is the best that can be done with all of the other things that slip through these borders (drugs and human trafficking come to mind) what can be ahead? As I watch the sun go down over the river (and the garbage and occasional bodies in the river) each evening, I can't help but wonder if there is anyone in charge who is interested in helping this country as opposed to lining their own pockets with the wealth of the country. It doesn’t appear that there is. But now I know why everyone wears flip-flops. That's one mystery solved.

A Birthday Blog

2006-11-13T20:50:00.000-05:00

It isn't my birthday. It's more important than that. It is the birthday of the United States Marine Corps. I have been privileged to live and work alongside some of the finest members of the Marine Corps for 15 or so years. Young men and women who have chosen to put aside their own needs and wants to protect the rights and freedoms of the rest of us. It isn’t only in wartime that they make sacrifices for our country. Year after year they serve us in all sorts of situations and in every country around the world, away from loved ones and familiar surroundings. They work long hours and get little recognition. The communities they serve in see them as young and objects to be ignored at best. Their professionalism never waivers, they are steadfast in their beliefs and duties. Let me say here that I am proud to work and live beside these young men and women, these highly trained professionals who believe that our country is worth defending. Many of them have called and still call me Mom. I am honoured to know them and call them my own. Semper Fidelis.
Happy Birthday,
Love from “Mom”

Halloween Stories

2006-10-27T11:40:00.000-04:00

It's that time of year again. The start of the holidays; the creepiest night of all or the most interesting if you are like me - Halloween! Growing up wasn't ever in the cards for me so this is my night to shine. I think up the dumbest costume imaginable and go for it. Wrap my head in tin foil and call myself a left-over? You bet! Pin on a mini-cereal box with a knife stuck in it? Yup, I'm a cereal killer. It's ok, I amuse myself. But now that I have a couple of years under my belt (shhh...it isn't polite to roll your eyes at me), I have some fond memories as well. Like the Halloween my husband dressed up like Santa and went around the neighbourhood just before trick-or-treat time and scared the neighbourhood kids half to death. Really. You know the song...."He sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake, he knows if you've been bad or good...." And there was Santa at the door. On Halloween. The one night you were ALLOWED to be bad. Not fair. Not fair at all. But we had a quiet neighbourhood until Christmas that year and all the neighbourhood parents decided they loved my guy! It was sick, but it was fun.

We have had some great parties too. While living in Argentina we had a party that got way out of hand. My readers know that a great many of my stories start with "So, we were drinking...." so............... We were drinking and decided that we (all 50 of us) needed to go trick-or-treating. Keep in mind that A) we are all adults, B) we were all drunk, C) we were living in a country that had no clue as to what Halloween meant, let alone what trick-or-treating was and D) it was midnight. Out we went anyway. Only to realize that we lived in the city. No houses, just restaurants. With a quick adjustment of plans we trick-or-treated at the restaurants in the area. 50 adults. Drunk. In costumes ranging from a baby in a diaper to witches and ghosts to Fred and Wilma Flintstone. I believe the term "motley" was created for us. We looked in restaurant windows at the patrons, we hung out at the front doors, we wandered around the back, we were a nuisance. But every restaurant invited us in and gave us a treat. Sometimes it was a plate of appetizers, sometimes a glass of wine, once we got treated to desserts and once we got the little peppermints they give you as a consolation prize after the bill arrives. The nice thing was that everyone got into the spirit even if they weren't sure what the spirit was. They even recognized some of us in the coming days when we were no longer in costume. It was a great ice-breaker with the neighbourhood restaurants! The last memory I have of that particular night was a gang of young Argentine boys (too pretty to be men and to silly to be thugs) challenging us. I think they were attempting to rob us. Anyway.... the littlest woman in our group was dressed all in white, had put white face paint over all of her body, teased her long blonde hair straight out and sprayed it to stay standing out around her head and powdered it white (she was a ghost, in case you were wondering). She turns to me and my sister witch and says "Walk toward them with me behind you and when I say move, one of you go left and the other go right." So we did. It seemed like the perfectly sensible thing to do at the time. Walk boldly towards the young men threatening you. Ok, why not? She timed the whole thing so that just as we got close (but not too close) to the boys, the streetlight was behind us when she whispered "MOVE!" The people who were watching said it was the most horrifying sight they had ever seen. She was lit up from behind and positively glowed. Supernaturally glowed. Scary as hell glowed. Those poor boys couldn't run fast enough. We laughed until we cried. But I am glad it wasn't me that was being scared like that. It was a great Halloween!

