The tailor of the confiscated fabric came over this weekend. Let's call her B. B. outsources embroidery to a different tailor whose workspace is located somewhere outside of Abuja. Apparently the embroiderer set up in an illegal structure, so when the government came to tear down the shanty, they confiscated all of his fabric.
What does it say about my life that after B. explained the story, I said, "Ooooh, that makes sense," because it totally did?
Anyway, the two pieces B.'s working on for me needed some minor adjustments, so she's working on those. I'll be sure to post my sweet new threads when they're finished.
12.12.2011
12.11.2011
marathon fail
This marathon is just not happening. Not for lack of trying either. Joey and I started training in July for the race at the end of February, but training for a marathon in Abuja is a lot harder than training for a marathon in Des Moines or DC. The first five months of increasing mileage we fought intense humidity and the hot sun. By the end of October we couldn't get up early enough to beat the heat; no matter how much water we guzzled or electrolyte-infused goos we gummed, I could only make it twelve miles before my insides felt as shriveled as a raisin. Now the temperature has finally dropped to a comfortable level but the air is so dry that the pungent odor of burning garbage scratches my nostrils and burns my throat while I'm hurdling tree branches that have burst through the concrete, rocks, goats, and sleeping Nigerians on the sidewalk. Running on the street isn't any better, because then I'm dodging crazy green cabs who are so distracted by the oyibo running on the side of the road they actually veer toward me. Or honk like I'm in their way. There is no such thing as a runner's high here. You can't just zone out and run. You have to constantly pay attention, or at best you'll end up with a broken ankle, at worst hit by a car. So as much as I desperately want to rock that Kilimanjaro marathon tee shirt, it's just not going to happen this year.
"Okada! (Pronounced just like it's spelled, okada is what they call motorbikes here. Apparently it is also acceptable to address the drivers as, "Bike.") Which way Obudu?"
"Straight," was always the answer. Well, actually, it was always the answer when O. asked. If Joey tried to ask for directions, the answer he'd receive was usually a confused look accompanied by "Ehh?" (think guttural noise a la Tim Allen in Home Improvement.)
But the word "straight" does not mean you actually drive straight down the road. Because "straight" here is usually accompanied by body language that one might normally insinuate means left or right. For example, Bike first turned his entire body all the way to the left and said "first you go straight." Bike then swiveled to the right, extended his arms and said, "and then you go straight." Finally Bike oscillated back to the left and finished, proudly, with, "and then you go straight." Oh, thank you. Now we know where Obudu is.
But by the grace of God, after eight hours on bumpy dirt roads past some villages with people who we'd all swear had never seen white people before, we turned a corner and the scenery changed. All of a sudden we'd arrived at the base of a gorgeous, lush, green mountain. While the car wound up 10k of switchbacks the view grew more and more stunning, and we ended up on top of a truly beautiful and peaceful mountain.
The pleasant surprises didn't stop there. We rented a three-bedroom villa that was absolutely darling with its whitewashed beadboard walls and wicker furniture. We drank wine and played games while cuddling under blankets and taking in the breathtaking views over the valley. Yes, blankets - the air on top of the mountain was crisp and clean and chilly! We found a refreshing oasis at Obudu Mountain Resort; none of us could believe we were still in Nigeria.
 |
| See the rainbow? |
12.07.2011
a photo journal of thanksgiving dinner
 |
| Chowing on apps after a long morning prepping |
 |
| Nadine working on the mashed potatoes |
 |
| Lena and me, trying to keep everything warm |
 |
| Everything but the cranberries: turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, and creamed corn. Gravy and rolls were on the table! |
 |
| Omar helping Joey carve the turkey |
 |
| From left to right: Ahmed, Nadine, Brian, Joey, Omar and Lena |
 |
| Letting dinner sit with a game of Apples to Apples. |
 |
| Time for pie! Pecan pie, pumpkin pie and caramel cream pie - YUM. |
 |
| Aren't we cute? |
12.05.2011
online reviews are ruining my life
I'm serious. They have completely debilitated my shopping prowess. I can't buy anything anymore without reading every. single. review. And even if almost all of the reviews are positive, that one bad review will completely cloud my judgement and render me unable to purchase the item.
