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Rap News 22: The Energy Crisis

Rap News is back with "The Energy Crisis". A well rounded look at all of the tomfoolery that is proposed to deal with the very real energy problems we face globally.



I have been having a lot of problems with my computer lately and have been unable to focus on blog posts for too long! There are a number of posts that will be coming up once I'm back online with a functional computer (hopefully very soon!). Stay tuned!

Passport Photo Naija Style

"Just Do It".

Digital Passport, second palm
from the police station

Right now, rather than a swishy white check and basketball shoes, the phrase resonates most strongly when I think of the Nigerian businesses.
Take passport photos for instance. Don't have that extra passport photo (required for pretty much everything here in Nigeria) on you?
Maybe you fell in love and gave your last photo away as a momento? Or perhaps you had to apply for more GSM sim cards than you expected? Or you could have been inspired by the beautiful and extravagant Nigerian hair styles and had a hair braider pull and twist your very western hair into lovely plaits and now you're worried no one will recognize your old passport picture? Well, whatever the case, don't fret!




This is my good friend, a fellow VSO Nigeria volunteer, getting her passport picture taken between some parked motorcycles just before applying for her police clearance. Swift, convenient and 10 glossy copies for only 500 Naira (about $3). Just Do It. Anytime, anywhere, business is booming.

Thoughts on Mandela

I’ve had a really hard time coming to terms with what I feel about the passing of Madiba. I’m not even sure I feel entitled to call him Madiba, as I feel that I haven’t been as committed to the fight for equity, justice and human rights as I should be. I feel farther removed than an African or a person of any colour, race, sexual orientation or tribe that has been systematically oppressed for many generations, or even one generation. One generation is enough. And I am not a South African, so the name Madiba, is not something that has historical or cultural resonance for me. In English, our names for great heroes and sages are antiquated and have been replaced by words like doctor, PhD candidate, nobel laureate, president and prime minister. None of those come close to encompassing a proper title for Nelson Mandela. Madiba, although I don’t really understand the cultural significance, seems to symbolize a deep level of respect and appreciation.—a fondness and affection and an almost parental connection. I’m not sure that this is a true understanding of the word, or just what it has come to envelop through my own distant understanding and associations of the word used by others. In my own mind, I understand it to be a word with a similar connotation as Mahatma. Great Soul. And I think that way of thinking about Nelson Mandela is the most appropriate and accurate way to describe my sentiments.

Nelson Mandela has been one of my heroes, probably since the end of my university years. I wasn’t very aware of what was going on in the world until then and when I started learning more about some of the roots of inequality in the world through a Canadian culture/history class and an African History class that I took, I started becoming more and more aware of the significance of leaders like Mandela.

I read Mandela’s biography when I was an English teacher in Japan. Back when I taught in 25 different elementary schools. As hectic as it seems, I had a lot of time between classes and sometimes on weekdays, too. Since I was an impermanent staff member, and a 'Gaijin' who may speak nothing but English, most of the teachers didn't know what to do with me and it was hard to establish relationships while they ran in and out of the staff room with arms full of lesson materials. Occasionally a brave teacher would sit down beside me while I poked at my bento lunch and start a typical conversation: "Sugoi! You like Japanese food!?" or "Sugoi, You use chopstick!"

I primarily spent my time alone in the staff rooms studying Japanese and reading. Those two years in Japan helped me to learn a lot. I read personal accounts of victims of the Khmer Rouge, and the Vietnam war, I read about atrocities committed in Congo and Japan’s assault on Nanking during WWII, I read Aung San Suu Kyii’s biography and I read A Long Walk to Freedom. I also passed the 2 Level of the JLPT.

And that was only the beginning of my search for knowledge about the world. It’s still continuing now much to the dismay of many of my career-focused mentors, parents, and probably rationally minded friends. I haven’t yet been satisfied by the status quo and have always admired people like Mandela throughout history who had the determination, courage and stubbornness to stand up for the greater good, equality, equity, justice, freedom, in the face of extreme and intense opposition.

In Nigeria, people are talking about how great Mandela was. They are also talking about how much a British businessman wants to pay for the site where Mandela is now buried. They talk about how much money he will make. They talk about how Nigerian leaders would never be celebrated like Mandela. How the name Mandela would open doors for any of his relatives. How names like Obasanjo could get you stoned in the street. They use Mandela’s name to beg taxi drivers for honesty and fairness in their fares and will use it again to beg forgiveness from the same taxi drivers when they pay them less than they asked for. They claim they would prefer to become the Mandela of women since they can’t make it to be as great as the real Mandela. They nickname the girl that they have called over to the table Winnie 1, and laugh.