HAPPY HALLOWEEN

A Port Story

2006-10-12T15:40:00.000-04:00

This is one of the grandmas that yelled at me. It's a great neighbourhood!

It's been awhile since I have written anything. I've been traveling. But this isn't a story about this trip; it's a story about a trip to Portugal and what happened in Lisbon. Or what I did in Lisbon. Or how the Portuguese took pity on me.

We were in Lisbon and decided not to do the typical tourist thing or at least not do it completely. Instead of taking the tour bus through the city and up the mountain to the castle, we would walk and enjoy the city and all it's charms. If you know me then you know just how silly this thought was. I am a big woman. Mountains - ok, a big steep hill - and sweating up them isn't my style. It was good idea at the time. Off we (my guy and I) go. Up. Through neighbourhoods not normally part of the tourist track. Up. Way up. Steep and up. About halfway up I am sweaty. Thirsty. Tired. Cranky. And I am tired of the grandmas coming out onto the gorgeous, picturesque balconies and yelling at me. We understand enough to know that tourists aren’t welcome, thank you and go away. Now, just where are we going to go? It's hot. We can't figure out which one of the 80 gajillion little trolley thingies to take to get out of here. This isn't as much fun as we thought it would be. Then...... a door opens and a woman steps out. Now, I know she is going to yell. She has that look. She opens her mouth.............. and speaks in English. Nicely. I almost passed out from relief. She heard the fussing as we trudged our way up the street. She heard us as we leaned against her building. She wants to practice her English and will explain the trolley thingy system. Hooray! We're saved! It gets better. I look in the doorway behind her. It's a shop. Not just any shop. A wine shop. If you know me then you understand this. I'm hot, I'm sweaty, I'm cranky and I'm thirsty. It's a wine shop. In Lisbon, Portugal. Happy? Hell, yes. So in we go. 90 minutes later, out we come. Map in hand, trolley thingy conquered, ride to the castle taken care of. Did I mention the 4 bags of bottles? Which we cannot, of course, carry. No problem. We can come back when we are done at the castle and pick them up during the pre-arranged ride back down the mountain (ok, ok, big steep hill). I glance one more time over my shoulder through the open door and make a slight face. As we walk up towards the trolley my guy asks me about the look. I say, "Did you see all those dirty wine glasses in the store? That's disgusting. I can't believe I didn't see them as we went in." He dissolves into gales of laughter, leaving me deeply puzzled but suddenly wondering why, when I turned my head quickly to look at him, things aren't holding quite still. It turns out that I was the cause of the dirty wine glasses and the 4 bags of bottles. I had mentioned - while looking for a bottle or two of wine - that I wasn't much of a port drinker. Don't ever say that in Portugal. Unless you are prepared to try 50 types of port, one more delicious than the next. It turns out that I am a port drinker after all. And the port we bought was good even after I sobered up and drank them later (we bought a lot - I am still enjoying the some of the bottles of port). This is where it gets really good. Remember the part about me being hot, sweaty, tired, thirsty and cranky? Well, I wasn't - for about the 2 hours we took touring the casstle and its grounds. Then the port began to wear off. Now I am hot, sweaty, tired, thirsty, cranky, on top of a mountain (yea, yea, big steep hill) and am developing a hangover. Yay for me! Luckily, our ride arrives at this moment. We get in and the driver reaches back and hands me a glass. Of port. With the store owner’s compliments. It seems she figured I might need another glass to get me safely back to where we were staying. She was right. Bless that woman. The grandmas may yell at me for being in the neighbourhood but I'd go back willingly! But I wouldn't walk up there. I know the trolley thingy system now.