Take, for example, sheets. Average review of 3 1/2 stars on Amazon.com:
"These are the nicest sheets ever! A great deal!" say reviewers 1-42.
"These sheets SUCK. They are scratchy and absolutely NOT 1200 thread count," says reviewer #43.
"Very happy with these sheets," according to reviewers 44-84.
"The sheets are great - for six months. Then I woke up with my foot next to the mattress because there was giant hole!" contributes reviewer 85.
Then reviewer 86 gave then a one-star review because the color in person didn't match the color on the computer monitor. Very helpful.
So don't read the reviews, right? No way. In fact, if an item hasn't been reviewed yet, I am even less likely to buy it. How do I know from that grainy little picture and clever online marketing if the product is worth it? Someone has to tell me what to think! And if an item has only been reviewed by one person, even if that person positively glows about the product, that's not enough statistical probability for me. Then those 1200 thread-count, Egyptian-cotton sheets that only cost $30 will actually be burlap (or maybe I've lived here so long I think everything is a scam).
I mean, what if I pay $100 for a set of sheets, wait 3 weeks to get them, wash them and they're scratchy? Good luck trying to return already-washed sheets through the mail (I totally would return those in the store, though. I'd look that manager straight in the eye and tell him his sheets are sheet.) Or what if I pay $100 and I wake up one morning with my foot in a hole? Or like the pair of sheets I'm attempting to replace, what if this pair pills and itches after ten washes?
This is what happens when you have lived in Africa for a year. Twelve months of no shopping, after growing up in the suburbs and having nothing else to do but shop, results in a shop-obsessed- I-suddenly-must-buy-an-ice-bucket crazy person. I am going through shopping withdrawal. What I wouldn't give right now to sit in my car, listening to NPR and fighting holiday traffic to rush through the frigid winter air into the warm, fluorescent wonderland that is Target. To lean on a shopping cart and sip my tall, Starbucks, one-pump-pumpkin-spice, non-fat, no-whip latte as I wander aimlessly through the brightly lit aisles of Bed, Bath and Beyond and listen to cheesy, over-played holiday tunes. To pick up a box, turn it around, read the label, look at the packaging, feel the quality between my fingers and come to my own judgement about whether or not I should buy it. But instead I am relegated to the product of my Google searches and Amazon sorting mechanisms. Then what should be a simple solution to a simple problem (I need new sheets: buy a new set), turns into marathon internet shopping session in which I read 5000 reviews and buy nothing.
By the way, I decided my blog needed an update. Just wanted to give credit where it's due: Lizz, I used your template. I hope you don't mind.
And I'm definitely interested in your reviews.
Take, for example, sheets. Average review of 3 1/2 stars on Amazon.com:
"These are the nicest sheets ever! A great deal!" say reviewers 1-42.
"These sheets SUCK. They are scratchy and absolutely NOT 1200 thread count," says reviewer #43.
"Very happy with these sheets," according to reviewers 44-84.
"The sheets are great - for six months. Then I woke up with my foot next to the mattress because there was giant hole!" contributes reviewer 85.
Then reviewer 86 gave then a one-star review because the color in person didn't match the color on the computer monitor. Very helpful.
So don't read the reviews, right? No way. In fact, if an item hasn't been reviewed yet, I am even less likely to buy it. How do I know from that grainy little picture and clever online marketing if the product is worth it? Someone has to tell me what to think! And if an item has only been reviewed by one person, even if that person positively glows about the product, that's not enough statistical probability for me. Then those 1200 thread-count, Egyptian-cotton sheets that only cost $30 will actually be burlap (or maybe I've lived here so long I think everything is a scam).