For me, it is overwhelming to look at the pictures that come up when you google “World Mourns Nelson Mandela”. It brings me to tears to see the world united about a man who, I think, would have been happy to see a world unified for what he stood for. Of course, it is not. Inside and outside of south Africa, the struggles that he fought to overcome still continue in different places and for different reasons.

In Nigera people say that the world will never see another person like Mandela. He’s the only one that will ever be as good as he was, as great as he was.

I don’t believe that. I can't.

I believe that there are individuals today and that will go on into the future who will face circumstances as dire, perhaps even more harsh than Mandela’s, who by some divine providence will be spared from death and will be raised to the forefront of the collective consciousness. There is always a struggle that will touch the heart of the human population, because it is fundamentally unjust. It may take decades for a critical mass of people to understand why or how it is unjust, but that is why there will also always be someone who will refuse to be broken in the face of that injustice. That is something that I truly believe. That is something that Malala Yousafzi, who was shot for going to school, or Nabila Rehman, another Pakistani girl who’s grandmother was killed in a drone strike, a Palestinian who is resisting Israeli apartheid or a Bangladeshi child who’s parents were crushed in a garment factory, could be credited with many years into the future. It could be a First Nations person from Elsipogtog nation or any other nationaffected by extractive industries in Canada. It could be an Inuit person who fights for action against climate change. It could be an Egyptian, a Turk, a Ukrainian, a Honduran, a Cambodian, or a multinational person. It could be Julian Assange or Bradley Manning or Edward Snowden. It could be anyone of us who are staring in the face of a future we don’t want. A future that is leading up to a denial of everything we have grown up to believe in. Especially when we hold Mandela as one of our international icons. There are huge and powerful forces now that loom over the future of humanity, that want it bought and sold, no matter how much radiation or toxic sludge it will be covered in. There are many people around the world that are standing up against these powers, that are protesting despite state secrets bills being arbitrarily passed, despite muzzles being put on the gatekeepers of their industries. They are standing up despite pepper spray and unprecedented police violence. They are standing up even though everyday that a new bill or agreement is passed into law, there is less hope for a better future. A critical mass is realizing this and a critical mass is standing up.

I fear that it might be too late, but I hope it is not. Now that Madiba has left us, we will see our next great soul rise up from the masses and stand as a beacon of hope and strength for the masses when our battle comes to a head. Although this time, with so much interconnection and connectedness, I feel that we can all be the great soul, collectively. In fact, we need to be, in order to continue at all.

I'm thankful to Madiba for such a clear and great example of how to be in the world. I am happy that I have been able to share the planet with such a great man for 28 years. I would like to talk to other people from varying age groups and social classes about their ideas regarding Mandela. I'd like to know the feelings that people had when he was in court with the Apartheid government, when he was called an international terrorist, when he was in jail for 27 years, when he was released and accepted the nobel prize with the Apartheid leader at the time, when he was president. I know that he had and has opposition. The only reason that he is so widely celebrated today is because he endured a particular struggle that transformed to serve him. He was persecuted by his predecessors for challenging the status quo, as many of us are today. If he hadn't lived as long, say, died when he was in his 50s, there wouldn't have been near as much of an outpouring of grief. That is something to remember.

But, I guess the take away message is that it's never a waste of time to fight for a better future. . .

Paederus the conqueror!

Paederus also known as Papa (in Igbo) or the African Rove Beetle, made an appearance a few weeks ago.   I noticed this flash of red and black on my desk, crawling amongst the rogue ants that are usually exploring the depths of my paper piles, stacks of books and unfinished sewing projects. This particular bug was long and bright and menacing.

I carried on with my writing, trying to make sure the stripy bug was on a trajectory that did not interfere with my arms or fingers while I worked on another revision of a story.

Soon the bug had disappeared and I promptly forgot about it's existence.

The next day, my eye was itchy. I rubbed it with the back of my finger and the itchiness burned. It felt like I had burned myself with a curling iron or used some new eye make up that triggered an allergic reaction.