Pictures and Memories

2006-08-14T09:02:00.000-04:00

While trying to sort out and label picture discs I came across a picture that made me smile. My guy and I were in Gibraltar and, as the good tourists that we are, we went up to the top of the rock to see the sights and the Barbary Apes. These are really tail-less macaque monkeys but are called Barbary Apes for some reason. No, I did not do extensive research to discover why; shocking, yes, but every once in a while I like to just be the tourist and not the tour guide (quit laughing, it's true!). Anyway...... by law the monkeys are fed and kept healthy and so have grown to a population of over 200 and become quite the tourist attraction. Like everyone else we had a few peanuts to feed to the monkeys so they would sit with us for a minute - just long enough to have a picture taken. But one of these guys decided he liked my husband. He sat on his shoulder long after the picture was taken and played a game. The monkey would elbow my husband in the face knocking his sunglasses askew and then would quickly look away and feign innocence. My guy would say "Hey, what do you think you're doing?" fix his glasses and look at the monkey who would nonchalantly look back with a "Who me?" sort of look. This went on for more than 5 minutes and was too cute for words. Luckily someone grabbed my camera and took a picture (you can see me in the background, no longer interested in the boy's game). There were a lot of other memorable things about Gibraltar (the caves, the food, the scenery, the shopping, the people) but this is the one memory that is most treasured.

We visited Rome on another trip. It is a city worth visiting. History lives and breathes there. Our time there wasn't nearly long enough - we rushed around hoping to see as much as possible for fear we wouldn't some day return - I want to go back and spend a week just walking and taking in the the feel of the place. We spent one day - again, not long enough - in the Vatican. Breathtakingly beautiful, ancient and alive, and crowded cheek-to-jowl with people. This picture, though, caught my feelings perfectly. No matter how many surrounded me I always felt slightly alone, pensive and quiet in the Vatican.

Odd Ad Campaigns

2006-07-27T14:13:00.001-04:00

Here in Nigeria there have been some odd ad campaigns that have attracted my attention. When we first arrived there were signboards set up around the island proclaiming "It WILL snow on the island." It went on for about a month and then the signs changed to "The snow is here!" Noone was ever able to explain to me where the snow was or even what it was. Catchy ads in an African country, but a failure as far as product recognition goes. Over the last month or so a new campaign has been taking place. There were 4ft by 4ft orange blocks on various corners, etc. and they were all printed with the word "Orange." Thank goodness because otherwise the name of the colour may have eluded me! Then "rules" began appearing on the blocks:
Rule #2 - Professionalism Rule #4 - Honesty Rule #8 - Customer Service and so on. Ah-ha! This could be a new service coming to town! The blocks haven't changed but there are now billboards - and, yes, the billboards are orange - that declare "Simple. Orange. Guaranty Trust" It's a new bank! Somehow, though, it seems to me that they missed the mark with this ad campaign. I can't speak for anyone but myself when I say that "Simple. Orange." isn't quite what I look for in a bank. But that could just be me.

Travel

2006-07-15T09:24:00.000-04:00

Some of you may know that my dad has had another heart attack. Or as the doctors are saying "a heart incident." Ok, I get the need for correct medical jargon but to this layperson when your heart falters and you need help getting it started and then have to have parts put in to keep it working, that is a heart attack. He also has a viral infection, won't stay still and is scaring me to no end. The thought that his lack of willingness to take care of himself is going to kill him is very hard to live with.

