Day 7: You Girls Are Looking Very American Today.

I am getting used to mornings here. I wake up to roosters, people laughing and singing, and the rev of motorbikes. It is quite refreshing to talk to God under these conditions. It doesn’t take long to get ready (since there is no need to do my hair or makeup) and then we walk over to the Clinic saying Good Morning to store owners and waving at their children. It is a very different scene than my normal routine in Fresno...

 

            We sat in on staff meeting at 8 am (where I finally met Pastor Ben) and started the day right at work with prayer and fellowship. Adrie and I have been working on an alphabetizing project the past two days so the first part of the morning I enjoyed reading every person who has come to Faith Alive whose last name started with a “D” or an “O”. It is a bit of a tedious assignment but it is important to get done and we are the only employees who actually have the ability to sit at a desk for a few hours instead of checking up on patients. We are hoping to be done soon since it bothers Adrie’s back and my brain.

 

            While we were filing away we had a huge surprise when two blonde oyibos walked into the office! White people in Jos! George and Naomi (not a married couple as George likes to point out) are here from Buckinghamshire, England, which is apparently right outside of London. They are in Jos for three weeks with a relief organization and have been assigned to different hospitals in the city to check out what God is doing. We got to spend lunchtime together and it was really nice to be around some Brits again (much love to Simeon, Louisa, and Rachel)! Naomi is going to be a med student and George is starting off his gap year, which will end hiking the Appalachian Trail from February to July. Needless to say they are pretty rad 18-year-olds.

 

            More filing followed by bartering with Helen about some jewelry she made us ended up making this one of our more tiring days. We got to come home early where I enjoyed another freezing cold bucket shower to help me wake up and feel clean! I started The Kite Runner, which I literally can’t put down, and feel very blessed that God has given me time to do some pleasure reading.

 

            Dinner with John and Kristin (it’s starting to sound like a talk show) gave way to conversation about marriage in Nigeria. Marriage here is much more like a contract than a relationship since the most important aspect of marriage is having children. Brides are “bought” in a sense that the family sits down with a potential suitor and spells out how much their daughter is worth. The man then spends the next few months completing the list, which is verified and approved by the village wedding coordinator on their wedding day. They have two ceremonies, one traditional followed by a “white wedding”, which can be months apart. Until the second “official” Christian ceremony the couple may not live together, even after the traditional service. All in all marriage isn’t a very big deal here. People rarely wear wedding rings, spend much of the time apart from their spouse, and husbands are allowed to take new wives if their original is not producing quality children. How different from our ideas of love, sex, and getting hitched in Vegas! I’m glad I will be able to marry the guy I love without my family wanting anything in return and without the pressure of planning two ceremonies. More than that, we will spend time together because we want to and I don’t think I will have to worry about him choosing someone else over me if I keep giving him girls. And I’ll wear a ring. And there will be lots of love. That sounds like a good plan.

Day 6: He Is In So Much Pain.

I saw what dying looks like this morning. The frail skeleton unable to prove he is alive except for the unsteady breath that goes into his lungs and back out again. It may be scary for some, for others tearful, and for the rest of us overpowering.

 

            Doctor Ben and Florence agreed to take Adrie and myself out on their home visit. We all hopped in the Faith Alive van and flew across town to another community. Most people would call it impoverished but here everything looks the same no matter what part of the city you are in. We walked through the alleyway and into a small home where a young woman was tending to a toddler. She pointed to a small room connected to the living room and the doctors pulled out their supplies while Adrie and I entertained the little boy. I couldn’t see what was going on in the medical side of this visit so I spoke to the family members a little bit in my handful of Hausa phrases and hand motions before Florence called us over. It was too much to take in at once. A man was lying on the bed with his shirt pulled up and his pants taken off so his underwear was the only real clothing being worn. He was so thin I could see the outline of every bone in his body. If I had walked over and touched him it looked like he would crumble under the weight of a finger. Florence told us that he was HIV-positive on top of suffering from TB. He had just come home from a long stay in the hospital where the nurses had neglected him enough to allow bed sores to develop on his lower back. Two large patches of dead skin and bloody sores must be unbearable when you don’t have the strength to turn yourself. As the doctors cut off the raw skin then bandaged his wounds I wanted so badly to sit and hold his hand. I admire the fact that I am in no way qualified to be a doctor yet they still want to include me in their act of love by allowing me to be a presence to support this family. We were there about an hour and when they were done the man didn’t have enough strength to say anything, but I knew he was grateful not only for the free medical treatment but for the presence of people. We walked back to the van and headed to two other homes in different parts of Jos. Both patients had family members who met us outside the doors and denied service at their home because they feared their neighbors would realize they were housing someone who was HIV-positive. We went back to the Clinic exhausted.