However, I have taken it upon myself to avoid the dangerous practices of hair curling and eye makeup wearing. I decided long ago that it was not worth it to take such risks with my health and have been enjoying irritation free skin and hair since. So that ruled that out.

I also had no recollection of any incident that would have caused such a burning sensation on my eye. I hadn't scratched myself or run into anything or done anything else that would have made my eye hurt.

I consulted Ogadi, my personal guru of all strange Nigerian happenings. I showed him my eye. Before he could answer, we spotted one of the stripy bugs crawling around on the bed. I moved to swipe it off but he held me back.

Apparently, the "papa"'s venom is a strong irritant to human skin. If you squish the bug against your skin, it releases the venom that causes a reaction that resembles a burn. This is also known as paederus dermatitis which can be quite severe depending on the species and amount of venom that is released.

I watched helplessly as the "papa" crawled towards the edge of the bed.

"How bad is it?"

"It just stings and peels for a few days, then it will go away."

Maybe so now, but the Wikipedia page says that a Paederus species could have been responsible for some of the 10 plagues of Egypt described in Exodus! 

Over the next few days, we noticed many of our friends and acquaintances afflicted with linear blistering wounds on different parts of their bodies. The murder of a "papa" always leaves a nasty trail.

Then, just like it appeared, it disappeared without a trace. I haven't seen any "papa"s since. My eyes are thankful.

Nigerian Dancers

On the weekend the Abuja International Choir, that I am a member of, performed at the International Community School Charity Bazaar. We sang a few carols and then enjoyed wonderful food from the many different countries that were represented!

One of the highlights of the afternoon (besides the food of course), was the Nigerian dance troupe that performed a number of traditional dances! It's not as good as actually being there but you can still get an idea of the different vibes:

Hausa:

Igbo:


Yoruba:


There were a couple of other dances too. Unfortunately my camera had run out of memory and I was unable to capture them.

Seasonal Infidelity

Today I was thinking again about how I am cheating on winter.

In Canada summer is something like a reward. A light at the end of the tunnel or perhaps more aptly, a soak in a warm tub after your extremities have gone numb from the cold.

Summer is relief. Summer is joy. Summer is music festivals and buskers. Summer is long walks and bicycle tours. Summer is swimming pools and barbeques, late sunsets and cottages, canoes and hikes. Canadians bask in the summer. It is one thing, I can say with certainty, that we don't take for granted.

As soon as the temperature gets above 10, people will start wearing short sleeves in preparation for what will soon be summer. That is usually wishful thinking. Where I am from in southern Ontario, it is common to experience snow squalls after a week of warm weather that has everyone stripped down to shorts and t-shirts. But a week of warm weather is all it takes for the spirit of summer to be restored. Even a snow squall can't break the hope that a warm breeze and lengthening daylight brings.

It is an annual lesson in the cycle of opposites. Despair to hope, death to life, cold to hot. It is also a lesson of patience and struggle and depression and joy.

Which explains, perhaps, why I feel like I am cheating now that I have spent seven months in Nigeria. 

Every morning I wake to birds chirping merrily at the sun rise. Or else, birds chirping warnings about the coming rain. Everyday I can wear short sleeves to work and appreciate air conditioning. Everyday I can go swimming in an outdoor pool and take a cold shower without flinching. Everyday the sun rises just before 7 and sets just before 7.

At first, it was wonderful. Everyday at sunset I was reminded of that joy of summer. For some reason the memories that were stirred were often those of childhood when I lived in a backsplit with a vinyl kitchen floor and a eggshell yellow fridge. I was reminded of the open windows that let in the evening breeze before air conditioning was in my parent's budget. The dying light that shone through the two large windows at the front of the house like square eyes looking out from the ground, casting long domestic shadows on the walls. Damp hair and soggy bathing suits after a day in our backyard wading pool and popsicles from the Avondale convenience store, banana or chocolate, that dripped down my chin in sticky rivers of indulgence.

 

But now, the hot, summery weather is starting to remind me of that Eagles song, Hotel California. They say all good things must come to an end. Not if it's the weather in Nigeria.

I know that most people aren't going to take kindly to this kind of complaint. "35 degrees everyday? PSSSHHHH," they will say. 