In light of this, I have travelled home from Africa. If you are an American reading this - pay attention. Travel has become an endurance event. You have to be able to stand around in long lines, walk for endless miles down uninhabited corridors, decipher airline routing screens, be nice to stupid people wielding petty power, endure rude airline attendents, cope with delays, and deal with uncivil fellow travellers. I congratulate myself on getting home without causing an international incident! Here comes the part for my fellow Americans: Get dressed before leaving home, you look awful, and you're making yourself an easy target. Tshirts and shorts are not travel wear and you really are not more comfortable than you would be in a pair of chinos and a nice top. And stop with the flip-flops. Are you aware that in the rest of the world (and,oh yes, that does count, you don't live on this planet alone) flip-flops - no matter how many sequins or what 'great 'colour - are the footwear for the most desperate? Wearing flip-flops shows you are not a functioning member of society. So put on shoes and get rid of the damn baseball caps. You're a mess and it is embarrassing. In this day and age you don't need to be so easily identifiable. Flip-flops, baseball caps, shorts and tshirts are worn exclusively by US citizens while travelling. Have some courtesy for your fellow human being. Get dressed, put on some shoes and take off your hat. Show some self respect.

Blogs from another world

2006-07-11T14:45:00.000-04:00

Evidently there are a few readers out there! So, due to popular demand (which sounds as weird to me as it does to you), the below blogs are ones I have carried over from the first blog I started. Thanks for reading and please let me know your thoughts on any future brain droppings I may leave on this site!:

Sunday, June 11
An ordinary life?
I was thinking the other day that this is an ordinary life. Not much happens. Then this weekend happened. An old and much beloved friend came to visit; we cooked and drank and shopped and played. We made plans to meet up in the States early next year. Then it occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, what we think of as normal isn't so normal to others.  We shopped in the local market - outdoors, full of flies, dirty and smelly plus we bargained like fiends. I learned a new phrase - na wao for you - that actually means something along the lines of "good fortune for you!" but it is used sarcastically during bargaining. If given an outrageous price then you respond 'na wao for you' and start to walk away. Bargaining then commences in earnest. We came home with fresh pineapples (really - picked fresh), sweet milk, chicken, avacados, coriander and more. We made pineapple/rum drinks in the blender, went down to the pool and drank and swam and watched the freighters, sailboats and hand-dug canoes go by. It all sounds normal until you focus on the market (and the kids we hired to 'guard' us in the market) and the boats that went by. We then had an impromptu gathering today. Guacamole (freshly made) and chips, martinis and cheesecake and talk and laughter. Normal. But we talked about "hand counts" and who has been carjacked and who has had a home invasion and when the political violence will break loose and stop being localized. It made me think. I love doing this. But it is not normal. There are relatively few of us who do this. How lucky am I? Not being normal is ok. This is a great life!

Wednesday, May 31
SIGNS
 Current mood: Fantabulous
One of my favorite things about life overseas are the signs. English can be used in ways that are oh so funny.

Here in Nigeria some signs try very hard to be polite while dealing with topics that just shouldn't have to be addressed publicly:

"Do Not Urinate Do Not Defecate Do Not Litter No Standing"

Well, ok. I'm pretty sure that if the first 3 are going on I'm not going to be standing in that spot!

Some signs don't even try to be polite (or grammatical): "No Shit Here"

Some signs make you wonder why they need to be posted : "This house is not for Sale/Rent"

Some signs are endearing: "FolkLift to rent here" It was attached to a forklift so it was easy to know what they meant but the idea of "folklifting" justs seems sweet.

Some signs can just make you shudder: "Hair Braiding - Wherever you have hair we will braid it!" I think that means they will come to you wherever you happen to be. At least I hope so. Under arm hairbraiding can't be pretty.

Some signs tell you all about the product and what it will do succinctly: Kofgo Syrup

This is my favorite sign (so far): "Dr. Meyer's Gripe Water" I don't know what it does but I know a bunch of people that need it!

Wednesday, May 24
Life and Death  Current mood: as though the world has rocked unexpectedly
One of my two dearest girlfriends has died. I'm not ready. How selfish is that? She wasn't ready. Who can be when faced with liver cancer in their early 50's? Her husband and children couldn't have been ready for this either. And what about the grandchildren that are too young to remember the grandmother for whom they meant everything? But all I can think is that I am not ready. After more than 20 years of anytime, anywhere friendship, there is suddenly this gaping hole in my life and it feels unnatural.  God exists. I believe this. I know this. She is with God. She was much too good to be anywhere else.  Maybe what needs to be said is that a good woman died this week and the world is poorer without her but richer for her having lived here for however brief a time.  I love you Wanda. Thank you for making my life beautiful. Rest peacefully. You have earned it.

