so proud of my hubby

I can't help it - a girl's gotta brag.  I'm married to an incredible man.  Not only is he an amazing husband who is patient beyond measure, supportive, dedicated, loving, loyal, giving, kind, funny, smart and a great cook, Joey is also an amazing GSO.  Earlier this year he received a Superior Honor Award for his work in Abuja, but this morning he received even greater recognition as runner-up for GSO of the Year, second only to an officer in Kabul, Afghanistan (not in any way diminishing the work of the hundreds of GSOs all over the world).  

I've personally witnessed how diligently, tenaciously and tirelessly Joey's worked here in Abuja, and it's nice to know some other people noticed too.  (Even if his CDO (career development officer) didn't.  When she denied his request to extend in Abuja she told him, "we are confident any other first-tour officer will be able to do the same."  How confident are you now?  Way to make your employees feel valued.  Okay maybe my juvenile retort isn't necessary but I still remember how disheartened he was by her response.)  So anyway, I'm just damn proud of him.  Abuja may be lucky to have Joey on their side for two years, but I'm even luckier - I get him the rest of my life.

Okay now you have permission to gag just a little.

i think i'll work backward

It's been a while so I'll start with what's new and work my way back...

I started working again.  At my old, old job.  My second contract fell through, despite all the assurances otherwise from that boss, so after three months of sitting at home alone all day with nothing to do, the quickly diminishing quality of my mental health demanded that I finally get a job.  Luckily the employee association (Abuja job number 1) was willing to take me back, so although the work is primarily bookkeeping and pays me in a week what I used to make in a day, at least I get some human interaction during the day.  My mood has improved markedly already.  

Having any job proceeds is also an improvement.  Obviously I've already spent my first week's paycheck, but I'd like to think that I used it to make the an investment in my future.  I've been thinking about doing this for the last three years, and since on a whole I'm utterly miserable here anyway, it seemed like a better use of my time than sitting around moping: yoga teacher training for three weeks in October.  In Thailand.  I can't wait.

Besides that amazing personal experience for me to look forward to, Joey and I are both excited for our upcoming vacation in Mozambique with our friends L&O on an island-hopping safari, and a romantic trip to Victoria Falls for our five-year anniversary.  I'm also excited to report a trip back to Des Moines in August to spend more time with my family, since the last visit in May was such a whirlwind it felt like we were in and out in the blink of an eye.  Unfortunately all these trips during the last few months of Joey's tour mean we'll be spending a lot of time apart, but he's been so busy with work and I've been so damn depressed we both know it's the best thing for us and our marriage right now.

And before we know it, it will be December 1 and we will be done, done, done with this horrible place and onto our next adventure.  What that will be still remains to be seen, but as long as we're together we'll make it work.

i have a very serious problem

I've been spending a lot more time at home lately, and with that, a lot more time with M.  As awkward as it is to just hang out while she cleans my house, I know her employment with us provides her with what is considered to be a very good job as well as a place to live, and I don't have to clean toilets or deal with Max, so it's a win-win.  But lately I've encountered a problem, and I have no idea how to deal with it.

M. smells.

Some days she smells so bad I can't even be in the same room as her.  When those days coincide with the days she folds my laundry I cringe.  Sometimes when we come home from vacation, when M. is gracious enough to stay in the house with the dogs, the upholstery on the furniture reeks for weeks.  Usually I throw the cushion and pillow covers in the washer, but that doesn't help remove the stench from the backs and arms of the furniture that can't be washed, and Febreeze only goes so far.  Yesterday she smelled so bad she left a trail of B.O. wafting behind her and today it reeks as if she still hasn't showered.   Lately I've found myself feeling hostile toward her because she smells so bad when really I'm the only one to blame until I tell her that she stinks.  But how do you tell someone they smell without hurting their feelings?

I'm not usually one to go out of my way to avoid hurting people's feelings.  I'm pretty blunt and mostly tell it like it is, but in this case I just feel so uncomfortable.  I actually like M.  I just want her to magically start showering before work and putting on deodorant and a clean shirt.  Is that too much to ask?  

So instead, I've been nagging my husband.  People here are very blunt with each other, and I know many Nigerians would just come straight out and say, "M, you stink.  Go bathe."  Joey has told me to do the same.  He's also come up with great ideas like explaining to her that Americans are very sensitive about how we smell and giving her some deodorant to use before work.  I just don't know why he can't tell her that.  It's not like he's busy with anything else.   

I'm know I'm not the only one who has a hard time telling people I like about something awkward.  Take, for instance, my 100% granola phase when I wore organic deodorant.  I'd like to think that since I still showered at least twice a day and wore clean clothes that I didn't smell quite so bad, but I'm pretty sure I didn't smell good - it took months before anybody was willing to tell me.  I certainly appreciated it when someone was finally honest with me, so why is it so hard for me to do the same favor for M.?

bats

The bats are back.  Last year about this time we experienced the same nightly migration of the creepy things over our house; sometimes they'd even dip into the pool for a sip (yuck).  This year we have an added bonus:  they've taken up their evening residence in the trees in our compound.

