Sprawly and dropped off

In 15 minutes, I'll be heading out with 20 other volunteers for our historical drop-off day. When I was at my own orientation in 2003, we were in a new place and did not do the drop-off day. Now that I have this job, I've taken out 7-8 groups in urban areas, rural areas, and suburban sprawly areas and dropped them off and wished them luck. Today is my turn to give it a shot. Yes, it's a bit hypocritical of me to drop groups off and without having experienced it myself. This is due in part to having a hectic orientation schedule, lack of drivers, or too much work to do on our 'off' day. Since Amazing Don is shadowing Beth, this frees my day up so I can go out and walk the hills of Carroll County. Beth and Don didn't really keep me in the loop that I was an actual participant so I had a hand in helping choose the groups, figure out directions to and from the spot of drop-off only to be told that I was participating. Ok time to head out!

Harry Caray and Me and Beer and Family

I went to the Cubs game yesterday. It made me think a lot about the firsts in my life. The first baseball game I saw was in 1988. I was nine and the Cubs were playing the Mets. I thought their uniforms were pretty hideous because they had orange on. I grew up knowing that red plus blue equals the Cubs colors. That day I met Harry Caray, the semi-sober announcer for the Cubs. Growing up with Harry announcing meant that everyone learned how to do a good Harray Caray impersonation. I'd have to say that my brother has the best one around. I met Harry at a Subway. He came in for something to eat and said to us, "You all coming to the game today?" His eyes smiled behind his big black rimmed glasses and he walked on out of the sandwich shop. In 1994 I went back to Wrigley with a great mish mash of friends and family. It was cousin Tyler, my brother, his college roommate Doc, my best friend Sarah who had just returned from her home in Egypt, and my folks. My folks had good seats behind home plate, and the rest of us sat in the bleachers in left field. In 94' the Cubs fever hadn't hit yet so we paid about $6 a person for bleacher seats. In the middle of the game, the blitzed fan behind me stood up to cheer and spilled his beer on my shoulders. We all turned around and stared at him. I'm pretty sure he felt pretty bad about it. 10 minutes later he stumbles over his bleacher buddies with an extra beer in hand and passes it directly to me. Yup, my first ever beer was given to me by a stranger in the bleachers when I was 15. I was pretty sure my folks weren't watching the game. I had it in my mind that they were following our every move with an old set of binoculars, as if they suspected that I was guzzling warm Old Style beers. To be honest it tasted pretty nasty and it warmed up quickly as I held onto it for the next 4 innings. Ahhhh firsts...

Hooray!

A few days back, I went running for the first time with my ipod. I've been hesitant about running with headphones on because of not being able to hear traffic/dogs/burglars coming up behind me. Nonetheless I tried it out and it went well. I actually ran farther than ever before with the help of music. Right off, I noticed that the music drowned out my huffing and puffing and weird nose sounds. Not being able to gauge my exhaustion level from breathing made me concentrate more on my muslces and running form. Before using music, I was listening to myself breathe hard, which freaked me out and made me slow down. Now it seems the music has masked that and I can run longer! Since the music has sort of blocked my breathing, my sense of smell kicked in and I could smell about 5 different fabric softeners being filtered out of people's houses too! Hooray for senses!

I am a follower.

http://www.pbs.org/wnet/religionandethics/episodes/july-7-2006/barbara-brown-taylor/1792/

Journal Thursday!

22 June 2006. My JS3 (8th graders)kids are learning how to do journal entries-so I am entering one here as well. So my time is just about up. I find it difficult to teach everyday, especially when the textbook is finished and my kids don't get official, final grades. 3 years, it seems so long and short at the same time. The school sessions have gone fast. The weeks to weeks have also sped by but month ot month, it seems so slow. Thursdays are my long days. 5 lessons in a row. Saratu will make rice and beans tonight. Wahoo!

Observances

Things seen on my walk with Eli:
A car driving over the curb to look at white dog.
A guy lighting the grill while texting.
Eli raising an unbarked protest: lying down in the street to protest the oppressive heat (it was 62F)

Things seen on my neighborhood run:
1 pillowtop mattress and box springs (Queen size)
1 diaper genie (used)
The lady that punches the air when she speed walks (she smiles with her eyes when I pass her)
2 giggling kids hiding in the bushes while their dad yells in Polish to get in the house for dinner.
1 blonde-haired 5 year old laying on the hood of a car and staring at the sky next to the dumpster.

