Learning about myself

I dislike flying. I never knew that about myself until this last flight to Goleta. I'm not afraid of flying. I'm not worried that we will crash. I just dislike the experience and I like it less and less.

I always wanted to be the kind of person who enjoys flying. Once upon a time, I had a very mild sense of superiority at the ability to enjoy a flight. No longer. The pieces fit together too well and I must admit to my mild shame that I am coming to hate flying.

While waiting in a standing-room only holding area in Lagos while every passenger on a very full flight to Houston was being frisked again before we could board the plane, it all fell into place:

• The way I can't sleep the night before
• The way my "stomach" is angry from the time I reach my first gate until I get off the last plane
• The way every layover with kids in tow sends me over the top in stress
• The way very few things in Nigeria could upset my equilibrium, but just the thought of trying to make it through US customs and security to catch a 1 hour layover triggered my fight-or-flight mechanisms WEEKS in advance
• My growing sense that TSA is all things evil and sadistic

On the meaning of fidelity and sacrifice

This is the true story of a woman whose husband (of six weeks) was lost during WWII. She received multiple, contradictory statements about his fate from the military. Not knowing whether he lived or died, she decided they were still married and she would remain faithful to him. Now they do know what happened.

Wanderer in a Strange Land

You actually can go home again. There are just start up costs.

I expect to feel like I'm in a foreign country in Nigeria. I don't expect that in the US.

As we prepared to leave Nigeria and return to the US for the summer, we made careful plans. Among other things, we decided to leave as much as possible in Yola and buy anything we needed here, bringing only those clothes and so forth we would not be bringing back to Yola. That would preserve space for what we want to bring back with us. But that meant when we first arrived, we shampooed with the complementary hotel bottles, had no razors, etc. etc. etc. Few things say "Not At Home" quite like not having the specific things you use daily. [Fixed within 24 hours]

When we got to the US, we had no car insurance. So even though my parents were willing to let us borrow their car, we weren't legally allowed to. We hiked the mile to the store and back, lugging our medications, toiletries, and a few other things with us. Few things say "Not At Home" quite like not being able to get around. [Fixed within 72 hours]

When we got to the US, we had no phone. I expected this would be a major problem when we first arrived because I was certain there was no way on the Face on the EARTH we would get through customs and security with 2 red-eyed children, 2 red-eyed adults, and make it to our connecting flight with only a one hour layover. How would we let Mom know the new time to pick us up once our flights were rescheduled? Well, we found a way and it turned out by some minor miracle that we made our flight anyway. But few things say "Not At Home" quite like not having a phone, anyone's phone numbers, or ability to get hold of anyone. [Fixed within a week]

We're staying in Goleta right now, which is my home town. I know where everything is. Joy doesn't. Few things say "Not At Home" quite like needing to ask someone where literally everything is. How do I find food? Where can I take the children to play? When is church?

"You assume when you come back to the US, you assume you have a sense of independence again ... and it takes a while to set that up," Joy adds.

On the other hand, few things say "Welcome Home" quite like having all your favorite, beloved, only-in-the-US foods ready and waiting for you (Thanks, Pop!); knowing that everyone not only speaks the same language as their primary language, but speaks it the same way you do; the many hugs and smiles from friends and family; sleeping in the same room you had 20 years ago with your son sleeping where you did 30 years ago; (in my case) knowing where everything is; and finally rebuilding that ability to live and function independently. We got library cards within the first 2-3 days also and checked out nearly 50 books, mostly for the kids.

It's wonderful to be Back Home.

A comment on the economics of Harry Potter

And, oh yes, we're back in CA safe and sound, happy to be well-fed on fresh fruits, vegetables, and Mexican seasonings, and well-rested but on East Coast time.

For some reason this early morning, I was pondering on the holes in the Harry Potter series, specifically the economics holes.  This is all very nit-picky as most fantasy/sci-fi authors ignore or try to wave away economics (replicators destroy money, replaced by gold pressed latinum, anyone?). But it is instructive of the kinds of things we forget markets provide for us. Today's installment: the markets for education and food.

1) The only ways Rowling deals with class are to have tension between an aristocracy and everyone else (mostly Malfoys and their aristocratic henchmen ... say what?) and a downtrodden caste (little green elves). So here's my question: why do the Malfoys send their kids to a school that is affordable by people like the Weasleys? Britain has a long and venerable tradition of "public" schools that are really private, so it's a surprising oversight to me. There is no mention of the tuition fees at Hogwarts, room and board fees which are quite substantial at British boarding schools, scholarships (why does Ron never worry about maintaining a high-enough GPA given his study habits?) and so forth. If the students aren't paying, where does Hogwarts get its money? If the school is totally public, the Ministry ought to be able to exercise a lot more control than it seems to.

2) Where does the food come from? Elves can't magic it up. Mrs. Weasley doesn't create food, but has a potato peeling spell. Are the wizards buying food from Muggles? If they are regularly buying goods and services from Muggles, why do they have truly no concept about their culture, ways, technology, and fashion? If not, where are the wizard farmers who grow food instead of reagents? Speaking of which, where is the foodie movement, arguing that non-magically modified organisms simply taste better and are healthier for you? I've always wondered in general why they never teach the potato peeling spell at school - where are home economics, barbering (how to not cut yourself with magically-propelled scissors, how to get your hair to change the exact shade you want, etc), wizard fashions, and other useful and applied classes that would help them function in the world without needing to deal with Muggle markets?

