Lonely birds

This weekend I just hit another wall. I feel like I'm hitting them more and more frequently. And I'm hoping it's just because I'm in due need of a vacation away from Africa. And luckily in less than two weeks I'll be traveling through Turkey and Greece for 10 days!

I had a busy weekend where I was with small groups of people all weekend. And it was a mixture of people and events. Nigerians, ex-pats, married, single, engaged, new and old acquaintances, beach swims and lazy hours on couches. On Sunday after it all I felt this heavy loneliness in my heart. Because despite all of this I still felt unknown and desired for all the wrong reasons and uncomfortable about culture differences and boundaries. I desperately need someone here to connect with. I keep telling God that I just need one person! Couldn't He spare just one person? I'm not asking for a dozen or even two I just want one. One persona who has similar goals, who's in a similar season of their life, who wants to go hear live music while sober, who is adventurous and can inspire me with their stories and motivate me with their dreams. Yet, they are out there someone wandering this earth and I'm here alone. As P.K. from The Power of One by Bryce Courtenay, says the lonely birds are laying stones in my heart.

I'm tired of spending my time doing things I don't really want to do. Like seeing movies I am not interested in, or hanging out with people who don't really care about each other, or eating food that I don't want, or listening to conversations that revolve around sex or drunkenness or a combination of both. Those are the simple things but they add up really quickly to me not enjoying life. And I'm not one to just sit back and be okay with this. I've always been one to get up and do something about my unhappiness or problems. I'm a problem solver and an initiator. Here I can't think of anything to do to fix this and the problems seem to be too many.

Actually, maybe on some levels I can do something about it. I could go out for sushi and spend close to 60 dollars on my meal. But, this would leave me frustrated as well because that's not the kind of money I want to spend. I could plan an amazing trip to a near by island called Sao Tome but I would have to either invite people I don't want to or go alone. I could change the subject in conversations, but it's not long before the topic is changed back. Some days the choices here are worse or more worse. It's like picking my poison.

And I know that the Christian answer is that I should be going to Jesus in all of this. I know that He promises to be closer than a brother or mother. And I know that He just desires me to know the sweet intimacy of his love, but sometimes that sounds like a bunch of shit and the loneliness is still a very real ache. I keep on asking Him to really get my attention or to wake me up if I'm not seeing or noticing a friendship that is promising. I keep on asking "What lessons can I learn from this time of my life?" or "How can I take advantage of this solitude?" And when I do go to Him and meditate on His words it's sweet and like a quick hit of peace but it doesn't last. Where is the Holy Spirit who used to tell me jokes to make me laugh or the God who would speak to me in clear dreams?

So...there is some of the polished thorns of my life right now. Thank God there is some nectar petals connected somewhere. I am determined to find them! But, right now I'm pricked and cut up from handling the thorns and my heart is heavy from lonely bird stones.

Wonder Cards

In our class we've been learning about asking questions. I decorated a little box with the words Wonder Box written all over it. Question marks danced around the words. I placed it in the front of the class and left it there for around a month. Then one day I introduced this mysterious box to them. They were so excited to finally have an end to their building suspense.

We went outside to the playground field with boards, pencils, and index cards. I sat back as I watched them. They would interact with the birds on the field and then would bend down to jot a question. They would see someone doing something and then they would bend down and ask about it. They would look around the field noticing the score board sign and then ask why it had balls stuck in it. I smiled as I read this one. For those balls were really bulbs to light up the outline of a score number. After our time on the field we walked back with heads held high as they felt so intelligent for asking questions and wondering about their environment around them.

A week later I was flipping through the wonder cards and stumbled across one that caught my attention. The question scribbled on the card made me laugh out loud. It read... I wonder why Ike (one of our Nigeria students) has such a big bottom.

And he does have a big bottom!And this has actually been one of my questions as I've worked with Ike and studied his facial features and structure. He is the tallest kid in our class reaching already up to my chin. But, I decided this wouldn't be a question to use while modeling a question web or how to use an outside source to find answers. I just tucked it nicely back into the box and shared the experience with friends over dinner.