Ramadan

A lady spoke up in church today and reminded our little congregation that Ramadan is here and that we should be sensitive to their month of fasting. And that got me thinking to the parts of my life where I lived with my Muslim neighbors.

The first time I heard a call to prayer after sundown (which broke the day of fasting) was in a little town called Garkida in the northeast of Nigeria. I went there to stay in an old missionary house for a weekend with a few of my colleagues. (What I'm really trying to say was the house had a waterbed and everyone wanted a chance to sleep on it) We had gotten to the house in the early evening and fixed a quick dinner so everyone (2 Swiss and me) could hang out and rest. After everyone had rested we headed down the hill to the main road that ran parallel to the Hawul River (did I mention it's really humid in Garkida due to the fact that the town is plopped down next to this huge river) So imagine 3 sunburned people walking down this long main road with shacks, and roadside stands frying up dough and meat and potatoes and yams and beans, and stray dogs, and chickens, and old men sitting on worn out logs, and well you get the idea I guess. And then we heard it.

Tap tap tap like someone checking a microphone to see if it's on.

Tap tap tap. And then a man's voice comes on the system.

And he sings in the most upbeat voice, "Allah akbar!" (Which in my translation means God's the best!!! God really is the best!!!!) And the Imam's voice isn't the normal flatlined voice that everyone always hears. This voice is completely transformed! This guy is happy to be singing the call to prayer! And you know what, everyone in the streets was in total agreement. The Imam sang the call to prayer over and over and just got more excited to be singing it! This call to prayer was a rejoiceful one. It was clear why he was so elated. The fast of the day was done, and after prayers were finished everyone was going home for a huge feast. It's pretty amazing that one man's voice can change the mood of a public space in such a short amount of time.

In my life I don't use Allah in my everyday conversations. But when I see or sing or read the word Hallelujah or Alleluia I know I'm connected to my neighbors in a deep sense of understanding!

Allah Akbar!

I'm that jogger girl.

Run. Running. Ran. I've started this thing called running. Growing up, running was used as a punishment from first grade through the twelfth grade. If I was late to practice, I had to do extra laps. If I missed free throws at the beginning of practice, Coach N____ added them to the tally at the end of practice so they lingered over me the entire time. So running wasn't so high up there in the list of things I felt I could do for fun. But something happened in my brain. My brain, (let's call her Joyce) told me to pick up the speed and swing my arms. And you know what? I was running! (Please read that sentence with the intonation and fervor of Forest Gump) I couldn't really run far without getting pissed off and out of breath. But I kept doing it because it made Joyce happy. And now it's been about a month and I can run a lot longer than when I started out. Actually this week something changed. My breathing during running changed. Early on I would just huff and suck wind in and out of my mouth. I once read that a person can get the most amount of oxygen in and Co2 out by inhaling through the nose and exhaling through the mouth. Well that's all well and good but I can't get it down very well. So my breathing theory has been inhale/exhale through my nose. I can do this for a lil while and then I have the urge to huff it out. But here's where the change happened: I don't have the urge to huff it anymore. I ran for 30 minutes tonight and realized I never had to open my mouth! Wowzers! So to celebrate I ran two laps!

If I was a poet this would be my poem.

My day is simple.

Walk the dog. Run around the block.

Shower. Eat. Drive aggressively to appear as a Chicagoan.

Sit in a grey chair for several hours. Eat and sit with familiar faces.

And even more familiar stories.

Back to work in the grey chair surrounded by white walls.

Get back in the car and drive in the middle lane.

Less potholes in the middle lane.

Take dog out. Don't look at him while he poops.

Check the mail. As usual all of it is for others.

Krzysztof. Amy. Jaimus.

Find ingredients for dinner.

Tonight. Mushrooms. Rice. Sesame Oil. Red hot pepper flakes. Local purple garlic.

And when I say local I mean Harrisonburg.

Watch the news. Read a book. Write my song.

Run around the block. Sleep. Repeat.

Thoughts in a day

Volunteers.
Circle-up. Announcements.
Session. Break.
Any questions?
Food groups.
Free time.
Read the files.
Ask questions.
Turn in your yellow sheet.
Get up early enough to have breakfast for 20 on time.
Ask questions.
Get on your bike.
Get off your bike.
Sit by someone new.
Ask questions.
Sleep hard.
Hang your clothes on the balcony.
Fetch them when they blow off.
Be quiet for 5 minutes of silence
Do a devotion for the remaining ten.
Check your food groups.
Choose a project.
Go there.
Ask questions.