Things that count (aka 1st world problems in 3rd world countries)

I'm paid in US dollars. This is very nice because I don't have to worry about my 3-year contract eroding 35% or more during its course.

The problem is when I want to exchange dollars for naira (NIGH-ra). I go to the bank and hand them $2000, let's say, and then I need to stand around counting out 310-320 thousand naira bills because the exchange rate stays between 155 and 160 per dollar. I'm not nearly as confident and rapid a counter as the locals, so it takes a while and I invariably make mistakes and have to recount. If they hand me a wad of 500-naira bills, it takes twice as long.

I have more than once wished they would print a N5,000 ($30) or N10,000 ($60) bill to speed the counting process along. Imagine trying to get along for a year with nothing larger than a $5 bill and ALL your financial transactions are in cash.

Then I think better of it. Most of the time, I go to buy bananas from a street vendor and the chap has to wander around to all the other nearby vendors finding change. Because I only have thousand naira bills and can't hand him anything closer to N300, they invariably have trouble making change. I think of the challenge of asking someone to break a 10k naira bill....

Yeah, no. More than half the population doesn't even earn N10k per month. Imagine someone asking you to make change for one month's salary! Oh, the idle and unthinking rich. Wo unto us.

There's not enough Prince on this blog...

At the Cinco de Mayo celebration, chasing Daddy

Getting some love from "Aunt Margee."

LDS in Nigeria 1992: Being the Light

A February 1992 Ensign article describes four people in different parts of the world and how they serve in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. One of them is David Eka of Nigeria. Even before joining the Church, he prayed regularly and felt God's protecting hand:

With the assurance that the Lord was protecting him, he prayed every night in the bush, promising to serve God if he arrived home safely. He was forewarned once, he says, by “a still small voice in me” to leave a bunker that was bombed seconds later. The Lord protected him, and he safely returned home. ...
He was asked to assist Church representatives in the translation and proofreading of selections from the Book of Mormon. “That gave me a chance to know what was in the Book of Mormon. At the end of it, I knew it was all true.”
He wrote to tell his wife of his baptism, but it was not until she rejoined him in Nigeria that she saw for herself the changes wrought by the gospel in his life. She began her own secret study of his books. After gaining a testimony, she told him that she, too, wanted to be baptized. ...
He served as the first black stake president in Africa and now serves as a regional representative for the Aba Nigeria Region. ...

Nomnomgeria - a repost

I posted this on our family blog about a year ago after my visit. So these are the thoughts of someone who hasn't lived in Nigeria for a year:

Stuff to get 2012

You can buy more things in Yola than you might guess, but the holes are unusual. I came out here this time last year to get a better feel for what we would be missing, taking pictures throughout the stores. Then after we had lived here a few months, I went back to the US for a conference and filled two more suitcases with things we missed. Now that we're heading back to the US again, we've prepared by updating a list of things we miss and want to bring back with us for the next year. In case it is useful to others thinking of moving to AUN, here is our list of things to buy from the US:

Popcorn

Last week while grading, I found a new computer game -- think Pong with 4-20 balls going at the same time and an updated version of the world's first electronic hit, Popcorn, playing in the background. It got me readdicted to the song and I sought out a good updated version. I haven't found one as good as the video game soundtrack, sadly.

I couldn't wait to share it with Prince again. So one morning I played it for him. Since it looked like he needed some pressure, I also rubbed his face in time with the music. (Lee-de-dee, rub the forehead; dee-dede-dee, rub the nose; dee, rub the chin; repeat). He enjoyed that very much. Sometimes I used my own hand, mostly I held his hands and had him give himself the pressure.

Princess watched in fascination. As soon as Prince and I were done, she put her hands on her forehead to ask for the same game. I played it with her for a moment and she laughed and laughed. I thought nothing of it.

That was more than a week ago. Princess has a regular habit now of staring at me intently, then putting her hands up on the side of her head to ask for Popcorn. I figured out what she meant out of context too and taught Joy to play the game. She regularly asks for it during meals since it's a game she can play while waiting for her food.

This morning, Joy was nursing Princess. Princess stopped eating and then out of the blue Princess hit Joy in the face! Joy recounts:

"I told her no. She did it again. I said, 'No, that hurts. We don't hit Mommy in the face.' And she looks at me and appears to be thinking. And then she said, 'Dad' and put her hands up to her ears. I realized she wanted to play the Popcorn game. I said, 'No. I'm not Daddy. I want soft.' And I touched her face soft. She tried to touch my face soft, and it wasn't soft. So I said No, and then she tried again and it was soft. I said 'Thank you.'"

We are very impressed at her budding communication skills. Her favorite word is "Dad," which is sometimes only "Da" and some rare times "Dada." She says "Yeah" and she tries to say "Jesus" when He is pointed out to her. Oddly enough, she doesn't say "Mama" very often.

She raises both her hands and waves them when she is all done eating. We've tried to teach her the sign language for "More," but most of the time she does that when she doesn't want more. When she knocked away the spoon with some baby cereal on it this morning, I commented it was the 'international sign for Something Else Please' and Joy laughed. She said to make sure I included that in this blog. She knows to fold her hands when we tell her to for prayers and can wave bye-bye most of the time.