 

            The rest of the day as I worked sorting patient index cards and files I thought about what had happened in the morning. I was proud that something I would have normally found gross or disturbing instead allowed me to see love at one of its finest moments. But the thing has continually rolled around in my mind are the different reactions we saw from the three families. Who would ever deny their husband or sister or daughter medical treatment for fear of reputation? Kristin shared at dinner that her first home visit was to a family where the mother decided she took her thirteen-year-old daughter off the ARV drugs to die because she was too expensive to take care of. We don’t normally think these things in my community. The pain of suffering physically is horrible, especially those with HIV who are dying slowly. But how much more painful is it to know that you are a burden on your family because of something that has infected your body without your consent. How painful to realize that around the world people are scared of your condition and in many places are afraid to touch you. How painful to know that you will never live the life you had expected. I know it is painful for me to sit and watch, trying to figure out what I can do to help.

 

             I wonder how much more painful it is for God.

Day 5: Give Your Heart A Song.

My gluten-free diet hasn’t worked as well as I had hoped over here simply because our cook Baba insists on making American meals part of the time. I would take coos-coos over macaroni any day. Unfortunately that means my stomach has suffered from the reintroduction to wheat products and I woke up feeling nasty sick. So I missed early morning Bible study but was able to stabilize myself for work at the Clinic at 8:45. (Just for the record I talked to Baba and he is going to make sure on wheat-filled days that I get something else to eat. I want a tummy transplant.)

 

            The first few weeks at the Clinic Adrie and I are helping out in various areas where extra people are needed. Today she went to pediatrics and I got to go to the pharmacy. I spent the majority of my morning counting pills and taking stock while being able to talk to the amazing pharmacists there. Paige, Grace, and Matthew are all exceptional human beings and I had a lot of fun with them. After every task I completed one would walk over to give a big smile and pat on the back accompanied by a “Very good Cait!” Paige and I started up a conversation about life so it was neat to get to know someone new. (My favorite part is that she told me she is that she is “feeling close to getting married. He needs to move faster.”) The television was on the whole time (I guess counting pills can get a little boring if there is no one to talk to) and it was interesting to see how Americanized it was. They were interviewing a Nigerian rapper from Lagos who had made it big and was turning one of his mansions on the beach into an exclusive dance club for Africa’s rich and famous. Strange coming from a people who value community and good work over status and wealth.

 

            We did some more odd jobs after lunch including putting together a new archive room, filing charts, organizing papers, and ended up back in the pharmacy. This time Innocent was there and he took an interest in where Adrie and I were from and what we were doing. He quickly dubbed us “Teacher Cait” and “Adrie Who Will Marry A Pastor”, which I still find pretty hysterical. As time went by the questions got tougher and the mood a little more intense. We spoke of the presidential election, the Church in America, and spiritual gifts--all of which we were criticized about. I never knew that all my opinions were wrong and ungodly but Innocent wanted to make sure we left the day understanding that the debate we never wanted to be a part of would end up his. I am not a debater. At all. So I ended up leaving the day feeling drained and attacked by a guy I hardly knew.

 

            Luckily God knows what we need so I found a little time to talk to Him, journal my thoughts, and have a nice gluten-free dinner. Afterwards the trio was pretty out of it (Adrie and myself having just trying to defend our faith and Biana still worried about a task that hasn’t gotten done) so Biana grabbed a book and Adrie and I grabbed The Darjeeling Limited. Wes Anderson is a genuis. Every day by the end seems to have lasted the length of a week, which is a bittersweet blessing. I’m glad to be able to fall asleep to the sound of Nigerians singing outside my window.

