Acid

Me at the market

For all of those who are not part of the Facebook world. Here are some links to my pictures. One is from my most recent day at the beach. Another album is views that I see from the passenger seat while we drive through Lagos. The third takes you along my weekend adventure to the local markets. And finally the last is the compound of my friend Linda. I thought you would like to see scenes from my life here.

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=55209&l=c7b23&id=515407286
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=52885&l=6be9c&id=515407286
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=55626&l=85967&id=515407286
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=55604&l=dc146&id=515407286

Some highlights of my week were getting my eyebrows waxed, finding a new steward Lawrence, having the principal get the janitor Daniel to unlock a bathroom stall to get one of my students out, stirring our 100’s stew to celebrate the 100th day of school and getting a long detailed email from my friend GP!

As you can see some beauty and some beast in there.

This week I picked up the poetry of Mary Oliver as it always refreshes my soul. Here is one of my favorites because it reminds me of the poverty I see around me. I had a great conversation with my friend Gbenga a couple weekends ago concerning something similar. He said that people who abnormal growths will beg for money on the streets here. You see them holding out their hand and you try to look them in the eye but your attention is drawn to the huge inflamed body part. Overgrown penises, swollen ears, or elephant hands. The hearts of many are pulled into response as they dip into their nearly empty pockets and leave their tattered nira bill. This swollen limb plays on the kindness of the human soul and pays the bills. But, when is enough? Often once they have collected the sum for an operation many decide not to. How could they give up the steady income? Desperation is their daily companion. They are acquaintances with a dependency but never become close friends. Having lived here for 6 months my mind is full of shadows that will stay with me like a bead of acid. As I live here I can't help but access that nest of wires and imagine myself in their position and I wonder what would I do?

Acid
Mary Oliver

In Jakarta
among the venders
of flowers and soft drinks,
I saw a child
with a hideous mouth,
begging,
and I knew the wound was made
for a way to stay alive.
What I gave him
wouldn’t keep a dog alive.
What he gave me
from the brown coin
of his sweating face
was a look of cunning.
I carry it
like a bead of acid
to remember how,
once in a while,
you can creep out of your own life
and become someone else—
an explosion
in that nest of wires
we call the imagination.
I will never see him
again I suppose.
but what of this rag,
this shadow
flung like a boy’s body
into the walls
of my mind, bleeding
their sour taste—
insult and anger,
the great movers?

This group of Nigerians were working along the go slow (traffic jam) They were all missing some limb or another and were begging for money.