Independence Day

Today Hillcrest School celebrated Nigerian Independence Day.  The country will have been independent for 52 years on October 1^st but as that day’s  a holiday the school celebrations were held today.

Chapel

All pupils and parents were encouraged to come to the morning chapel service dressed in their Nigerian finery.  It was quite a sight to see people of all ages in the beautiful vibrant materials and fashions of Nigerian dress.  There was even a fashion show with pupils representing some of the different tribes of Nigeria in their characteristic clothes.  With the music led by a local band, it was sometimes more like a rock concert.  Nigerians are not a quiet people.  Coupled with the American contribution, at times I wished that I’d brought my head-tie just to protect my ears.  It was a joyful celebration including a short dvd of pupils talking about why they loved Nigeria.  I’m sure I saw a future president, now in elementary school, on the screen. 

Chapel was rounded off by a talk from one of the parents, an economist who runs his own business.  He was contrasting the great advantages Nigeria has in its people and resources with the faulty system that allows for corruption and mismanagement.  We hope and pray that many of the pupils at Hillcrest will grow up to become leaders in their country, full of integrity and Christian love.

Driving licence

The saga of the driving licence continues.

Today Fraser and I were taken back to driving school (22 years for me, 17 for him after we’d passed our UK driving tests) to take a test to prove we are worthy of a Nigerian driving licence.  The driving school, run by a man about to go off on a two week mission to Ghana, has a motto: “Something good out of Nazareth”.  I struggle to see the relevance but I can definitely appreciate the need for divine favour and protection if you’re a driving instructor in Nigeria.  Our test consisted of looking at a sheet of a dozen road signs and being able to identify ones picked at random by the instructor.  He also waved a copy to the Nigerian Highway Code at us to ensure that we could recognise the up to date version.  We filled in a form and were presented with a colourful certificate (already graded B so we wouldn’t get too big headed I presume) which announced that we had satisfied the examiner.

This certificate is our passport to the next stage of the licensing process.  Off we went back to the vehicle inspectorate office to see what we should do next.  Thankfully our “friend” from the last trip was not there.  Instead a helpful officer gave us another form to fill in, said she’d start processing it and told us to return tomorrow having paid the fee at the bank and obtained four photocopies of the proof of payment.  If it wasn’t that people are often stopped by the traffic police I would seriously wonder if it was worth all the palaver.

If anyone's interested, the puppy's doing well, although he gets a bit nippy when excited (any tips gratefully received).  He seems pretty quick at catching on to instructions - we haven't had an accident inside since the day after he arrived.  It is a bit like having a baby again as I have to get up to let him out in the middle of the night and, like a toddler, he'd follow me everywhere if he could.  Thankfully he sleeps a lot so I'm able to get on with the new book ACTS has sent me.  This one considers the influence of traditional culture on African Christians, a very interesting and relevant topic.

A New Arrival

Besa

Yesterday our new puppy arrived.  This wasn't entirely planned as we wanted to be settled in to our house at TCNN before acquiring any livestock but I went visiting Anne Karin Lauritzen last week and one of her first questions was, "Do you want a dog?"  "Besa" is the larger of two pups. The name that immediately sprang to my mind was "Podge" but James and Ruth objected.  Instead he's called Podge in Danish which was what the Lauritzens had already named him.  He's having to make do with mainly homemade toys - a cereal box and one of James' worn out socks stuffed with newspaper.  I only hope he doesn't decide to play with James' feet as they'd smell the same (poor thing!).

I'd been thinking a dog would be reassuring when we moved to TCNN as the house is on the edge of the compound.  The rising tension on Friday helped to make up my mind about Besa.  I was at a BRICC meeting when we heard gunshots from the direction of the mosque in the afternoon.  It's quite an experience, especially as you don't know what exactly is happening.  I learned later that a group of Muslim youths had decided they wanted to burn a church in retaliation for the film that's causing so much trouble.  The security forces decided not to allow their demonstration and fired warning shots to disperse them.  It was a great answer to the prayers going on throughout the city that there was very little violence that day

Barbing

One of the delights of Nigeria is the wonderful names that a lot of businesses have.  There's "De Final Home" for a road side coffin maker and plenty of "Barbing" shops where you can have your hair cut.  Before we came here I hung up the hairclippers I used to used on Fraser and James, greatly relieved to no longer have the responsibilty of making them look respectable.  We thought it would be a good way to get to know people if the two of them went to a Nigerian barber.  Howver, a Nigerian himself advised them not to. The custom here is for men to have scalpshort haircuts and the equipment is not always cleaned as well as it could be so it's safer and more hygenic to have your own set of clippers.  A friend asked a barber to get some and last night I tried them out on Fraser.

Have you ever been in the situation where you wish you hadn't started something but the only way is onwards?  The first cut, even with the single attachment fixed, was more like a shave than a haircut.  I tried to confine it to a very short back and sides but once Fraser saw it he decided the only way was to cut the whole lot that length.  After screwing up my courage I obliged, with James extremely thankful that I hadn't tried out the cutters on him first.  I won't put up a photo (some things are best left to the imagination) but now it's like living with a convict and James begged me to take them to school today. 

Apart from hair clippers I thought you might be interested in a few of the little frustrations of life in Nigeria.  One of the biggest is matches.  We have a gas cooker.  I've never used fewer than three and often many more matches to light it.  Some break before they light, some flare then immediately die, some just don't light at all and all the stuff at the tip scrapes off.  I am so thankful for my Swedish army firesteel.  Not only is it far more efficient, it's much more exciting to light the gas with a shower of sparks.