Day 4: Praise The Lord...Alleluia!

My first Nigerian church experience was an interesting one. We walked a few blocks (if you can call them blocks) to the United Baptist Church where Biana attends. It is a nicer remodeled building that is full of colorful headwraps, noisy babies, and a family of believers that knows how to praise the Lord. The structure of the service was similar to many I had attended back in the States and Biana told me that most Nigerian churches follow the same pattern. They opened with prayer and went straight into singing and dancing, which popped up at some other points during the service, with Hausa praise tunes, traditional Baptist hymns, and some more popular American church service songs. There were multiple times of prayer where the person at the pulpit would lift up to God any and every situation that came to mind. We had to walk forward to deliver our offering at the front of the chapel and visitors were asked to stand and introduce themselves so the congregation could acknowledge them. I was lucky enough to be one of those visitors. The pastor spoke for a good hour-and-a-half about the accounts of Moses leading the people in the wilderness and the importance of moving forward to wherever it is God calls you to go. It resonated well with the three Americans there who are trying their best to live out that reality. What made the service the most interesting though was that before the final prayer and blessing a large thunderhead broke above the city of Jos.

 

            For those who don’t know, Nigerians hate the rain. When it rains in Jos the entire city stops...and for good reason. The heavens opened up and I experienced the most torrential downpour in my short twenty years. It rained so heavy and so fast that the streets became rivers and began washing trash, food, and whatever unlucky items were left outside to an undetermined destination. Because we had walked to church, like almost everyone else in the building, there was nothing else for us to do but sit and wait with the rest of the congregation. Dr. Chris and his family were in the balcony so I got to meet his three young children and talk to his wife Mercy about what life is like back home. They all asked about Brother Norm so I let them have an update on my uncle. After a half-hour or so the rain had let up a little and the flood was starting to disappear so Dr. Chris drove us home. I still think it would have been fun to fight against the current in our skirts and sandals.

 

            Later in the afternoon I was able to go to Support Group at the Clinic, a time where brothers and sisters who have been diagnosed with HIV enjoy communal worship and encourage each other. Again I was asked to come forward, introduce myself, and say a few words. Luckily I do pretty well in front of a large audience of strangers and was glad so many introduced themselves to me later. Biana had to catch up on e-mails and Adrie was sleeping so I enjoyed another first: being the one that everyone is staring at in a room. (And I thought I stuck out in Fresno...) More singing and dancing followed by a short devotional from a guy my age struggling with HIV. There aren’t too many things more sobering in life than hearing a fellow 20-year-old talk about the importance of God as his Father since both of his parents had died from the disease he is carrying. The next few minutes were supposed to be spent going over a little financial information which turned into an hour-long dispute in Hausa and broken English about farming and hiring and fertilizer. Needless to say I was completely lost but found it very interesting to see how these mild-mannered people can turn into shouting lunatics when it comes to any sort of debate.

 

            Another wonderful dinner cooked by Baba and late-night discussion with John and Kristin reminded me how neat living here really is. Tonight’s topic revolved around cleaning habits and personal hygiene. It looks like the next few weeks will be Kristin and Adrie on team “No Need To Fold Your Clothes If You’ll Wear Them Again Soon” against John and Caitlin’s “Please Make Sure To Throw Away Your Nasty Rotting Garbage.” I am so glad they are here!

Day 3: Cait, Where Are You Going?

The Clinic isn’t usually open on Saturday but we headed on over at 7:45 to get things opened and started for an interview process to take place. A grant was given to help children in the area whose families are affected by HIV get money for school. (Something most people don’t realize about Nigeria is that the public school system is far below normal standards and the only places worth getting an education are very pricy. It makes you appreciate free education a little bit more.) Adrie and I worked as the receptionist and secretary to allow the fifty students an interview with the Faith Alive panel to see if they qualify. We weren’t in with the rest of the staff so we tried our best to make small talk with the people in the waiting room and catch up on life with each other. After six hours of interviews, documentation, and storytelling they decided that most of the kids qualify for financial aid.