And to be sure, there are much more pressing things I could complain about--Malaria or corruption or politics or climate change or the disparity between the rich and the poor--for some examples. But I think that for me, the most disconcerting thing about living in Nigeria is the consistent weather. It is not wrong, and yet, to me, it feels wrong. I feel disoriented by consistency. It feels like I am cheating on mother nature and playing hooky at the permanent beach.  

So perhaps the learning here, is an appreciation of winter. Perhaps my living in Nigeria will cause a flip. Instead of living for the summer, I will schedule all of my vacations to Canada between December and February. I will rejoice in blizzards and black ice. I will bury myself in snow and build the greatest snow fort known to humankind. I will move to the arctic and stay there for a few years, just to regain balance.

Anyone up for a snowball fight?

Malarial Trials

I always seem to get malaria just before travelling to places I am afraid to go. Last year when I was on the road to Port Harcourt for the first time, I was also coming down with malaria. Which made the 18 hour bus ride that much more painful.

Two weeks ago on Saturday, I started getting a strange headache while I was getting ready to go out with some friends. I decided to lay down until they arrived to pick me up. I thought maybe by meditating a bit on the pain, and dissecting it Vipassana style, I might be able to realize that there was no centre and the pain was all an illusion brought on by some kind of clinging and/or attachment tied to some unconscious issue I was ignor(ance)ing. 

To my surprise, doing this did not make the pain disintegrate. Instead it made me feel as if my awareness was shrinking to the size of an atom inside a gigantic body that I had no control of. That was when I started to suspect that it was not just a normal headache.

That didn't stop me from going out though. . .and waking up with a fever the next day. That was the signal to go to the clinic for a blood test which confirmed what I was pretty certain of by then: I had malaria.

I began taking the medication immediately and went home to rest. I would have loved to write or read but sickness is like life's conspiracy to give you all the time off you need to do everything you are totally incapacitated to do. Which is what makes sickness so frustrating.

I have a tendency to lose patience with these contradictions of life and try to overcome them with unyielding persistence and stubbornness. "Alright life, I'm listening. What is my problem? Why did you give me malaria right before my trip to Kano?"

Oh right, trip to Kano. I didn't mention that yet, did I?

The partners and program I am supporting in my placement are all in Kano. I have not  yet been to Kano because of insecurity challenges. Since the volunteers were finishing their program and having a ceremony on August 27th, my colleague and I in Abuja were planning to attend. Security was contacted and our trip was approved. The allowance was distributed. The plane tickets were booked. Everything was go.

Then I got malaria. Hmm. Interesting. I see what you're getting at, life.

I had tried to push my concern about the trip out of my mind. I knew there was a risk but I didn't want to think about how significant that risk was or what kind of psychological effect it might have on me. I'm not saying that this was the sole reason I got malaria. I'm not even saying this had anything to do with why I got malaria. I know that for the two weeks before, mosquitoes had been especially bad and I had gotten bitten over fifteen times. The likelihood was high that I would contract malaria.

But can you deny the significance of timing like that?? I felt like life was giving me an ultimatum. I needed to look at this seriously. I needed to decide, not just because I felt kind of bad for never actually seeing the volunteers I was working for, whether or not I was really ok with a trip to Kano.

But malaria made it easy. I felt very sure that if I wasn't feeling too horrible to get on the plane, I wouldn't have any problem in Kano. I called my supervisor and told her that I would be there for the airport pick up, but take the morning to rest. . . . .

Stay tuned!

Who needs diamonds?

Or chocolate or hot water or all you can eat vegetarian food or constant electricity or constant internet or Japanese food or bike tours or poetry slams or. . .


When you've got a SWEET GUITAR!!!!

Ube na Oka

Another Nigerian delicacy!

Most fruit and vegetables in Nigeria are seasonally available. Different street foods pop up along the side of the road and flood the market until their season is up. Then they are gone again until the following year. It was mango season when I got here in March and there were crates and crates of mangoes in the market every week. Branches of mango trees everywhere were drooping under the weight of their swelling fruit. Then some time in June, they just disappeared.

Now, it is Ube and Oka season (Ube na Oka is Igbo which may be difficult to pronounce, but is certainly easier than Dacryodes edulis and zea mays).
That means, African pear and corn season. African pear seems to have some relation to avocado. The extent of that relation may be that they are both referred to as 'pears'. Ube only resembles an avocado in that it is the same colour green on the inside and has a large seed. And when Ube starts to go bad, it tastes how an avocado tastes when it goes bad. Otherwise, the taste is different and the shape is different and the way you eat it is different. And of course the name, class, order, family, genus species. . .all different!