A few days ago I made some tomato soup on the gas with my trusty pressure cooker.  All went well until it was time to use the hand blender.  No electricity.  Good job I'd already bought a potato masher.  Life in Nigeria is a matter of thinking ahead and not taking little things such as consistent mains power for granted like we can in the UK but I love it here.

Call the Cones Hotline! (Fraser’s first blogpost)

One of the stereotypical complaints about life in the UK recently has been the over-enthusiastic use of traffic cones to cordon off miles and miles of road with no work actually taking place.  In Nigeria yesterday, I experienced the inverse of this – a contraflow system with no cones, no road-signs, and no controls.

The main road from Bukuru to Jos is a dual carriageway, but with no barrier – just a grass strip as a central reservation.  Accordingly, when the workmen started repairs across the whole width of one section of the northbound carriageway, drivers were invited to make their own arrangements.  This was achieved by crossing the grass boundary and driving the wrong way down the “fast” southbound lane, on the assumption that the southbound traffic would understand what was going on, and leave that lane clear.

It all seemed to work fairly well, although matters were complicated by a fuel truck which had tried to cross at a point where the central reservation was substantially lower than the tarmac, and had got stuck at a crazy angle.  The other traffic therefore had to negotiate round a recovery vehicle which was being used to winch the fuel truck back on to the road.

The whole experience was fairly symptomatic of driving in Nigeria.  It seems to be crazy and chaotic, but it works!

Grace Gardens

Yesterday I pitched the idea of a creative thinking course to some of the community elders and BRiCC teachers.  Their enthusiasm and commitment was obvious – if I’d been ready I think we could have started the class there and then.  The teachers are keen to improve their techniques and learn new ideas but raised some issues that I wasn’t aware of.  One of them asked, “If you start having fun, however focussed, in the classroom, how do you bring a class of up to 60 back to the lesson?” Haven’t got an answer to that one yet.  I explained that I couldn’t tell anyone how to teach maths, English, computers, nursery children etc but that I hoped to be able to give them the confidence to use their own abilities and encourage creative thinking techniques in teaching and life in general.  Anything that would promote the use of alternative, yet effective discipline (instead of beating for not being able to do the work) and teamwork within the classroom would be a success as far as I’m concerned.

This morning I finally got to Grace Gardens and regretted that I hadn’t brought my camera.  The building and walled grounds are extremely elegant – they were built by a Muslim for his favourite wife and are full of decorative arches and tiled floors.  Unfortunately, as the tension rose in Jos, this man was threatened that his house would be burnt down if he didn’t move from the “Christian” area so he’s renting it out to Grace Gardens.  

When we walked through the gate a group of children of all sizes ran to meet us with hugs.  Even those who could only reach my legs kept coming back for another hug.  Some of them were orphans, others live in the house with their mothers but all were eager for any attention offered and quickly began a clapping game with Keesha, a new American recruit to Grace Gardens whilst MA’s Angie showed me around until I was claimed by little Rejoice who led me off to read to her.  The story of Josiah and the book of the Law was not one that I would have automatically gone for but she chose it and seemed to enjoy it.

The bedrooms contain at least 2 sets of bunk beds and an ensuite bathroom.  Mothers and children live together and all help with the household chores.  Most of the ladies weren’t actually at home.  Recently they’ve been going out for training every morning which would make it difficult for me to get involved with them during term time but is completely necessary.  There’s little incentive for girls to leave prostitution if they have no alternative means of making a living.  They return just as I’m needed at home for when James and Ruth come back from school but I’m sure I could work something out for the holidays.  I was particularly impressed by the set up in the back garden.  A tankful of catfish provides fertiliser for the tomato plants growing in raised beds beside it.  Ruth and Sunday the house parents seem to run a good home for sometimes rather difficult occupants.

When I returned home I got my first lesson in Nigerian cookery.  Becky bought a catfish from the market (live until the seller hit it on the head and put it in a plastic bag).  She pounded garlic, ginger and chilli with my wooden pestle and mortar, added tomatoes and potatoes  to make a stuffing, washed and rubbed the fish with salt to remove the sliminess and scales.  It was then wrapped in foil and left to me to bake for tea tonight.  I actually feel like a proper missionary cook as I steamed a pudding in the pressure cooker in a "Milo" tin.  Turned out very nicely too.

Driving licences

Today we had our first experience of Nigerian bureaucracy.  Fraser and I were driven and escorted by Luka to the office for driving licences in Jos.  We took our place among the queue of people waiting there and settled down with our kindles, expecting a long wait.  After a short time a man emerged from the inner office and asked to see our UK licences.  With a rueful smile he shook he head, said they weren’t valid in Nigeria and announced that we would have to go to driving school and pass a test before we’d be given a Nigerian licence.  I must admit that this struck me as amusingly ironic and visions of a school in which most good UK driving habits are undone were uppermost in my mind.  Then our friend revealed that if we paid him N24000 each we could have our licences the next day.  

When we were somewhat reluctant to follow him to the office to clinch the deal he turned and told us to do the maths – paying him would be cheaper than paying for driving lessons.  As usual the retort came to mind too late: I didn’t want to do the maths, I wanted to get a licence honestly. 

Nigerian driving is really something else.  It’s crazy but somehow it works if (as Fraser said) you have a robust attitude to other road users.  When you’re new and stop to analyse the driving style it is quite terrifying but now I’m enjoying the freedom. 

 

On Monday Becky our househelp came for the first time.  Everything takes twice as long in Nigeria and if I am not going to sink under chores I need some help.  Becky did the washing (by hand as the low water pressure at TCNN does not make it worthwhile to buy a machine here) cleaned the house and made lovely cinnamon rolls, all the time accompanied by 6 month old Zion.

Great way to carry a baby

Zion