Thursday, May 18
This makes it official  Current mood: Traumatically acclimated
We went out to dinner the other night. Yes, again. And, no, I did not escape the dreaded squits. They're back. Thanks for asking.  Anyway.... We went out to dinner the other night and took the boat to get there (it's much faster to travel by boat between the islands). As crap-filled as the river is, it is still a river and there is something about water that is calming and beautiful. We happily gazed up and down the river and then noticed something pretty large coming at us. My guy turned to me and said "Is that a......?' And I looked closer. "Oh, yeah," I said, "it sure is, it's a body." And we watched it for a moment and ....... that was that. It didn't seem out of place or unbelievably disgusting. It was just a footnote to daily life. We simply continued on to a dinner that was lovely. When we related the story to our dinner companions the overall reaction was "Oh, that was your first? You'll see more." Then I ventured "Well, I saw a leg about two weeks ago, just from the knee down." And that led to the sharing of body and body part sightings. That it all seemed normal makes it official. We live here. We have acclimated.  There are many horrible things that I have learned to take in stride. I'm not happy about that. But this one really bothers me. I don't want to be used to bodies floating past my boat.

Sunday, May 14
Johari Window  Current mood: Feelin' Groovy
This looked like an interesting project so I thought I would give it a shot.  Please go to: http://kevan.org/johari?name=DawnH  (you'll need to cut and paste the URL, sorry) and let me know how you  perceive me. It should be eye-opening to see the difference between  what I think of myself and how you see me!

Thursday, April 27, 2006
Brown Water and English as a Foreign Language  Current mood: Surprisingly upbeat
Some things are unbearable. Brown water from the tap is one of them. I can live with the need to distill water for drinking, cooking, etc. I can live with the need to bleach fruits and veggies. I can live with intermittent electricity. I can live with having to purchase water at high cost to ensure that it is safe to drink because the distiller has coliforms in it. I can live with a lot of things that are pretty awful. But brown water....The brown water is getting to me in ways I can't begin to describe. Some days it is only a tea colour, others it is muddy. Today is a muddy day and I just feel dirty after showering. And laundry will just have to wait for a tea coloured water day.  English is not quite a truly universal language. Oh, I know, people will argue it isn't universal because not everyone speaks it but I beg to differ on that. I have yet to be in a country where English is not posted on something public for some reason if only for advertising. Trust me - Coke, Pepsi and McDonalds signs are everywhere! English is understood to some degree every country. Yet, as a native speaker of the language, I am finding that I am having difficulty in understanding English in other English speaking countries. Where I currently live is an English speaking country, at least officially. Everyone speaks a sort of British-accented English but they don't put the words together in ways that I seem to understand. For example: I had someone delivering a chair to me and something for my neighbour. I had agreed to receive the items for my neighbour and it was arranged that the delivery would be there before my place. The man arrives and says "The chair for you - someone is to be there." And looks at me expectantly. So I say "Yes, when we are done here we will go to my flat" and he repeats himself as do I. After several go arounds he finally gets exasperated with me and says "No, someone is to be there now" And the light bulb goes on! I say "Someone is there with the chair at this moment?" "Yes" comes the answer. Something like this happens every day. It isn't an accent thing (like the guy in Uruguay who very earnestly told me a story about "the pipples in the bitch" which turned out to be 'the people on the beach') but a different usage of a language I thought I knew. Shakespeare is difficult to read because of this very same usage of language issue. Come to think of it, there are now certain groups in the States are difficult to understand because of the usage of language issue. It must be that we are living through an evolution of the language or are living at a time when that evolution is readily apparent. I wonder if I will live to see where this current evolution leads? And, if I do, will I understand what is being said to me?