Ube on the left, Oka on the right

So what is to be done with Ube na Oka?

Eat it!!!
Roasted corn reminds me, very vaguely,
 of tortilla and Ube reminds me, very vaguely, of guacamole :) yum!

Of course, there's nothing wrong with French Toast and a good book from time to time either :)

Window Shopping in Abuja

 While I am a volunteer in Nigeria, I am also taking a correspondence creative writing course from Humber College in Toronto. I am trying to write a book and applied for a workshop at Humber last year which I was accepted into and very impressed by. My mentor was Esi Edugyan who won the Giller Prize that year for Half Blood Blues. For this seven month course, my mentor is Sally Cooper who is the author of two books, Love Object and Tell Everything. I can't speak for Love Object because I haven't read it yet but I very much enjoyed Tell Everything even though it dealt with some very dark, Paul Bernardo/Karla Hamolka resembling, subjects.

The book I am attempting to write has to do with some of the experiences I had the first time I backpacked through India in 2009/10 which, if you go back through the records, you will realize is uncharacteristically absent. To be truthful though, a large majority of the important events in my life are not documented on my blog and remain somewhere in my body until they are ripe for the world to taste. So now I am weeding the soil around the seed and fertilizing it and doing some Biodynamic pest control rituals on the side for good measure to ensure that fruit is as sweet as I can make it. But as my good friend Kristine from Blue Chicory always said “It's best to make all your mistakes before you buy your own farm.”

For writing, it is all your own farm, but making mistakes and having a mentor to submit them to has been very helpful. It has helped me to see where my story is weak or awkward. Sally has also asked some insightful questions that have helped to pull out the story from the places it is still more comfortable hiding. I have already rewritten drafts and the results are much stronger but still not final. Writing is not an easy process. There is no real road map and no concrete directions. There isn't even a particular destination. After the peak of the mountain, you still wish you could fly higher. But somehow, the more you write, the more you understand yourself, the more you hear your own voice, the more you know what it is you're trying to say.

Good for
Phone cards, detergent, food, drinks!

One book that I've been reading is “Writing Fiction” by Janet Burroway which has been recommended as a text for the course. I think it was in that book where I read a suggestion to take an idiom or cliche that has lost its meaning and write a story detailing a new interpretation of the cliche that gives it meaning again.

Nigeria has provided the perfect example:

Siddharth checking out the goods

Window Shopping. :)

Termites for Dinner

Termites swarming at a gas station

Another interesting Nigerian food report from Abuja. A few weeks ago, these things were flying around. Smashing into lights and windows and finally, crawling in to my room!

Termite in my room!

 They aren't very big, but they have giant wings which gives the illusion of an enormous flying menace!

Termites swarming a construction warning light

Let's make a termite pie!

In fact, they are termites. They swarm at the beginning of the rainy season and their wings fall off soon after. People gather around bright lights to collect them in water and then fry them up and eat them!








 Eventually I worked up the nerve to actually try this delicacy, which Ogadinma assured me was very tasty. One got into our room and was flying around the light bulb. I filled our bathroom scooping bucket with water and tossed him in. I went outside and caught another that was lured by our balcony light.

Just as I was starting to think about frying them and putting them in my mouth and how the texture would be and what exactly they would taste like and whether or not this would be inhibited by the negative association I have between insects and food and whether or not I would like them and whether or not they would make me gag, there was a power outage and I couldn't attract any more. I looked down at the two outlines of wings and bodies paddling ripples in my purple bucket and felt kinda bad for them. I waited for the power to come back. I used my LED light to shine out into the night sky but all I saw were billions and billions of particles of dust. Rushing by and slowing down with my breath and changing directions and sparkling like stars. 

That was the last I saw of the termites. They haven't been around since. I guess I'll have to wait til next year. . .

Secret Nigerian Food

Ok so I lied.
There are still things about Nigeria that are interesting and new and exciting.
Like this:

Licki licki?

It's a seed of some kind. The outside is a thin fuzzy shell that opens to reveal a red powder covered seed. The red powder is tangy and sweet. Kind of like nerds. Remember nerds?