Yea Bah

Susanne is here! We lived and worked for a year in Nigeria together. Yea for old friends. Bah for not being able to remember specific people and happenings.

Meals this week.

Sticky rice.

Sticky rice with mangoes.

Sticky rice with mangoes and warm coconut milk.

Sticky rice with veggies.

Sticky rice with veggies, chicken, Szechuan style.

Tortillas.

Tortillas and scrambled eggs.

Tortillas, scrambled eggs, and black beans.

Tortillas, eggs, beans, and cream.

Hominy.

Hominy and collared greens.

Hominy, collared greens, and and peanut sauce.

OT and Andy

Ever had that super proud feeling? As if your heart would just burst from happiness? I remember the first time I ever felt that. Let's take a trip down my memory lane, k?

Place: Gym floor (covered with a huge green tarp, so as not to scuff the precious Missile Basketball/Volleyball court.

People around me: Everyone from K-5, which is about 100 kids or so. We're all sitting on our knees. Kindergartners in the front row, followed by each grade sequentially. I'm about 3 rows deep, guess that means I'm in 2nd grade. It's dark and dimmed in the gym for only being 10am on a Friday in early spring. The teachers form a solid line behind us, they're pointing at us to "be quiet, pay attention, and BEHAVE." I'm pretty much convinced that they have been selected to be teachers because they possess severely pointy fingers to single us out from the crowd when we're getting ourselves into trouble. They're all excellent pointers.

Ok, now that that's all been explained, what on earth could possibly be happening in front of us? Well.....it's the High School Musical!!!!! It's not only the musical, it's my brother up there! On that huge stage. Without his glasses, looking like a true orphan. I can't believe it! He knows all of his lines! He sings solos, he dances, he's OLIVER TWIST!

A few months back, he came from school white as a ghost. Mom asked how the auditions went, and my brother, the skinny, pale, knock-kneed, near-sighted young guy said in the quietest voice, "I'm Oliver." Mom says something like, well...you're just going to have to walk back up to school at tell them no. My brother, Andy, was in 8th grade at the time, and was just trying out for the background characters. He accidentally got picked to be Oliver. Our whole family was in shock.

Soon, we started to learn the songs along with Andy. I vividly remember seeing the black and white script and songbook appearing in all sorts of places. Bathroom floor, top of the tv, in the car. And then it was gone. I didn't see the book, I didn't hear any tunes coming from anywhere in the house. It was as if the play had already happened and we'd forgotten about it.

But that Friday morning it all came back to me. "Food Glorious Food" was sung and I knew some of the lines and sang along! What a feeling! To know that my brother was on the stage singing and dancing in front of people and doing it rather well! I had this overwhelming feeling of possession. It's the best way I can describe it! That was MY BROTHER up there and he lived in the same house as me and I knew some of the songs the cast sang, and I just knew he was amazing up there. That 'little kid' sense of pride was so overwhelming and so great! It felt like I was going to explode with happiness!

Later that night, I got to watch him do the whole musical for a real audience and it was pretty great! His little voice was so high when he sang "Where Is Love," he even closed his eyes when he sang! I was so impressed with the whole thing. The sets, the costumes, even the make-up, and especially the kids who got to spray their hair gray. It was all amazing.

Nowadays I don't get that sense of pride as much as I did in the 2nd grade. But that's ok...thinking of that day sitting on my knees and watching my brother change into an orphan for an hour was just perfect.

Journal Thursdays

I don't have much to write today. So I thought why not cheat and read back through some old stuff when I lived in Kwarhi. So basically, if you're reading this, you've discovered my old journal. Pretend you've been snooping around and just discovered this little gem.

"27 November 2004. Saturday afternoon. A.M. has been telling me all kinds of stories today. Sometimes she repeats them but I listen as if they're new to me. I read the new book by Dave Eggers this week. Mom sent it in the mail to me. I wish I was a witty author. P. taught me how to ride a motorcycle today. I was freshman-year nervous, but I didn't even crash. I did about 7 laps around Bachmann's and Yuguda's house. If I get a regular motorcycle then it will be difficult to ride in dresses. But a VESPA would be easier in a dress. Today I went to Christie and Luka's wedding today with P, U, Kwaji, and Rebekah Dauda. It went well, we saw 3 big accidents on the way home between Madagali and Michika. I hope I never am in an accident over here. Chances are slim that one would survive. Final exam questions are due this week. I still don't have my questions ready. I also have to grade 70 more essays from the semester, too."