Friday, April 14, 2006
Disease and other odd items  Current mood: Another shitty day in paradise
I never did make it to the African style Mexican restaurant. The other restaurant gave me a present instead - Giardia - yeah me! So I have spent days alternating between laying on the bed and moaning at the stomach and intestinal cramps and running to the bathroom. I had this 12 years ago and it was months before it cleared up. It's a helluva weight loss program though. It will be interesting to see what other little bugs and infections I pick up while here. I feel like a walking lab! We now have a house pet. Well, he tolerates us living in his domain anyway. His name is Sneakers and he is a lizard. Why Sneakers? Because he tends to sneak up on us and just watch what we are doing. Ok, maybe Sneakers is a she but we think he is a he so he is. He's about the length of my hand and sort of a peachy flesh colour. Since he eats roaches and other bugs we are glad to have him. No matter what you do here there will be roaches. Fact of life, get used to it sort of thing. We were warned to plug all of our sink openings before nightfall each and every night. Good advice. Roaches come swarming up the drains at nightfall. But since Sneakers moved in we haven't seen a bug! I was sitting here the other day typing mail and the hair on the back of my neck went up..... you know the feeling.... you should be alone but you are suddenly aware that you are positively not alone...... and then you screw up the courage to look around and.... it was Sneakers. Standing in the doorway on his 4 little legs with his tail straight out looking at me with a "Whatcha doin'?" look. So I told him. He didn't flinch or turn and run at the sound of my voice like a normal lizard would. He seemed to listen. Now when we see him we talk to him and he turns towards the sound of our voices. It's kind of cute. We have a pet lizard!

Thursday, April 06, 2006
A Month. One Whole Friggin Month.  Current mood: Forgetting civilization
We have been here four entire weeks today. Only 100 more to go! Actually it isn't so bad. Except for the roach on the curtain in the living room this morning. He (she?) was as big as my hand. Ewww. And he (she?) wasn't giving up on the curtain either. We had a battle. I don't know who won. The roach finally fell off but then scuttled toward me and I ran screaming off into the other room. Maybe we can call it a draw and both walk off with our dignity Ahh, the pleasures of Africa.
We went to our first restaurant! We had steak. Ok, meat. Ok, something purported to be meat smothered in blue cheese sauce. It was good. Well, not Argentine beef good but not gag-reflex bad. We could have bought a whole cow for the price but we got out, made new friends and pretended that all is well with the world for a couple of hours. It was nice. We will try a Mexican place tomorrow night. Can you imagine? The African version of Mexican food. It will be a gastronomic adventure!

Monday, March 20, 2006
On The Economy  Current mood: chipper
I ventured out to the markets of Lagos this weekend. The range is wide, very wide. First there was the Liikke Market: outdoors with small, crowded wooden stalls with dirt floors, horrible smells and goods that ran the gamut from veggies to pirated to DVD's and CD's to beads and wooden statues. Bargaining is the name of the game and I was in my element. Then it rained. Not a small light rain but a torrential-this is rainy season-what are you doing outside kind of rain. Our 'helpers' (Frank and John) brought us umbrellas and we kept going until the water was up over our ankles. That was gross - there were things in the water, don't ask more - so we stopped. Next on the agenda... oh wait.... What are 'helpers'? Little boys who crowd around you when you arrive at the market fighting each other for the chance to carry your bags, bring you an umbrella (if needed), etc. All for a price. The equivalent of $1 or $2. Since we had Frank and John they got $5 between them. They were very happy boys.
Ok, on to the grocery stores and bakery...... We went to "Chocolate Royal." Heaven help me. After 3 years in Kinshasa where there was one small bakery with crappy baked goods (and precious few of those), this was like stepping into Disney. Breads, cookies, doughnuts (yes, real doughnuts), muffins, cakes, pastries, pizza, chocolates, eclairs, tirimisu, ice cream....... There was more but I went numb. My guy was like a kid let loose in a candy store. $40 later we left with: 8 doughnuts, 1 loaf bread, 4 cookies, 2 slices (tiny) of pizza and 2 muffins. Expensive? Yes. But it is available!!!! Then we went to Candy's. Same type of place only..... the ice cream was amazing. Beyond what we are willing to pay (ask again in 6 months): $35 for 1/2 gallon. We each had a scoop ($5) and enjoyed it.
We were then off to Park and Shop, one of several grocery stores in the city. Oh my. I cannot explain the feeling. It was a real grocery store. More like a department store. 3 floors. Food, household goods, clothing, shoes, paper goods. We were even there when they had milk. I cried. And this is just ONE of the stores?
Our last stop was La Point. They had veggies flown in from France. $10 for a head of lettuce, $12 for a bunch of celery, $20 for a kilo of oranges (about 2 lbs.) but none of it had to be cleaned (that is soaked in bleach water). I shopped and then had to retire from the field, excited and exhausted.
I think I will be ok here in Lagos:-)