Except it can't be nearly as bad for you since it grows on a freaking tree! Somewhere. . .
A magic tree full of magic.
What is this mysterious seed?
Where does it grow?
How did it come to be?
The only answer given is: Licki Licki

You could grow a garden!

I'm growing a garden on my balcony in an old cooking stove to spice up dinners while I'm here in Abuja.

Basil, Coriander, Parsley, Aloe Vera

I've got parsley, coriander, basil, hopefully mint and there were supposed to be chives but they didn't sprout. . .at least not yet!

I'd still like to grow oregano and
sage if possible but I haven't found
any seeds yet. Would appreciate any suggestions about where I could find some!

Turning Reservoirs into Mountains

Sorry for being so whiny in my post last week. I'm taking a correspondence writing course through Humber College and have been having a lot of trouble letting the words flow lately.
It's like agreements were written up, contracts signed and somehow before I had a chance to protest, the river was dammed and the crops I was growing in the fertile flood plains shrivelled.

Now I am hatching a terrorist plot to blow up the dam (but shhhhhh don't tell anyone!)*  FREE THE WORDS!!!! 

Please feel free to comment with hilarious puns that I can use as ammo :) (I'm confident there are at least a million) Your support is appreciated!

Anyway, here are some weird/interesting things that happened in Abuja this week so far.

They banned commercial buses in Abuja on Monday! They have replaced them with these buses!

shoddy picture of new 'high capacity buses'
from my 'low capacity' taxi

Many commuters in Abuja were unhappy with the sudden transition (transitions in Nigeria are often sudden. . .) and complained about long waits, increased traffic and poor planning by the transportation administration in Abuja who implemented the ban. High capacity buses were supposed to decrease traffic and cost to commuters but people are reluctant to embrace the change. Maybe because it was so sudden!!

I don't use the buses very much so my opinion is totally irrelevant and should be taken with a grain of salt but generally, lower costs and less traffic are good things, no? Especially if the cost can contribute to society and the local economy. Whether or not that will actually happen is another debate.
There are, of course, victims. Mostly, the owners of the hordes of green 16 seater commercial buses that used to crowd the streets and who are no longer able to operate. I wonder how their families are taking the ban. . .


Interesting thing number 2: carpets!

Carpet Mountain!

I went to get some clothes tailored last week at the tailor that operates under the stairs at a shopping plaza. I wanted to take a picture of that too but felt that it was kind of inappropriate. They had finished my two dresses and one shirt and let me try them on (under the stairs) to make sure they fit. Who knew that you can fit 4 sewing machines, three tailors and piles and piles of colourful fabric in such a tiny space!

Across the plaza from the Harry Potter tailors; carpet mountain!! Behold the wonders! A towering mountain of beautiful carpets to furnish your home.
It's not really that interesting or strange really. I just liked that it was outside. And since it was about to rain, Ogadi was curious about what would happen to them in the rain. . . . .
But don't worry, it has a rain coat!

It's bat time. . .in Kwara a
few weeks ago

So that's been interesting so far this week. It is only Wednesday though so lots more could still happen! And I think that maybe, just maybe, I've pulled myself out of the slump. . .perhaps (^^)V









*Wonder how many hits I'll get from the CIA/FBI/other security monitoring personnel for that metaphor! If you happen to be one, Thanks for visiting. I'm not really a terrorist! That metaphor was just a desperate attempt to keep my creativity alive! Hope you have a wonderful day ♥

Making Popcorn with NGVP Kano!

"Is it bad to make a post about people I don't know?"
"It depends. Is it a good post or a bad post?"

Although I'm not sure that's all it depends on, I'm hoping that the wonderful volunteers of the Nigerian Graduate Volunteer Program in Kano don't mind.

Two weeks ago I organized a teacher and project management training for my partners in Kano. Due to ongoing security challenges, I have been unable to travel there since arriving in Nigeria so my partners came to Abuja instead. Usually, the trainings are delivered quarterly during the course of the NGVP program to the participating volunteers. In Kano, there are 30 volunteers but I have not been able to meet them (except briefly on skype!). For all 30 volunteers to travel to Abuja, stay for 3 nights, attend training and travel back to Kano, it would cost over 1 million Naira which is too much for VSO (partners with Cuso International) and our partners to agree to spend.

The alternative for now at least, has been to train the partners/desk officers of the program in Kano so that they can cascade the training to volunteers. I'm still waiting to hear results from the cascading that happened last week, but I'm expecting good things!