I mean, what if I pay $100 for a set of sheets, wait 3 weeks to get them, wash them and they're scratchy? Good luck trying to return already-washed sheets through the mail (I totally would return those in the store, though. I'd look that manager straight in the eye and tell him his sheets are sheet.) Or what if I pay $100 and I wake up one morning with my foot in a hole? Or like the pair of sheets I'm attempting to replace, what if this pair pills and itches after ten washes?
This is what happens when you have lived in Africa for a year. Twelve months of no shopping, after growing up in the suburbs and having nothing else to do but shop, results in a shop-obsessed- I-suddenly-must-buy-an-ice-bucket crazy person. I am going through shopping withdrawal. What I wouldn't give right now to sit in my car, listening to NPR and fighting holiday traffic to rush through the frigid winter air into the warm, fluorescent wonderland that is Target. To lean on a shopping cart and sip my tall, Starbucks, one-pump-pumpkin-spice, non-fat, no-whip latte as I wander aimlessly through the brightly lit aisles of Bed, Bath and Beyond and listen to cheesy, over-played holiday tunes. To pick up a box, turn it around, read the label, look at the packaging, feel the quality between my fingers and come to my own judgement about whether or not I should buy it. But instead I am relegated to the product of my Google searches and Amazon sorting mechanisms. Then what should be a simple solution to a simple problem (I need new sheets: buy a new set), turns into marathon internet shopping session in which I read 5000 reviews and buy nothing.
By the way, I decided my blog needed an update. Just wanted to give credit where it's due: Lizz, I used your template. I hope you don't mind.
And I'm definitely interested in your reviews.
12.04.2011
presents
So now I have no presents to put under the tree for my husband. But I do have a pretty tree. Add Home Alone on TV yesterday (at which I only shed a few tears), homemade eggnog courtesy of Joey (which tasted just like AE Dairy's), and it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas. Inside... 
My present for Joey didn't arrive in time, but thankfully he still had a gift to open, complements of M. She got him the shirt he's wearing in the photos.
My Christmas present for Joey has already arrived: I ordered it as soon as I realized Joey's birthday present would be late. Unfortunately, Joey intercepted the box at the Embassy and opened it. He came home with the mail and said, "Somebody got us something really cool, but I don't know who it's from." At least he liked it...
 |
| Joey's Christmas present: a coaster for each place of significance. |
So now I have no presents to put under the tree for my husband. But I do have a pretty tree. Add Home Alone on TV yesterday (at which I only shed a few tears), homemade eggnog courtesy of Joey (which tasted just like AE Dairy's), and it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas. Inside... 
12.02.2011
two's company
Well, I made it through about one minute of my first Christmas song this season before the tears set in. The plan was to set up the tree this weekend; maybe I'll feel less weepy after all the endorphins set in from my ten-mile run tomorrow morning. In the meantime, Joey poured me a glass of red wine.
On a lighter note, I thought I'd share a funny story from a few weeks ago. We celebrated Thanksgiving early, the Sunday before, since we'd be in Cape Town on the actual holiday. Between the three couples, we had most of the necessary components of a Thanksgiving dinner, but we still had to do a little shopping.
Grocery shopping in Abuja is kind of like a scavenger hunt; you never know what you're going to find or where you might find it. All five grocery stores might have bean sprouts one week, but the following week when you want to make Pad Thai, bean sprouts are nowhere to be found. So the day before our dinner, Joey, Lena and I made our way through four of the grocery stores in town in search of the various ingredients. We were almost successful; we couldn't find cranberries, but we did manage to find a version of everything else.
Our last stop was the fruit and vegetable market we frequent, where we stopped to pay way too much for apples and buy some fresh herbs for the turkey. We always visit the same stand; the little guy there calls us his customers and usually doesn't screw us too much on the prices. Actually, the little guy, let's call him Abdul, is probably at least 30, but if it weren't for his teeth, you'd think he was about 12.
We parked the car by our regular stand, and Joey got out first. Lena and I followed. Abdul looked at Joey, then he looked at me, and then he looked at Lena. He looked back at Joey, back at me, and then to Lena one more time. Then Abdul's eyes grew as big as saucers and in his high-pitched voice he exclaimed:
"You have TWO wives?!"