Friday, March 10, 2006
First impressions....
We are in Lagos. Safely! So far it is much better than our last posting. The airport runway was smooth (what a shock to make a smooth, unscary landing), the airport was real - by that I mean a real building, not a shack, baggage carousels, people in lines!!!, carts for your luggage, moving sidewalks, etc. There were still the big scary guys with bigger scarier weapons but that was expected. The roads here are paved, not dirt and not pot-hole filled. There was electricity and water in our flat (apartment to the rest of you). The air-conditioning works, and there was water pressure enough to shower with. It is all overwhelming but in a good way. It is Africa still so there is wrenching poverty, terrible odours and all the other unimaginable things that somehow seem normal here. But... first impressions.... better than expected and much better than our last post. We will see what a few more days/weeks bring!

Wednesday, March 08, 2006
we have lift off  Current mood: unsure of the future
This is the day. As soon as I post this we head out and leave for Lagos. I can't believe we're going so soon.  Ah well.....wish me luck.

Tuesday, March 07, 2006
...and a wake-up  Current mood: waiting for godot
It has been a rough few days with farewells. Family members that won't/can't let go, friends that are excited about our 'new adventure' and friends who are terrified that we are off again. Leaving our daughter (grown woman that she is) is harder this time. She's become a friend... who knew this could happen? Leaving aged parents, knowing they may not be here when we return, is painful. But leaving grasping siblings is a relief.  Had dinner with an old friend last night. Haven't been able to get together in 5 years and we picked up seemingly in the middle of the same conversation. Talk of politics, religion, economics, lots of wine, lots of laughter. How different and yet oddly similar is the perspective of someone from another country. And how glad they are to get to this country! It was just good to be together again. Acquaintances are plentiful, real friends (the ones you can call anytime for any reason from anywhere) are rare and precious.

Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Holy Crap  Current mood: feeling the clouds lifting from my mind
This is amazing. Today was the first day of packing out for our move to Lagos. It's almost done! I thought we had tons of stuff. These guys have wrapped and packed our stuff at the speed of light. And with me hovering around panicking over every little thing. They're doing a good job, too (trust me on this, I have been through many, many packouts). We are approaching the end of the day so they are slowing down in order to stretch the job another day or two but no complaints from me. I think I forgot how well things can work in the US.

Monday, February 20, 2006
The Reality Of It All  Current mood: pensive
The reality of it is now setting in. I am sorting through everything we own and deciding what could be lost in Africa (in the move or while there) and so can go with us and what is too precious to risk losing and therefore is to be put into storage. I have a glass that my daughter gave me when she was just 5 years old. She bought it at a yard sale for a nickel. I love that glass. I use that glass. It has been my wine glass of choice for almost 20 years. It is much too precious to lose. So, it doesn't go with us to Nigeria. We have great pieces of art. Paintings, drawings, photos, statues, hand-carved furniture and more. None of it will go with us. All that will go are the basics. This is when I begin to question what we are doing. Can I do this...... again? The answer is yes. The bits and pieces that we surround ourselves with can be replaced. They aren't necessary for life. The basics and even more will be available. Life will be good. But as our 'things' go to storage, my heart breaks. We've worked hard for our things. The reality is that I want them with us.