I can't even begin to describe the chirping of thousands of bats that is so loud I can hear it through my window from inside my house, but it's unnerving enough that I am now terrified to take the dogs out at night.  I wish I could take a picture of all them in the trees, but it's dark and they're dark and I'm not really willing to play with my tripod and camera outside while bats are swooping around.  Shudder.

Seriously, how do you get a bat colony out of your trees?  Joey and I both got a series of rabies shots before we came; the dogs are up-to-date on their shots too.  I know bats aren't malevolent, but I just can't help but worry that with so many of those gross animals right there and at least three bathroom trips outside a night, we don't really have the best odds.

just a note

M. is getting married in a few months.  She took the afternoon off today so she could go file for some of the wedding paperwork.  Among the forms she has to file?  "Separation of Spinsterhood."

Oh, Naija.

birthdays

Our miniature schnauzer, George, turned six yesterday.  Poor guy got more than he bargained for on his birthday:

I think he has a skin infection, because he's been scratching like there's no tomorrow.  He also likes to chew on his nails, so his very sharp nails have just torn apart all the skin on both his flanks.  I'm going to try a vinegar rinse in a few days, but I want the open wounds to heal first, hence his fancy new outfit (which he loves, by the way).

Sadly, vet care here is abysmal, so George is going to have to rely on my internet research to ease his itchiness.     

Speaking of birthdays, I celebrated my 28th about two weeks ago, and it was a much better birthday than the year before.  M gave me a coffee mug, O. made me a really sweet card and my good friend, Lauren, humbled me with a shout-out on her blog.  Not only did I get the undivided attention of my husband all night, our friends Lena and Omar and Brian and Nadine joined us for my birthday tradition, lemon cake (as baked by Joey - who also had an easier time than last year with the cake), and prosecco.  

It's my birthday, and I'll wear my comfy African pajama pants that make my ass look huge if I want to.

staycation day 30

I am still unemployed.  My contract has been in flux for the last five weeks and I believe I'm bordering somewhere between crazy sad and crazy mad at least 85% of the time.  So my options are 1: stay home and entertain myself here all day or 2: go back to the fish bowl  embassy, suck it up and take a job that pays me less than I made in college because it actually requires less thought than my job in college.  Clearly, I am enthralled by both options.

At the beginning of my so-called staycation, I felt very productive and used the time that I thought would be temporary to my advantage.  Now that the only end in sight to the boredom of option #1 is the boredom of option #2, my motivation has decreased significantly and goals achieved in a day read more like "shave legs" or "wash hair."  Yesterday I accomplished half a goal when I shaved one leg.  The hot water ran out before I could shave the other, and all women know shaving your legs with goosebumps only results in razor burn.

I'm trying to at least keep up on my exercise, but for some reason sitting on my lime green couch all day makes me really tired, and by the time Joey gets home from work it's all over and I've completely melted into the cushions.  Some days I wonder about those people who sort of morph into their couches and how long it will take before I'm half-flesh, half-synthetic fiber.

Today I decided I would do yoga.  As I mentioned earlier, I fried my ipod one hot afternoon when I tucked it into my sports bra as I vinyasad along.  Joey's been kind enough to let me use his while he's at work, but that's only when either he or I remember to take it out of his gym bag that usually sits in the car.  As that is the case today, I lugged the laptop out to the pool and strained to zen myself away with the faint music produced by the laptop's lackluster speakers.  Then it started raining.  Ash.

Ash falls pretty frequently around here, as it is the preferred method of garbage disposal (have I mentioned my theory that after seeing the third world I am convinced that nothing any green, tree-hugging American or US corporation could do would even begin to mitigate the pollution created on this continent?), but usually it's only a flake or ten and you can brush it off your shoulder.  Not today.  The garbage fire was in the next yard and caught by the wind and the large ash flakes that landed on my computer and yoga mat and in my hair and in my water were profuse.  Disgusting.  Not even taking the time to roll my mat, I scooped it up, dumped out my water and ran into my house.

Okay, inside.  Can't do hot yoga, but how about a yoga DVD?  Five minutes into Shiva Rea and I would punch the TV because she annoys me so much (I swear to God yoga DVDs are only for people who have never actually been to a yoga class), but I don't have to because the power has gone out.  It really makes me want to scream when all I'm trying to do is say "om" and I can't because of giant ash clouds and our unreliable generator.  Just another day in paradise - or really ironic lesson of yoga.  Isn't the point to block out all outside distractions and just go with the flow?

Yeah, well I'm willing to bet swami yogi never tried to do yoga in Nigeria.