Oh God.
We laughed hysterically, joked that yes, Joey has two wives, and then tried to explain that actually, no, Lena was not Joey's second wife.
Abdul was not to be persuaded. He looked at me and said, "You are the Abuja wife." Then he looked at Lena and said, "And you are from London!" (London seems to be the only place that most people know outside of Nigeria - sufficiently far away I guess for his mind to reconcile why he'd never seen her before.)
Abdul was so excited we could hardly convince him to sell us produce. He kept high-fiving and fist-bumping Joey and saying, "I want two wives!"
So Lena and I decided we are now sister wives. I am the bush wife and she is the city wife. Sounds like Joey's got a pretty good arrangement.
On a lighter note, I thought I'd share a funny story from a few weeks ago. We celebrated Thanksgiving early, the Sunday before, since we'd be in Cape Town on the actual holiday. Between the three couples, we had most of the necessary components of a Thanksgiving dinner, but we still had to do a little shopping.
Grocery shopping in Abuja is kind of like a scavenger hunt; you never know what you're going to find or where you might find it. All five grocery stores might have bean sprouts one week, but the following week when you want to make Pad Thai, bean sprouts are nowhere to be found. So the day before our dinner, Joey, Lena and I made our way through four of the grocery stores in town in search of the various ingredients. We were almost successful; we couldn't find cranberries, but we did manage to find a version of everything else.
Our last stop was the fruit and vegetable market we frequent, where we stopped to pay way too much for apples and buy some fresh herbs for the turkey. We always visit the same stand; the little guy there calls us his customers and usually doesn't screw us too much on the prices. Actually, the little guy, let's call him Abdul, is probably at least 30, but if it weren't for his teeth, you'd think he was about 12.
We parked the car by our regular stand, and Joey got out first. Lena and I followed. Abdul looked at Joey, then he looked at me, and then he looked at Lena. He looked back at Joey, back at me, and then to Lena one more time. Then Abdul's eyes grew as big as saucers and in his high-pitched voice he exclaimed:
"You have TWO wives?!"
Oh God.
We laughed hysterically, joked that yes, Joey has two wives, and then tried to explain that actually, no, Lena was not Joey's second wife.
Abdul was not to be persuaded. He looked at me and said, "You are the Abuja wife." Then he looked at Lena and said, "And you are from London!" (London seems to be the only place that most people know outside of Nigeria - sufficiently far away I guess for his mind to reconcile why he'd never seen her before.)
Abdul was so excited we could hardly convince him to sell us produce. He kept high-fiving and fist-bumping Joey and saying, "I want two wives!"
So Lena and I decided we are now sister wives. I am the bush wife and she is the city wife. Sounds like Joey's got a pretty good arrangement.
12.01.2011
t minus 365
I can't believe today is December 1. Which means exactly one year from today, Joey, George, Max, Moe and I will be boarding a plane for the good old U.S. of A. on a one-way ticket. So while technically our one year anniversary here is not until December 29, that crazy, post-Christmas all-night drive from Des Moines to DC was totally worth every sleepless minute. Because had we waited for Delta to get its shit together and arrived in Nigeria even 2 days later, my one year countdown wouldn't start for another month. Ah. may. zing.
But now the crazy part?
I actually don't think I'd mind an extra month. I might even be able to deal with a few extra months.
Ever since I got back from Des Moines in September, things here have gotten so much better (for me, not Nigeria). I started a new job as a contractor, which I find challenging, interesting and rewarding. Instead of juggling two menial part-time jobs, I'm able to work full-time in my field. And I'm no longer at the Embassy, and I really enjoy the extra bit of space afforded to me by not working in the same building as my husband and the rest of the entire American community every. single. day. I'm horrible at small talk and now I don't have to subject myself to painful, awkward silences at least once an hour. The best part is that I was able to negotiate a telecommute agreement, so while I work most of my days in the office, I get to work a few hours each day from home. It's fantastic.