Popcorn making materials

As well as trying to improve the quality of education through teacher trainings, volunteers are also given an opportunity to apply for small project grants through VSO.




 
When my partners came to Abuja to be trained, they shared some pictures of the Kano volunteers that applied for a grant to do a popcorn making workshop in Kano. VSO encourages volunteers in the NGVP to use small project grants to help develop skills and generate income in their communities. The materials to make popcorn are low cost and easy to acquire and people, especially women, can use it as an income generator pretty much anywhere.

Instructing students

Heating the kernals

mmmm!

So a group of the Kano NGVP volunteers organized a workshop at an all girls school and trained them in how to make popcorn! With yummy looking results!

My partners and students enjoying popcorn!

Hopefully I'll have more pictures to share after the next training! My partners in Kano have informed me about a big event that they're organizing in the city to raise awareness about NGVP activities in Kano this week!

White Whine

I've been trying to write a blog post for the past few days but every time I click on the 'new post' button and am sitting across from a blank page, I too go blank.
It's like all that whiteness is laying siege to my brain, spreading its empty freedom to the multitudes of firing connections. Insisting on an organized response.

Which, from the perspective of a rapidly white washed mind, seems like too much effort.

I try to think about the interesting things I've been doing, that friends might be interested in reading about.
I could talk about the weird dreams that my malaria medicine gave me (even weirder than normal. I've been to France, on a large cruise ship heading towards Canada, witnessed my own death and the end of the world a few times. . .).
I could talk about getting trapped in my stairway on Sunday. I was trying to visit my cat friend who was stuck on my neighbours balcony when a gust of wind blew the door shut behind me, somehow locking it permanently. The lock has never been stuck before. I had filled the pot bubbling away on the stove with more water than necessary, so at least I had some time to save the pot from boiling dry. I pried open the small window that opens from the kitchen to the stairway and banged on the wall and counter with a tin can screaming for Ogadi til he rescued me. He informed the neighbours of my predicament, who's front window I emerged in front of--cobwebs in my hair and dirt all over me from crawling down the abandoned stairway. Glad he was home!!
Now, Ogadi is convinced the cat is magical and responsible for locking the door in retribution for being trapped himself.

I could talk about my new flatmate, another volunteer from the UK who I took around Abuja for five hours yesterday. To the movie theatre/shopping mall for a coffee, to Wuse Market, to City View Restaurant. Before coming home to be sick, recover, finish Americanah, and finally work on my own writing project.

. . .all of which seem totally boring.

A lot of the things that WOULD be interesting (probably) are beginning to seem normal so I don't notice them as much. There's a certain point, I think, when you get used to a place and start to understand it on a level that makes the novelty of certain events or everyday occurrences fade. Or perhaps I'm just too accepting of differences at this point. I've kind of given up in noticing them and thinking they are so funny or peculiar or interesting. . .

Maybe it's just a slump. Or maybe I'm zooming in too much to detach myself for the moment.

Maybe I need some distance or some time or some. . .something.

Or maybe I just need to shut up and write like a Mother#^$*&@

A New Friend

 Look who stumbled onto my balcony. . .


He also pooped on my balcony (-__-;)

Me: "Can we keep him? Can we? Can we?"

Ogadi: "Throw that cat away!"

Abuja pace

9ja.
What has been going on lately?

Entrance to Millenium Park

Well, I've started to get my life into some kind of rhythm. Of course, it's not perfectly complete yet. But the essential bits are there. The congregation of birds that sing sun salutations from the trees outside my window, the rising but muffled call to prayer, the jangling beats shoe repairers drum out on their tool boxes to attract those in need of their services, the tapped horns of wandering taxis signalling vacancy, the drip of the leaky air conditioner in the office, the droning buzzzzzzzzz of the generators whenever the power's out, the more aggressive brrrrrrrrr of the community vegetable grinder who has his business just outside of my flat, the hiss of the gas pressure when I open the tank to light the stove, the click of the lighter, the whoosh of the flame. . .the thick silence of the nights.

I remember noticing, specifically, the sound of highway traffic from my bedroom window in Canada before I left. I was lying in bed around 3am (my usual bedtime when I'm at home) and I could hear transport trucks and cars speeding across the asphalt in that low familiar hum. The highway is more than a kilometre from my house but it made no difference.
I remember wondering if it had always been like that. If the highway sounded so busy at that time even 5 years ago? Was everyone always in this much of a rush to get somewhere else? The hum stayed with me until I woke (around 11am) and even grew to include the attitudinal wheeze of aircrafts forever landing or taking off.

