#15: Winds Of Change

May 30, 2008

It’s the second week of the harmattan season, each day brings humidity, fierce winds and occasional thunder. Rain has come three times already, yet it does not wash away the dirt but makes it worse. Despite the heat, I have to close my windows, the dust comes in and covers everything. I find myself cleaning the house more often than I have ever done in any place in my lifetime in a week’s work. The stillness of time in the desert can be forgotten with countless chores to do around the house, most especially the task of making it feel like home. I’ve added colourful curtains to the kitchen and bathroom whereas there were none, hung up straw baskets I had purchased at a fair trade market in Jos. I have come to realize that without my laptop to bury myself into work and the internet, my creativity has soared. I have made sewing my hobby, as well as doing some carpentry around the house. The neighbour happens to be a carpenter so he’s been teaching me the tools of the trade, but it is unfortunate that my walls are made out of plaster and cement – some parts of the house have horrible holes and I am finding ways to fill it up or cover it up!

The situation has not ceased, with transportation and communication problems. My employer constantly forgets to do the favors I ask of him, written on a list, and it is sometimes two to three weeks later he checks them off his list. And that includes paying the keke nepap (the buggy driver that comes to pick me and drive me to my errands/work-out) meaning the keke nepap only comes to take me to the school, but has not shown up to pick me up every afternoon at 2pm for my work-out sessions with Sergeant Sanjo. Til today, I have only worked out twice at the gym in seven days and that puts a wringer in my fitness routine. I often wait outside with Amadu, the guard, for two hours under the shade of the veranda for the keke nepap driver. My intervenor, Marufat, has called him repeatedly to come and he says he IS coming. But he never does.

I will confess something, but I suspect my father will blow a gasket if he finds out (he reads my journals off Facebook, too) – desperate times, desperate measures for Coco. Some days when the keke does not appear, I walk over to the side of the commercial street a few blocks away from my house, and hail a motorcycle driver. Despite my blindness and deafness, I have managed to study the city’s streets and reach my arm out into the driver’s view to point which way to go. The way to Sanjo’s is pretty close, and the net café is a few minutes away. I know the price, and I pay when I arrive safely. There have been a few times when a new driver is wobbly and I’m nervous he’ll crash. I prefer having the keke nepap drive me around because a) I know the driver; b) he knows where to go; c) the buggy is more stable than a motorcycle, known as a kabu kabu. The conflict between the keke driver and the principal continue to brew, and I am left at home debating whether to hail a kabu kabu or remain at home. When I am at home instead, I walk to the market a mere few miles away, I do very physical chores such as dusting, sweeping, washing dishes, clothes and windows to keep myself fit and busy.

My laptop is at the repair shop now. I pray everyday it will be resurrected, because there are 20 vlogs and 400 pictures of my journey in Africa on that laptop, as well as several pieces of work I have started for VSO. Not having a laptop to do some work or correspond with my networks have put a screeching halt to my daily routine here, and I am often frustrated when there is simply nothing to do during the day. The school has computers, but it will only operate when the NEPA is on. Right now, I am doing this journal at the school, pray that it lasts long enough for me to finish this.

Things are beginning to change. I am starting to really live the life of a Nigerian. I don’t eat processed foods anymore, I rise and shine when the sun comes up, and the dust is not such a bother. I have finally found out my guard’s name. It’s Amadu. He is not literate, nor gestural. He just smiles and pumps his fist in the air for greetings. He looks stoned day in and day out. Friendly, he just lies on his back during hazy afternoons and watches the house during the nights. I have struggled to write to him in Hausa, he passes my notes off to other literate guards to translate. One day, I asked Umaru, the guard from the compound opposite me, what my guard’s name. Amadu, he writes. Aha! Amadu, Amadu, Amadu I recite with my voice. He smiled wide, and is happy I know his name.

I have signed up with a Hausa teacher, whoever he may be, and I begin on Monday. He can sign, and we will do our lessons three times a week for an hour in the school’s library. For two hours a week, I will also sit in the faculty room and sit beside the head mistress, who will teach me how to use a Singer sewing machine, powered by foot. I’m thinking perhaps once a week I will seek out someone with a special tool of the trade such as woodwork, pottery, art and such – and learn something new.

Despite the troubles as of late, I am trying my best to be optimistic and finding shortcuts or the way to the solutions. I am determined to keep my fitness schedule, keep myself busy with new hobbies, take up reading Braille again, and finding a way to strengthen my patience with the Nigerians who don’t own a watch. With them, there is no such thing as an appointment. It could be different in the big cities, but not out here in the desert.

Times are trying, but this experience is once-in-a-lifetime. I have the courage to stick it out for a bit longer.

Before I conclude, I want to tell you that my friend for life, Zach Wineman is a year older today. The day he was born, the people in his past, present and future – even those who never meet him – were blessed. I know I am. Happy birthday, Zach – as you celebrate, I am celebrating with you in spirit.

It is strangely cloudy today. Every and each day when the sun is out, the skies are a clear blue. No cloud in sight, until the sun goes down and the storm comes. But not today, the winds are up and the school’s flag is swimming with it and the clouds are moving at a fast pace. The brisk air is a nice change, despite the same nagging dust that creeps up on the floor or onto me. The very same is said about my life here, keeping busy and thinking positive is like the brisk air, but the situations are like the dust – clean it up but it’ll persist.

Tactile love,

Coco

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