Although I am in Nigeria, I am not in the part of Nigeria that is in the news: the Niger Delta. The distance between Lagos and the Niger Delta, geographically, is similar to the distance between New Orleans, Louisiana and Houston, Texas.
That being said, the distance is not so great in some other ways. I do see guys with machine guns regularly, though I have never seen nor heard one discharged. Also, the guys I see are paid to protect me, other company-related people and property. In the Delta, that's not the story.
In the paper you can read about "bunkering" which is the process of offloading oil from a pipeline into another pipeline, illegally of course. It's fancy siphoning, at the pipeline level. Here, occasionally I have heard of people tapping into fuel lines at a fuel station, and several people lost their lives in a related explosion since I have been here. But it's people wanting fuel for their cars, not soldiers in a war against the oil company.
Mostly the siphoning I am aware of has to do with the company-provided vehicles and their fuel being "offloaded" by the drivers we hire. Why we don't drive in Lagos is for another post. As for siphoning, the first driver we had often got a whopping 4 miles to the liter of fuel! I got smart -- or rather, my neighbor gave me the scoop -- and I put the next driver on a driver's log and he accounts for the mileage and the gas. I don't check it every day, but in two years, every time I check it, this driver seems to be behaving. I now get 12 miles to the liter or so even in our 6 mile an hour traffic. You thought Houston traffic was frustrating!
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Monday, September 20, 2010
The Test
Within the first 2 weeks of our arrival I experienced "the test". I knew at the time it was a test, and I knew I had failed -- from my perspective at least. From the tester's point of view, I had passed and he, or they, were going to have some fun with this newcomer to Nigerian trickery!
As it unfolded, my husband was out on the back patio, the company-assigned temporary steward was at the kitchen sink, and our newly hired driver was behind me as I faced my husband on the patio. The driver was in fact between me and the kitchen desk, where I had left a paltry sum of money. That money was to be a tip for the temporary steward who had worked for us for 10 days and was leaving later this afternoon.
When my husband was done on the patio, and the steward was finished with his work, I turned to get the few hundred Nigerian naira. I am embarassed even to say that it was just a few hundred, because I now realize it should have been more, but I didn't understand the money yet. In any case, I went to pay him the 400 Naira, and there was only 300 Naira there. I felt fear. I thought, "this is a test". Yet I didn't raise a ruckus. I didn't raise a ruckus because I also thought, "Oh my gosh: these people must be really desperate to steal the tiny sum of 100 Naira (60 U.S.cents)." I was overwhelmed with guilt feelings and discomfort: how could I make a fuss about 100 Naira when it must be a precious amount to them but it was so little to me? I didn't have any real doubt that 100 Naira was missing, but in my unwillingness to confront the situation my discomfort did transform itself into wondering if I had indeed had counted the amount of money I thought I had.
Of course, I had counted correctly -- I had not missed counting from 1 to 4! And of course, it was a test, and of course, I failed. Little did I know what kind of ride I was in for!
As it unfolded, my husband was out on the back patio, the company-assigned temporary steward was at the kitchen sink, and our newly hired driver was behind me as I faced my husband on the patio. The driver was in fact between me and the kitchen desk, where I had left a paltry sum of money. That money was to be a tip for the temporary steward who had worked for us for 10 days and was leaving later this afternoon.
When my husband was done on the patio, and the steward was finished with his work, I turned to get the few hundred Nigerian naira. I am embarassed even to say that it was just a few hundred, because I now realize it should have been more, but I didn't understand the money yet. In any case, I went to pay him the 400 Naira, and there was only 300 Naira there. I felt fear. I thought, "this is a test". Yet I didn't raise a ruckus. I didn't raise a ruckus because I also thought, "Oh my gosh: these people must be really desperate to steal the tiny sum of 100 Naira (60 U.S.cents)." I was overwhelmed with guilt feelings and discomfort: how could I make a fuss about 100 Naira when it must be a precious amount to them but it was so little to me? I didn't have any real doubt that 100 Naira was missing, but in my unwillingness to confront the situation my discomfort did transform itself into wondering if I had indeed had counted the amount of money I thought I had.
Of course, I had counted correctly -- I had not missed counting from 1 to 4! And of course, it was a test, and of course, I failed. Little did I know what kind of ride I was in for!
Friday, August 20, 2010
GOD AND GRACE IN EVERYDAY LIFE
I had the title for this blog before I wrote anything. Stir-crazy came to mind because I am living on a compound of expats in Africa and it's a lot like living in a small town in winter; there's not too many places to go. Also, what I like to do with lots of down time are two things: write and cook. I am aware of grace so often in my life and that's what I thought I'd write about, and I thought I might sometimes publish some cooking fun -- recipes and photos -- too.
I get stir-crazy, not because I can't go out. It is just very difficult, time consuming and exhausting to go out. In general, life can be frustrating, horrifying, mind-boggling and mind numbing around here. So, while it's safe to go out, a 6 mile trip to the school can take anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour or more. The day I discovered that the drive to school was only 6 miles, was a day it took 2 hours to get there! I was shocked to learn that this difficult, pot-hole filled experience was a mere 6 miles in length!
On another level, going out is often emotionally draining. You might see a schizophrenic walking around naked on the side of the road; you might see a dead body; you might witness a fatal car accident or a gang administering a punishing beating to a thief.