They are a single thing

Our flat has this comfy sofas and overstuffed chair. I always look at the chair inviting me to sit down with my latest book or my journal. The warm welcoming light next to the chair beckons me as well. But, I've been giving it the cold shoulder always taking a rain check. That is until today. Today is Friday and I'm feeling much better. Almost 100% better. But, last night Tom called and said "I have insisted Justin not let you come back to work today." He would rather have me finish the strong through the school year than come back for a day and get worn out again.

This is the first day my bed has seemed confining so I finally accepted the invitation to sit in that lonely chair. I brought along my Mary Oliver to keep me company. I've discovered a quandary though.

When I read her poetry something stirs in me. Beauty. Awe. Inspiration. And these stirred feelings makes me want to shout the poem out my balcony to the giggling kids in the pool below, or to lay under the stars on a rooftop leaning on a lovers chest reciting lines in wispy tones, or to cuddle with Katy under layers of blankets during a recent snow storm interrupting her from her own far away adventures with lines about rumpled seas and slumped purses of lilies.

Poetry just needs to be shared. Shared with someone who will flop back into their chair after hearing it and just be awed. Someone who after moments of silence whispers, "Read it again." Someone who will ask reflectively what do you think she means when she says "the power of things?"

So, while I love reading Mary under the circle of light in this comfy chair it reminds me at the same time of loneliness. Of my Katy who is far away and busy with the bustle of being a newly wed graduate student who makes damn good shots of espresso while in her mind writing the paper about family orgins due too soon.

Poetry needs to be shared. So I'll compromise and share this poem with you even though the presentation is on a inanimate flat screen. Because I know those eyes that are processing the letters, the combination of words, the flow of the thoughts is connected to a heart which will lap up these words that to me are so beautiful and so true.

A Certain Sharpness in the Morning Air
By Mary Oliver

In the morning
it shuffles, unhurried,
across the wet fields
in its black slippers,
in its coal-colored coat
with the white stripe like a river
running down its spine--
a glossy animal with a quick temper
and two bulbs of such diatribe under its tail
that when I see it I pray
not to be noticed--
not to be struck
by the flat boards of its anger--
for the whole haul of its smell
is unendurable--
like tragedy
that can't be borne,
like death
that has to be buried, or burned--
but a little of it is another story--
for it's true, isn't it,
in our world,
that the petals pooled with nectar, and the polished thorns
are a single thing--
that even the purest light, lacking the robe of darkness,
would be without expression--
that love itself, without it's pain, would be
no more than a shruggable comfort.
Lately, I have noticed, when the skunk's temper has tilted
in the distance,
and the acids are floating everywhere,
and I am touched, it is all, even in my nostrils and my throat
as the brushing of thorns;
and I stand there
thinking of the old, wild life of the fields, when, as I remember it,
I was shaggy, and beautiful,
like the rose.

This poem is comforting to me right now as I think about the guy I'm dating, living in Nigeria, and really any future choice I make. I always call it the beauty and the beast of life. This poem words thoughts I've been thinking about how every place I live, every job I have, every person my life entangles with, every different season of my life will have puddles of nectar in petals and the polished thorns. Because Mary is right. They are a single thing. And it's just life. There will be beautiful sunsets because of the pollution in the air. There will be sweet gifts of freshly potted plants after the argument. There will be a crowd of loving kids surrounding you after you've missed school of six days. There will be a new deeper appreciation for freedom after living in confinements of Lagos. The bad is what makes the good so good. Can we define one without the other?

My hospital stay

I went back to school on Monday. It was a slow day where I tried to take it easy. But, how easy can you take it when teaching first graders? We switch activities every 20 to 30 minutes. We move from the carpet to the tables to tea break continuously. During my lunch break I crawled into bed with my frogs set to wake me up one minute before lunch was finished. I was glad to have two specialists, with computer and French ending our day. Normally, during this planning time I get everything ready for the next week. Homework sent to the print shop, spelling words chosen, and take-home books piled. Today I just packed my bags, walked home and crawled back into bed.

I woke to my phone. It was my friend Stacey who has been such a peach. She's taken such good care of me, calling a couple times a day to see if I need anything,praying for me, and now she texted me the phone numbers for Reddington who I called to find out my test results. When asked my doctors name I had no clue even after being there the previous two days. I have a hard time remembering their long names full of vowel and consonant combinations that are beautiful but confusing to my Western mental dictionary. Luckily her door is consultant room 6 at the end of the hallway and this helped me to locate her. We talked on the phone about my negative results for cholera (yes!) my negative results for malaria (yes!), but my urine did show I had a UTI. Because of some new symptoms I told her about she wanted me to come in again.