Well wasn't that about as exciting as watching paint dry? Check back next Thursday for the newest installment of old journal entries.
To enhance your snooping, please listen to "As Time Goes By" by Jimmy Durante

A Daily Playlist

To get work done in a calm, cool, collected manner: Frank Sinatra (the Early Years)
To brainstorm ideas and think in weird ways: Fischerspooner
To act like I'm working but not really: Beethoven
To reminisce about life while I work: James Taylor
To chat with my boss while I work: Electric Light Orchestra
To write long-winded, angry emails: Ani DiFranco
To drive home on a sunny day: NPR All Things Considered
To cook barefoot in the kitchen: Kings of Leon

Does this give you seizures?

My least favorite blog is by a favorite couple of mine but it's a black background and white lettering which burns the imprint of words into my eyeballs, so even after I'm done reading their updates, the image of words is emblazoned on everything I look at. That's what this blog is designed to be: The most painful thing you'll look at all day. Thanks!

Too cold to type.

Well hello again. I've been a nonblogger for several months again. And yet I'm getting ready to leave again. But things are getting easier aren't they?

Aiki Aiki Aiki (work work work)

Someone asked me what a typical day at orientation would resemble:

6:30 alarm goes off. look around and think about the day
6:32 run to the shower and out in 8 minutes
6:50 gel hair deodorant arms brush teeths
7:00 elevator to ground floor brisk walk to kitchen
7:05 grab coffee paper sit and talk to volunteers
7:30 begin breakfast toast cereal coffee possibly repeat
8:30 quiet time
9:00 session til 11:00
11:00 food groups start lunch
12:30 eat lunch (.75 per person)
2:00 session til 4:00
4:00 food group preps dinner ($1 per person)
6:00 dinner
7:30 til 9:00 session
9:00 volunteer led devotion

ah the typical day at work.

A sterile life.

I drove a lot today. From here to Elizabethtown to Ephrata (named from the biblical Ephrata which means purt' near Bethlehem) and then back to here. A lot of driving. A lot of weird roads. Driving from south to north is easier for me because I feel like I am navigating on the map. As if I'm sitting on the map. I had a clear vision of every direction I turned today because we went from south to north the same way I envision a map in my head. I saw the Ephrata Cloisters today. These folks had a sterile life. They were celibate...didn't help the cause much I guess. They slept only 6 hours per night. Waking at 12midnight to assemble for prayers for 2 hours and then if Christ didn't return that night, they'd go back to bed and wake at 6am and do it all over again. They slept on 18" wide wooden benches and had a block of wood for a pillow to keep luxurious sins from over powering them. They ate only one meal a day and spent much day in prayer. I'm pretty sure I could live like this if I could have a decent bed and anything else but a block of wood for a pillow. It's fascinating to see this precocious slice of life still preserved in a very simple way.

3114079569575175 You can figure it out.

Things went well today. Eerily well. I made an airport run and didn't get lost though the directions were confusing: 31 to 140 to 795 to 695 to 75 to 175 the last four number were all curvy interstates and I didn't hit anyone or miss a turn off. I even found the elusive cell phone waiting lot.
So now it's 10:52pm and I have a head full of things I must do tomorrow. Ah well, this is a great vocation.

The season that's a verb, too.

What is it about spring? Seems like this one is more spectacular than most others. I also haven't experienced a season of spring since 2001. At that point I was living in central Illinois and hadn't really been out of the seasonal loop. Since then I had a non-existent Phoenician spring, which really just two weeks of 70 degree weather before moving directly into the high 90s.

After that, I had 3 years of Nigerian spring weather. This is the equivalent of having severely humid days with clouds forming in the east every afternoon, as if giant unpopped boils in the sky were taunting me with rain. The rains came around 4pm for the month of June, always angrily and always around 4pm.

So now I'm back into the spring I know and grew up with. I like this season and this word because it's the only word of our seasons that is an action. SPRING! It's like the word is telling everything that has been in dormancy to hop to it and get moving.

Weather dude.