Aso Rock at Sundown

Here, I love watching people sitting on benches behind corner vegetable stands. Security guards watching football all day sitting back, teasing each other, doubling over with the kind of uncontrollable laughter that makes it sound like something is caught in your throat. Girls and boys and men and women walking with perfect posture and balancing a day's earnings worth of peanuts or 'pure water' on their heads while they dodge in and out of crowds and stopped traffic. It really makes you reconsider the limits of willpower. I've seen someone accidentally brush shoulders with a girl carrying a giant tub of something and the girl was able to turn her head back and scold him without even the hint of a wobble.

It doesn't mean it's easy, or better or even more desirable necessarily. . .but it is a nice and eye-opening change.

Field Trip To Ilorin

Last week I went on a field trip to Kwara State to visit my colleague. She is a the volunteer management and training adviser for the NGVP Program through the Kwara Ministry of Education whereas I work in the same position but remotely for the NGVP program running through KSSSSMB in Kano.

She was hosting a training for NGVP volunteers on project management and I was invited to observe, contribute and meet the volunteers involved in the project. The volunteers in Kwara were working on proposals for small grants and needed some guidance on proposal writing.

The Ministry of Education

NGVP volunteers are sent to schools to support teachers, build capacity and ultimately help to improve the quality of education in the schools they work. They can also apply for small grant funding from VSO for support. One group of volunteers applied for funding to purchase computers for the schools they work in. Another for setting up a library. Another to host a soap making workshop, a skill that could help generate income for the workshop participants. Most of the projects were well thought out as far as sustainability and logistics were concerned but lacked explanation and left too many questions unanswered for the funders. That means VSO.

Bat Migration

mmm Mango season

Ilorin, the capital city of Kwara state, was where I was staying with volunteers that had been placed with ESSPIN. They're provided with a pretty sweet house! Air conditioning, a huge generator, washing and drying machines, flat screen TVs and even hot showers!!! What luxurious treatment I was given in Ilorin!! I was most excited watching the huge migration of bats from the balcony as they confetti-ed the sky in their nightly migration for food, the massive thunderstorm that I watched from the same balcony, inching further inside at about the same speed the storm progressed, a full moon-lit bike ride to Kwara Hotel and joking with the guards about protecting my friend's bicycle, the mango tree branches bending with the weight of countless green mangoes swelling to ripeness. . .

The trip home was also amazingly beautiful, for me. Forest covered hills, mist rising from valleys (though there weren't really mountains, just hills) all against that rust-red dirt.

When the bus stopped at the half way point for food, I met a guy who had recognized me from the Ilorin Shop-Rite. --In fact, I was lost in the Shop-Rite. Not lost like I didn't know where I was going, lost more like that song by The Clash. I feel lost in big box stores anywhere. They make me uneasy. . .it makes me even more uneasy to see the number of people that flock to them everywhere. But I also wonder if the rise of big box stores in the global south will mean the rise of small farmers markets in the global north. . .?--

Wuse Market in Abuja

Mr. Shop-Rite was going to Abuja too. I expressed my preference for Ilorin. He, who had grown up there, preferred Abuja.

That is the way, isn't it. People from cities preferring rural areas. People from rural areas preferring cities. . .there always seems to be a longing for that which is unknown. . .it's a rare occurrence to find someone that is completely content with exactly what they have.

It was really interesting to travel to Kwara and get some first hand experience of the NGVP program.

Ogadi's Egusi Soup! Yummy

The trainings in Nasarawa and Kwara and then reading past notes from the volunteer that established this project has helped me get a better grasp on what exactly my job entails. So has asking a bajillion questions to my project manager in the VSO office (who has been very patient, repeating the same things over and over). So I'm starting to understand. . .but being so far away from my project and volunteers in Kano makes it difficult to know the specific challenges that volunteers and partners are faced with there and how best I can support them.

But for now, in my little apartment in Abuja, with my little Aloe Vera plant, unfolding volunteer placement and the wonderful, Ogadi. . .I have nothing to complain about :)
(except the power cuts and the rat that infiltrated the kitchen while I was away. . .!)