Sue, another helpful and caring colleague, arranged me a ride and we were off. Quickly I found myself sitting at the same desk, talking with the same doctor with an English accent. After talking with her for a sort couple of minutes she said "It looks like we are going to have to admit you to the hospital over night." I about freaked. This is not what I was expecting.This is not something I wanted! After phone calls back to Sue and Tom and Mary Ann and some tears of fear since this was all new to me, I was in the hospital bed with an IV dripping in my veins and the TV blasting some African soap opera where a little boy confronts the local gangsters.

Mary Ann packed a bag and kept me company all night. She was so attentive to my slightest move and would predict my needs before I even asked. She made my stay there so much better. We joked that now we had stayed in a grand total of four different hotel rooms together. This one being our worst since she had to sleep crammed on a leather chair.

Tom, my superintendent, also came to check on me and he checked with the doctors to see exactly with was happening. He wanted to know the medications they were giving me and how they were treating me. Once he got this information he called the consulate doctor to confirm that this was the proper treatment. I appreciated his concern and his efforts to make sure I was ok.

The night was long because of the frequent checks by the nurses. They would turn on the whole sets of lights mumbling their sorrys. They would check my IV and leave mumbling more sorrys. One time Mary Ann looked at her phone and noted they came in and out five times between 1 o'clock and 2 o'clock in the morning! Really, there was no need for that.

At 6:00 in the morning they came to check on us again and after this I went to the toilet. As I closed the bathroom door I heard a nurse entering our room and Mary Ann explaining that I would be out in 30 seconds. Instead of waiting they came into the bathroom to check my drip and then insisted on me taking a shower or at least them changing my sheets. I told them that I didn't want either done that I would like to get more sleep. She changed my sheets anyways.

Later in the morning I was talking with Mary Ann about the lack of privacy and how also every time the door opens it's a new face. They never bother to introduce themselves. Out of roughly the 30 people I met in that one nights stay I only was give two names. One was of the first nurse to welcome me Uche who was wonderful and personable. The second was my doctor, but I don't remember his name even after purposely staring at it on his name tag. Trying to etch it into my mind.

As we were talking about this there was a knock at the door. In walks a doctor I didn't recognize and as he is asking me how I'm feeling in walks another person in white knee length lab coat, and in walks another and another. At this point I can't help but let out a huge roar of laughter and when asked why I'm laughing I tell them that I'm surprised there is so many people in the room and it's all a bit overwhelming. Just as quickly as they come in they leave and it's just our doctor and us again. We try to act normal but burst into laughter again and he tells us that's the morning routine here that everyone including the pharmacists and nurses come in. After he had left I turned to Mary Ann and said "How many people were there." She said that she couldn't see all the faces so she had to count shoes and there were 11 people total! Point in case about feeling lack of privacy.

Any ways, Sue came later that morning and talked the doctors into letting me recover at home. I had to sign a consent form and then wait another two hours for them to approve my insurance and order my prescription. We talked about the latest news around school and spring break plans to pass the time.

When I got home I found it just as hard to relax with people coming to the door, phone calls at 6:40 in the morning and what not, but it is nice to be concern after and I did sleep the whole uneventful night in my delicious bed. Today is Thursday and I'm feeling so much better. I'll take one more day off, rest during the weekend and be back full of gusto on Monday!

Thanks for your prayers!

Sick

I've been to the doctors twice these past two days. Three weeks ago when I returned from Ibadan I got a UTI and started a round of antibiotics. It seemed to help but then when I was on this most recent trip to Benin I began to feel the affects again. I went on a second course of antibiotics and started to feel better again. But, the ride home for the border was long and the worse traffic I have ever been in. It was bumper to bumper and slowly inching forward. There were huge thunder and downpours which made the traffic even worse. After an hour of holding it I finally chirped up and asked if anyone else had to go to the bathroom. We let the security know and the lead us off course to a fast food restaurant called Mr. Bigs. All of this holding it business made my UTI come back. I went home early from school yesterday and had Gbenga take me to the doctor. They pressed on my tummy, took a urine and blood sample, and gave me vitamin C. This morning I was worse and so I went back a second time. My blood test was negative for malaria but they had lost my urine sample. I gave them another and this time a stool sample as well. I've rested all day and even had to cancel our field trip on Monday as I'm not feeling up to another long van ride especially where I have to be on the top of my game.