Sunday, February 05, 2006
It's started  Current mood: weird
My guy let me know just about 2 hours ago that we are scheduled to move to Nigeria on March 1. It isn't sinking in very well. Back to Africa? I was so happy to be 'out of Africa' just a few short months ago! Well, I agreed to this. Now it's pack up the house, ship off consumables and once again say 'ciao' to our friends and loved ones. 21 days. Including today. Let me tell you something. If you love someone, tell them. Now. Today. Tomorrow you might be in Africa and while you can still tell them it isn't the same as being face to face. So do it. It's started.

Walking in Spirit

2006-07-08T15:46:00.000-04:00

"We walk in spirit." Isn't that a great phrase? It's a Nigerian phrase that has come to have meaning in my life recently. Did you ever do something only to find that someone else has done the exact thing needed to complete or compliment what you are doing? Coincidence, right? Not really, you "Walk in Spirit" with that person. It has happened to me many times in the past four months. I have needed to arrange a vehicle or a ticket or a meeting or, well, any number of things and there are a few FSN's (that's foreign service national to you - it means they are working at the US embassy but are citizens of the country the embassy is located in) here who always seem to have what I need. And that is a miracle. The overall incompetence here is unbelievable - a subject for another day, another blog. To walk into an office and ask for something and have the person standing there with it in their hands is almost spiritual. And it has happened to me so often that these people now tell everyone that we "walk in spirit." To them, this is rare and valuable and I have to admit that I do feel connected to people whose names I cannot pronounce. Which isn't as bad as it sounds; they can't pronounce my name either. "My sister" or "my brother" is working just fine for us!

There are many things that living in a third world country can do to a person. Cynicism, pessimism, arrogance, and guilt are the most common 'side effects' but to find beauty, to learn to walk in spirit with one from an alien culture is not so common. Now I look around wondering whom else I walk in spirit with. Try it. Life suddenly becomes much more pleasant.

Elephants on Safari

2006-06-24T06:48:00.000-04:00

Living in Africa brings some interesting moments. We have been able to go on safari a few times and this is one of my favorite pictures from a river safari we were on (in Botswana). This big guy swam across the river (yes, elephants swim!) in front of our boat and seemed a bit upset that we were in his path. Once he got onto solid land our boat operator decided we could get a bit closer. That wasn't in the elephant's plans. He was none too happy and turned on us pretty quickly. The trunk you see him swinging in this picture was only about 10-15 feet away and, well, he can move a ton of water with it. I got drenched about 5 seconds after snapping this picture. Luckily, he seemed to think that we had learned our lesson and turned his back and quietly walked off. Our boat operator thought it was fantastic. I think so , too...... now.

This is another safari (in South Africa) and yet another elephant (hmmm...... elephant troubles seem to be a theme on our safaris). This one was an adolescent who jogged after us for about a mile or so. We were driving along when he stepped out of the bushes in front of us. And thought we looked like something to play with. Our driver was terrified. Elephants have been known to roll vehicles over and even sit on them, crushing the occupants to death. So we were suddenly reversing down this winding, dusty path hoping that the elephant wouldn't decide to pick up speed and overcome us. It was terrifying. At first. Then we realized he was really just amusing himself. We would slow down, so would he. We went around a curve and stopped. The elephant slowly crept around the curve; his head peeking out from behind a bush looking for all the world like a small child playing peek-a-boo. Finally, we passed a water hole and that was more interesting to him so off he went. We were relieved and disappointed all at the same time.

There is a joke in Africa: Q. How do you hide an elephant? A. Stand him behind a tree.
Ok, I know. I didn't get it either. There is no picture of what I am about to say but then we saw it and understood the 'joke.'
One evening we were on one of those amazing African plains that go on forever. There was a lone tree off in the distance and a line of about 7 elephants walking towards it. Our guide stopped us and said "Watch." As the elephants approached the one solitary tree in the middle of the vast open plain they disappeared, one by one, as they went behind the tree. Really. Logic says they got to the tree and turned with the distance making them seem to disappear but at that moment..... It was magic. African magic at sunset.