Third input 9/22/2006

On arrival in Zaria and Hope for the Blind School, we moved into the two-bedroom guest house across the courtyard from Andee’s house. And we didn’t know it yet, but we had seen the last of recognizable food. Surprisingly, the beds everywhere were pretty good, and we had actual real toilets. The showers were iffy and sometimes there was no hot water. The ladies who helped run Andee’s house made sure I had a kettle of hot water whenever I wanted it.

If we thought things would quiet down, we were mistaken. The first “disruption” to tranquility was the man who heads up the whole amateur radio society in Nigeria. He had heard about the new radio station we were going to install and wanted to be there. So he invited himself. In Nigeria there is a strict and important code of hospitality and generosity and you offer lodging and food to anyone for as long as the visitor wants. He was the only rude Nigerian we were to meet. He was loud, bossy, pushy, didn’t listen, gave long didactic lectures about religion, radios, nuclear energy, what’s wrong with the world, waved his arms around, over-ruled others deisions and made us all grit our teeth. And no one was sure when he’d leave. Three long days.

The second thing that kept us busy was much more fun. Andee had gotten word to the big university in town that any technical students who might be interested were to come help and learn at a “tech clinic” that Pete and Andee taught. Five delightful, intelligent and hard working students showed up as well as a man who worked for the government and his wife. ( Pete has done a great job describing the work on the radio and antennas and cables and the tower and the guy wires elsewhere in the blog.) We started Friday morning, and were talking to people in Europe by Sunday night. There were lots and lots of smiles that day. My favorite moment was hearing a man named Mike in Portugal say to Thomas, a blind craft instructor, “all of Europe is listening to you tonight”.

The 2 cooks/house keepers go to the market every morning. They were not only feeding Andee, Pete and I, but also the Ham guy (who ate for 3 or 4), and the staff who lived at the school and their families, but the students also. One morning, I asked them if I could go with them—just to see. They weren’t sure that was a good idea and told me it was a long walk and very hot. I ended up going. Another time warp. Stalls with tin roofs, water and mud in the narrow alleys, open bulk food everywhere, thousands of stalls of grains, soaps, flipflops, phonecards, vegetables, live chickens, meat on tables. Lots of tomatoes, potatoes, peppers, carrots, yams, onions, cassava, ground pumpkin seed, fish, beef, chicken, eggs, and lots of things I didn’t recognize. Sounds OK when I type it but by the time we ate it, it had “changed”. We were glad that Linda had told us to bring snack bars and peanut butter. Haggling over prices is expected everywhere.

Needless to say, I was the only Caucasian for miles. The Nigerians are very polite and didn’t openly stare, but moved a little slower when we stopped to look. By the time we were ready to go home, we all had heavy parcels and left the market area. I looked back and about a dozen small children (4 to 7?? years old) were following us at a distance to get a better look. Lots of smiles and waves. If everyone’s experience of being a minority were this pleasant, the world would be a better place.

Nigerian women “of a certain age”, namely mine, don’t wear slacks. So I wore a skirt whenever we went out.

Other impressions were of the animals, the fabulous fabrics, the trees, the rock formations, the barnyard of pets in the school compound, the grains drying on the road, knitting with the visitors and blind staff and neighbors, my interviews with the post cataract patients, watching satellite TV with versions of the news we don’t see, the turkey who woke us up every morning.

Pete will write the next part and tell you about what happened yesterday!

Thanks for listening. Doris