We also have made some incredible friends in the last few months. Everyone at post has been very kind and accomodating, but we just didn't meet anybody with whom we just "clicked." Almost all the young people here are single, and the ones who are married all have children, and Joey and I just fell into an uncomfortable middle ground. But we finally met two other young couples like us and we've been having a blast. We have weekly dinner parties, spent a great weekend away and are planning another trip together this spring. It's amazing what a difference good friends make; I guess I had taken for granted how important our friendships at home and in DC had been to me. I finally found two women with whom I feel like I can have open, honest, face-to-face conversations about fashion, travel, marriage, kids, money - life! It's taken a ton of pressure off our marriage now that I have other people with whom I can commiserate. And for all those things that, try as he might, Joey just doesn't understand, my girlfriends do.
We've also planned some fabulous travels. We get to spend ten days in Italy with my parents and one of my sisters this winter drinking wine and eating pasta. We're training to run a marathon around Mt. Kilimanjaro and afterward we get to go on safari in the Serengheti. As difficult as living in Nigeria has been, it has afforded us incredible opportunities to see places we never even could have dreamed of.
I don't know - I guess when I finally stopped fighting the fact that I live in Nigeria and just started living instead - when I stopped focusing on how much it sucked, it stopped sucking so much. And now that we're down to a year, I'm already a little sad that it's going to be over so soon. I guess that's one of the drawbacks of this life - as soon as you get settled and start enjoying the journey, it's almost time to look ahead to the next move, the next job, the next post. But in the meantime we're here for 365 more days, and we're going to make the most of it.
Oh, and I didn't buy the boots. I bought leopard-print oxfords instead. When in Rome...
But now the crazy part?
I actually don't think I'd mind an extra month. I might even be able to deal with a few extra months.
Ever since I got back from Des Moines in September, things here have gotten so much better (for me, not Nigeria). I started a new job as a contractor, which I find challenging, interesting and rewarding. Instead of juggling two menial part-time jobs, I'm able to work full-time in my field. And I'm no longer at the Embassy, and I really enjoy the extra bit of space afforded to me by not working in the same building as my husband and the rest of the entire American community every. single. day. I'm horrible at small talk and now I don't have to subject myself to painful, awkward silences at least once an hour. The best part is that I was able to negotiate a telecommute agreement, so while I work most of my days in the office, I get to work a few hours each day from home. It's fantastic.
We also have made some incredible friends in the last few months. Everyone at post has been very kind and accomodating, but we just didn't meet anybody with whom we just "clicked." Almost all the young people here are single, and the ones who are married all have children, and Joey and I just fell into an uncomfortable middle ground. But we finally met two other young couples like us and we've been having a blast. We have weekly dinner parties, spent a great weekend away and are planning another trip together this spring. It's amazing what a difference good friends make; I guess I had taken for granted how important our friendships at home and in DC had been to me. I finally found two women with whom I feel like I can have open, honest, face-to-face conversations about fashion, travel, marriage, kids, money - life! It's taken a ton of pressure off our marriage now that I have other people with whom I can commiserate. And for all those things that, try as he might, Joey just doesn't understand, my girlfriends do.
We've also planned some fabulous travels. We get to spend ten days in Italy with my parents and one of my sisters this winter drinking wine and eating pasta. We're training to run a marathon around Mt. Kilimanjaro and afterward we get to go on safari in the Serengheti. As difficult as living in Nigeria has been, it has afforded us incredible opportunities to see places we never even could have dreamed of.
I don't know - I guess when I finally stopped fighting the fact that I live in Nigeria and just started living instead - when I stopped focusing on how much it sucked, it stopped sucking so much. And now that we're down to a year, I'm already a little sad that it's going to be over so soon. I guess that's one of the drawbacks of this life - as soon as you get settled and start enjoying the journey, it's almost time to look ahead to the next move, the next job, the next post. But in the meantime we're here for 365 more days, and we're going to make the most of it.
Oh, and I didn't buy the boots. I bought leopard-print oxfords instead. When in Rome...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)