That's one kind of "stir crazy". Living with a limited population; a slightly larger population at school; limited number of shops for groceries and household items, and few places to stop in for a coffee. Added to this type of stir crazy is that it might take several trips to get what I need. I liken the experience of living in Lagos to my early adaptation to having my first child: while I now had all the time in the world at my disposal because I was not having to show up in an office at 8 am, and I thought I should be able to get so much done, the reality was quite different. I was doing well if I only got one thing done in a day. That is how it is here. I have to measure my success in the baby steps -- if I have moved some project or task one step further towards completion, I pat myself on the back.
The other way in which "stir crazy" fits is that while I have always enjoyed cooking and, especially, baking, I have really had time for it here. To deal with location stir-craziness, I have taken up stirring like crazy! I have learned a lot about bread and pizza dough, all kinds of baked goods, can make my own tortillas, some of the best cinnamon rolls, New Orleans King Cake and Doberge cake, and ricotta cheese -- have yet to try mozzarella. Turns out I am "stir crazy" in general; I love to whip up something in the kitchen.
Now we get to grace, or is Grace, more apt? Through being here in Nigeria, I have been deeply touched by grace. What I mean by grace is blessings, unasked for gifts. When I am aware of them, they always touch me deeply and contribute to my faith in a Higher Power that I do not understand, but that seems to invite me ever gently, and ever more deeply into a trusting relationship of deep acceptance of myself as I am and of the goodness and ..... love... that surrounds me, even in the midst of evil.
I like Scott Peck's characterization of grace as related by a Southern waitress: Grace is like grits on a southern breakfast menu; it just comes. Grace has "just come" into my life on so many occasions that I could not begin to recount them. And this is no less true on this compound in Nigeria, a place I have felt I was in exile, a place I have wondered whether was God-forsaken, a place where I have dealt with fraud, theft, lying, and a potentially deadly threat against my child. I have been miserable here, and I have been happy here. And through it all, and even in the midst of the worst that I have experienced here --- and some of what I have experienced here has stretched my faith and maturity as far as it has ever been stretched --- I find that I have been blessed most mightily here. Grace has come, and has stayed, here in this place.
Grace can and does "come" anywhere -- the most amazing experiences for me are those moments of Grace that touch me when it seems that what is happening must be so far from God that I have entered into hell. And there, I have found gifts, comfort, grace. It seems the farther I go, the more clearly Grace shows itself.
Stir Crazy Grace -- a log of daily graces that I find here in frustrating, sometimes horrifying, mind-boggling, mind-numbing Lagos.
I get stir-crazy, not because I can't go out. It is just very difficult, time consuming and exhausting to go out. In general, life can be frustrating, horrifying, mind-boggling and mind numbing around here. So, while it's safe to go out, a 6 mile trip to the school can take anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour or more. The day I discovered that the drive to school was only 6 miles, was a day it took 2 hours to get there! I was shocked to learn that this difficult, pot-hole filled experience was a mere 6 miles in length!
On another level, going out is often emotionally draining. You might see a schizophrenic walking around naked on the side of the road; you might see a dead body; you might witness a fatal car accident or a gang administering a punishing beating to a thief.
That's one kind of "stir crazy". Living with a limited population; a slightly larger population at school; limited number of shops for groceries and household items, and few places to stop in for a coffee. Added to this type of stir crazy is that it might take several trips to get what I need. I liken the experience of living in Lagos to my early adaptation to having my first child: while I now had all the time in the world at my disposal because I was not having to show up in an office at 8 am, and I thought I should be able to get so much done, the reality was quite different. I was doing well if I only got one thing done in a day. That is how it is here. I have to measure my success in the baby steps -- if I have moved some project or task one step further towards completion, I pat myself on the back.
The other way in which "stir crazy" fits is that while I have always enjoyed cooking and, especially, baking, I have really had time for it here. To deal with location stir-craziness, I have taken up stirring like crazy! I have learned a lot about bread and pizza dough, all kinds of baked goods, can make my own tortillas, some of the best cinnamon rolls, New Orleans King Cake and Doberge cake, and ricotta cheese -- have yet to try mozzarella. Turns out I am "stir crazy" in general; I love to whip up something in the kitchen.
Now we get to grace, or is Grace, more apt? Through being here in Nigeria, I have been deeply touched by grace. What I mean by grace is blessings, unasked for gifts. When I am aware of them, they always touch me deeply and contribute to my faith in a Higher Power that I do not understand, but that seems to invite me ever gently, and ever more deeply into a trusting relationship of deep acceptance of myself as I am and of the goodness and ..... love... that surrounds me, even in the midst of evil.
I like Scott Peck's characterization of grace as related by a Southern waitress: Grace is like grits on a southern breakfast menu; it just comes. Grace has "just come" into my life on so many occasions that I could not begin to recount them. And this is no less true on this compound in Nigeria, a place I have felt I was in exile, a place I have wondered whether was God-forsaken, a place where I have dealt with fraud, theft, lying, and a potentially deadly threat against my child. I have been miserable here, and I have been happy here. And through it all, and even in the midst of the worst that I have experienced here --- and some of what I have experienced here has stretched my faith and maturity as far as it has ever been stretched --- I find that I have been blessed most mightily here. Grace has come, and has stayed, here in this place.
Grace can and does "come" anywhere -- the most amazing experiences for me are those moments of Grace that touch me when it seems that what is happening must be so far from God that I have entered into hell. And there, I have found gifts, comfort, grace. It seems the farther I go, the more clearly Grace shows itself.
Stir Crazy Grace -- a log of daily graces that I find here in frustrating, sometimes horrifying, mind-boggling, mind-numbing Lagos.
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