Leaving Nigeria

I thought I was all cried out. Honestly, the final week with the Walkers was an emotional one. Saying goodbye to Jummai, leaving Jos and heading back to Abuja, looking at the average life of a Nigerian who want for nothing even though they are barely scraping by and so full of joy as they work so hard and long. Oh boy. The tears just didn't stop for a week. The day I left, my eyes were dry. That is, until I said goodbye to the middle bug at the airport. She was unusually quiet in the car ride, and it was because she was making me the sweetest drawing and letter in extremely minimal light of the sporadic street lamps. Incase you're wondering, I happen to be "the best Aunty ever". so I guess we can all just stop wondering who wins that category. Anyway, that got the tears going again. They are still going actually, as I type this from the plane on my journey from Frankfurt to Detroit. (That could be because I've had a collective sleep of about 20 minutes over the last 20 hours of travelling. Man, I am TIRED.)

So Abuja was lovely. The car ride down the mountain was a bit long for the girls. As usual, there were several military check points whereby you stop, roll down your window and greet the armed man, have about 10 seconds of small talk with him and then carry on with your journey once he has waved you along. There was one check point where we had only just started roll down our window as we were slowing down when the man in charged looked menacing as he told us to pull over and let the other cars pass. "I want to see you" he commanded. I tensed up a little.  When he finally came around to my window, he had a big friendly smile and greeted us like old mates. What a relief. Once he heard that we were coming from Jos as missionaries, he said "Give me a bible. I want to read the word of God." Men of such power are used to being "bribed" or simply let past because of bible donations. They prefer cash usually, but missionaries "pay" in bibles a lot of the time. I was speaking to a missionary on the compound who paid someone else's fine with 7 bibles so that the police would uncuff the accused man for having a phone charge card for sale which had expired by one day-an honest mistake. Anyway, whether the police used the bibles to read, smoke or wipe their bums with, it was a better "bribe" than paying with cash. 

Once in Abuja, we picked up Meghida (Hausa for 'man of the house' or 'husband'. I've gotten so used to calling him Meghida with Lollie and the staff at the Ministry centre. Probs not a good idea for me to use that word... Hah. I didn't learn 'brother'.) the girls were so happy to have him back. It was a different dynamic having three adults with the three kids again. I felt like I was a bit redundant, after all, I am not their parent. We were able to relax and have fun. We stayed at apartments called The Peniel which had a pool! So we were there everyday. We went to the arts and craft markets, which had a lot more to choose from compared to Jos, but they gave us tourist prices because Abuja is more of a capital city and we are white.  Tourist prices were still cheap sometimes, you just had to work the shop owners a little bit. Luckily we had Warwick with us, who has grown up an African man, so he knows what the prices should be, let alone his haggling skills which came in handy many a time. I even came through with a couple of self-haggled purchases at a pretty decent price- even though I hate to barter. The shopping centres in Abuja are where you go to get things unobtainable in Jos, things like curry powders, yoghurt and among many other things, sweet corn (not African corn that has the texture and taste of a raw potato. You cannot imagine my disappointment after seeing endless corn fields in Jos and preparing for a corn feast, only to bite down on a pot full of starchy kernels). Also in Abuja, we went to Johnny Rockets again (American 50s style diner), had frozen yoghurt at Tutti Frutti and Lollie and I finished watching our Harry Potter Marathon in the bedroom while the kids had cartoons on actual TV in the loungeroom. 

I can't believe the time with them is over. A month of Africa is already a memory! I'm praying constantly that God doesn't let me forget the things I have seen, experienced and felt as I see, experience and feel things in western culture. How I feel now is how I think God wants me to feel.. But with action. How do I turn feelings into action? What am I here for? Surely not just to feel.