 

            After heading back to the apartment for another nap (we are trying to work them out of our daily routine!) I was able to talk with Biana for a while in our living room. She shared some of the stories she heard today of children who had lost one or both parents to HIV and wanted so badly to go to school. They have a yearning for knowledge and understanding, something I think we sometimes lack in our world of high-speed internet and video games. Some of the children are already taking the drugs necessary to kill off the infection spreading in their own little bodies. It breaks my heart that the problem is so much bigger than can be fought off by a group of sacrificial doctors and nurses, by financial support from wealthy countries, or even by Bono making it known to a naive planet. Biana said many who know what she is doing thank her for having to courage to come over to Nigeria and work with these people. But what they don’t know, she told me, is how much I struggle against what looks like a hopeless situation, a system that has entangled so many in this world and is slowly killing a whole generation. I think too many write it off as a disease for homosexuals in San Francisco or poor people in Africa without taking into account the millions of lines leading directly into this one problem. What are we supposed to do? Where are we supposed to go to make this suffering end? All I know is that God has called me to come and love people over here. Touch the hand of a woman who prostitutes herself despite her condition in order to feed herself, hold a baby that has a 60% chance of getting diagnosed like her parents, and smile at my brothers and sisters who try so hard to hold on to hope. Adrie and I will only be here until December and what after that? Who knows. I am doing my best to live in the here and now and God is bringing up things inside me that I didn’t ever fully explore.

 

            Luckily the day ended on a beautiful note since Dorothy, her sister, and her two-month old son came over to visit Auntie Biana. The baby’s name is Morning Star, which suits him well considering his favorite thing in the room was the light bulb over our heads. I got to hold him for a while, talk with the women about life in Nigeria, and sit with friends. I think that is the sort of thing that should give us all hope.

Day 2: I’m Sometimes Embarrassed To Say I’m From California.

I woke up this morning to a rooster. It seemed a bit surreal but I secretly have always wanted to wake up at a farm and this seemed the closest thing so far. After thirty seconds or so I began to hear goats chatting, motorcycles working, and Nigerians singing as the morning hustle and bustle began. It was good to see our electricity was back on (it has been out the majority of the past two days) and I discovered that our bathroom actually has a lightbulb as I got ready for the day.

 

            Adrie and I went to the Clinic early to enjoy devotions with Pastor Ben. He is an animated speaker but the Nigerian way is to sit quiet and attentive until he gives the command “Praise the Lord” in which everyone replies “Alleluia.” The Nigerian accent is still a bit difficult for me to understand but I got the gist of what he was saying about living in a way that is pleasing to God. Being surrounded by those suffering from HIV this had a fresh outlook on the plan God has given each and every one of us. After prayer I went to Team E with Dr. Kuno, the pediatrician, who graciously allowed me to sit in until lunchtime and experience his ministry. I ended up being bookkeeper/secretary at our lone table in the room and thought it was interesting to hear every person’s story. Many of the patients only spoke Hausa (which Dr. Kuno said he wanted to help me learn) but were willing to let the doctor translate for me to be involved. An added bonus was being able to hold the babies coming in for check-ups who, although I am a scary oweebo (white person), loved on me as much as I did on them. Dr. Kuno named me Cate for the remainder of my stay after trying for a while to pronounce the “tl” combination in my non-Nigerian name. Luckily I am always down for a new nickname.