It was actually warmer at 5:30 this morning then at this moment which is about 11:30am. I feel that since it's spring, I should dress like it's spring. I didn't even wear a coat today, and now it's snowing. The sad part is that I watched the weather. I actually remember the weather dude saying snow was possible. In my mind, snow couldn't actually enter my bubble because I have spring on my brain. So now I sit in my cofficle with capri pants and a light blouse on. I've draped on an old veil from Nigeria and I'm still cold.

VIRUS

What kind of work goes out at the office when your computer has a virus? Well, all sorts I guess. I caught up reading today. Had some decent conversations when the reading was too tedious, even. Work can continue in the absence of technology. But it seems harder and not so engaging. What did my predecessors do before computers?

Easter weekend

A weekend of sleeping late. Walking the dogs in mud and snow. Gaynor's drinks and pizza. Singing in the front row in Irving Park. Loving my girl.

One easter.

n 2006, I was living in Kwarhi, Nigeria. School had
closed for the semester so most of my students
traveled home for the three week break. The Swiss
family that had been my second family, packed their
house up and moved back to Switzerland after 9 years
of living in the village. My other 2 Swiss friends
that lived near me invited me to travel over the
border to Cameroon for a week of train hopping and
beachcombing. My plans fell through when I realized
the Nigerian embassy was holding my passport in a
locked filing cabinet in some unlit room in the
capitol city. So my friends went on their travels, my
students went home, and I stayed back at the house.

Easter is a very traditional time in my village. Most
successful, career oriented urban folks travel home to
their (or their mother's) village. They bring gifts
for the elders and the babies, and especially for
their mothers. Easter is a time to get on home, catch
up with family news and go to many, many weddings.

On Easter Sunday, the festivities start around 3am.
Yes, I really mean 3 am! Everyone goes to bed quite
early on Saturday night. Then, around 2am, I start to
hear feet slapping the dusty road near to the west
side of my house. Then I look out my slatted window
and see little flickers of lanterns rushing past,
accompanied with the slapping feet.

My friend, Saratu, enters my squeaking gate, so I know
it's about time to go. She's wearing the women's
fellowship uniform. I have on pajama bottoms and a
long sleeve t-shirt. It's dark so I know i don't have
to get formally dressed.

So we begin walking out of the village down a narrow
path. In fact, the path is so narrow, I follow right
behind my friend's quiet silhouette. My eyes sweep
left to right and I can faintly see the outline of
other groups of people walking on the path similar to
mine.

We walk for 15 minutes through bone dry fields that
held peanuts and corn stalks a couple months ago. Soon
we see the small incline of picnic rock ahead of us.
We cut across the ruts of the corn fields and start
the little ascent of this ivory faced rock. As we walk
up, we're greeted by many people. I can't really see
them well, but they can surely see me. The youth greet
me with, "Good morning and good evening auntie!" They
giggle about this and try it on other people who walk
past them. No one really can state if this is a late
night or an early morning.

On this little rock, there are about 1000 Christians
sitting in groups of 2 or 3. I sit with a group of
women from my village. To the left of me, youth have
started singing songs that gain more voices with every
chorus and verse. We join in the song when we're sure
of the tune and song. Clapping joins the voices and
suddenly we've become this pulsing body. We continue
through songs and move onto Scriptures.

We pass little flashlights around so each woman can
read it in the dark. I take a quick check and see that
I have the only English Bible. Everyone else is
thumbing through their Hausa language bibles. As the
Luke and John verses are read and deconstructed, I
realize that I am in the midst of an amazing
gathering. All of these men and women woke up in the
middle of the night. They walked in near silence. They
sat and sang and read the Bible for two hours. As the
sun rose, songs of Christ's resurrection throbbed
through us all. We stood near one another, said a
final prayer and walked the different paths to our
different villages. Back in the village, neighbors
bring steamy pots of porridge over to me, and I try
and whip up omelettes to send back to them. This food
passing continues most of the day and even occurs
after morning worship, too.

So even when my students, my traveling companions, and
my good friends headed out of my area for that Easter
weekend, I was taken care of, by my community. I was
part of a group that had many differing denominations.
We learned many songs that had never been sung in our
church before. We sat in groups with familiar and
unfamiliar faces. Waiting for Christ's resurrection
with a thousand Christians was almost enchanting. I
felt that walking in the darkness and celebrating
Christ's return with the sunrise was fitting for our
community. We were bound by this opportunity to
worship God in a humble, stripped down way.