 

            After a tiring morning full of people we shared lunch with John and Kristin back at the apartment complex. This couple from Colorado is here for two months serving at the Clinic before joining the Peace Corps. At twenty-five they seem to have a lot of insight into life and remind me of my friends back home. Today’s mealtime discussion revolved around missions, the American culture, and materialism. (Again, they would fit in very well with my circle of friends!) We wondered out loud if we as white middle-class Americans could every fully become Nigerian in our lifestyle and mindset and, even more difficult, ever been seen that way to Nigerians. Sharing stories from our upbringings in different states across the US, along with the politics and media that is thrown at us we decided...no. We will always have a little American consumerism and need for independence in us rather than being able to enjoy simplicity and community like the people here. But John and Kristin believe they will be able to appreciate this new culture and bring as much as they can back into their own way of living in the United States. I hope to do the same. Along the same lines Biana shared that the most frustrating thing to her about Faith Alive are visitors. People come for a couple weeks at a time to learn more about AIDS, the ministry of the Clinic, and the Nigerian culture but end up doing more harm than help because of their American mindset. We are moved through giving of material possessions: food, clothes, money, we’ve all given to charity and that is a GOOD thing. But what isn’t good, Biana went on to say, is that the children in this neighborhood are given gifts from the visitors and now have the mindset that white means money. Americans see poor Nigerian children and hand them candy, take their pictures, and make sure they have a new toy to play with. Because of this children follow us around and hold our hands expecting something besides love and acceptance in return, something free they can eat or play with before we go home.

 

            Frustrating. But important to wrestle with no matter where you are.

 

            I’m glad God is giving me things to start chewing on now. I know they won’t be solved at the end of this trip, or when I get home, or when I’m forty and raising children. But I do know that God has brought me here to learn and serve and love. And that’s what I plan to do to the best of my ability.

Day 1: You’re Welcome!

I finally made it. After months of scheduling, saving, packing, and praying I am here in Jos realizing that the adventure I have been waiting for has just begun. I came without much prior knowledge of what I am doing here but a full understanding that this is where God wants me to be. And so it begins...

 

            Adrie and I stepped off the plane into a sweaty Abjua morning at 4:45 and were quickly greeted by a man holding a sign with our names. He placed us at the beginning of an already-formed line under the “Diplomat” passport section and I wondered if he actually knew who we were. The two men behind the glass looked at us like we were crazy (obviously two girls in jeans and t-shirts are not government material in this society) but our sign-holding friend got us through after a quick conversation in Hausa. Unfortunately our bags were not so timely and I stood by the carousel watching the same bags go around for a good thirty minutes before ours showed up. They looked a little beaten down but they made it from San Francisco without getting lost along the way. Biana and Dr. Chris met us in the lobby and I can’t say I have ever been so glad to pack my suitcases into a car and start a three-hour drive.

 

            The drive was long and quiet, myself and our driver Gody being the only ones awake, but it gave me the chance to see an entirely new world pass by. Driving is a bit different here and I was glad to know I will never be expected to get behind a wheel in the next three months. I have never heard people utilize the car horn as much as Nigerians. You honk the horn as a reminder to other drivers of your existence, and you need to remind them because much of the time you are driving on the dirt shoulder, stradling the center line (which disappears for miles at a time), or on the wrong side of the road. Most of the vehicles are motorbikes or giant four-wheelers and people constantly dart across the highway so every driver is alert and completely free of road rage. All in all it wasn’t a scary drive, just one that involves more swerving than Americans are used to.

 

            Driving further inland from Abuja to Jos I concluded Nigeria is the most beautiful place I have ever seen. It beats out the colors of the Painted Desert, sunsets over the Pacific, and seasons in Yosemite. Those are all breathtaking scenes, but Nigeria holds something extra over all of those. The valleys are green and dotted with cornfields, the jungle foliage is climbing and fruitful, and the hills display boulders stacked on top of each other amid colorful wildflowers. Against this magnificent backdrop are thatched-roofed huts, winding dirt roads, and odd-looking birds and beasts. There are also a surprising number of goats. But the most beautiful thing about Nigeria is its people.

 

            When I toured the Faith Alive Clinic, my home for the next few weeks, I discovered the proper greeting is “You’re welcome.” Nigerians don’t say it like I do as a programmed response to a “Thank you” but as a way to let a person know that they are a brother or sister who is welcome into their country, their home, and their life. All day I was given this blessing from a person who would clasp my fingers and give a big white smile from a beaming black face looking me directly in the eye. And I know I am welcomed.