Palaces, Fetishes, and Water Villages!

This weekend had an extra day stapled to the end making it a three day weekend. I added one more with a personal day to make it a four day weekend. A month back I had taken a gamble and signed up for a four day trip to the neighboring country of Benin. It was a risk because on the school calendar we had estimated the Muslim holiday to fall on the 20th not the 9th. Our school officially announced the new date of the 9th the Thursday before. I get frustrated with our inability to accurately predict this date but really it's the moons fault since the holiday is based on it's appearance or something along those lines. I wont pretend to understand.

I was waiting on the side of the road outside my compound at 6:40 with my light weight Eagle Creek suitcase packed with five sets of clothes, two pairs of sandals, the necessary toiletries and smushed down feather pillow. Jane and Les Wood were going to pick me up on our way to 29 Ikoyi Road where we met the other 19 ventures. I was by far the youngest and the only one who didn't work in oil or have a spouse working in oil. However, this group of random people were connected with one thing, a love for adventure. The whole four days were sprinkled with stories about their recent trips and foreign living adventures. We also compared our benefit packages and number of vacation days or the threat of recession and the tightening of budgets. Our group got along so well and I was pleasantly surprised with the dynamics of the group. We all thoroughly enjoyed each others company, conversation and opinions.

We drove from Lagos to the boarder which took around 2 hours because it was early in the morning. The roads were clear. Norm had arranged for a company van to take us to the border. I was so grateful for that border because it meant a bathroom! After my trip to Ibadan two weeks ago I got a urinary tract infection and had been taking antibiotics to fight it. Now it had started to show signs of returning. I was even debating at the border whether I should go or return with the bus and escort and two others who had to return due to single entry visas. I had nightmare memories of Tanzania and Kenya. Of being stuck on public buses with cold and hot sweats praying for the next bathroom stop to be sooner than later. I decided to go.

We presented our evidence of yellow fever vaccination along with our passport and after two hours were all loaded into two different buses with our luggage piled on top and kept down with a net. Our guide Eugene sat in front. It took us a couple more hours to get to a local bar where we were refreshed with cold beers, soda and water and the use of a hole toilet.

EUGENE

We had heard that the palace we were wanting to visit tomorrow had a fire and was under construction so our guide Eugene arranged for us to go to one close by just in case tomorrows plans didn't work out. We paid 5000 CFA to see get a tour of the small palace. The highlights were the explanations of the bas relief that showed they symbol of each late king.


This bas relief was used to symbolize the unity it took to run a kingdom. Many fingers are needed to keep the holes plugged.


Also on the way to the city of Abomey we stopped at a recently built museum and were lead around to tree and holes. The tree was a baobab tree and it was believed to house a spirit. Offerings were made to this tree and if an important decision needed to be made the locals would come for an omen or sign of direction. This was common all over Benin as this country is known for it's fetishes and Voodoo. A fetish is an ordinary object that has been imbued with a sacred power. Voodoo is every day life for them.

We walked further down the path to the hole that during the war could house 80 people with food and supplies. The hole would be surrounded by bushes for camouflage and another layer to keep the snakes away. These holes were only discovered when they were recently expanding the road. We all climbed down to get a better look.


Hot, sweaty, and exhausted we arrived at our hotel called Chez Monique. On the drive we had been warned that it was a low budget economy hotel with a room fan and self contained rooms but no AC. But when we got there the place was lovely and even better than the presidential suite I had stayed in the weekend before. The grounds were a spread of trees and there was art work on every tree and gazebo.


The second day of our trip we went to tour two palaces. At one time this kingdom in Abomey used to have 12 palaces. Each time a new king was sworn in he would build a new kingdom next to the previous. Currently there is only 2 palaces remaining because when the French conquered King Behanzin destroyed the rest even killing his own mother. We got a thorough tour of the palace of King Gilele. We saw the walls made of human blood, the bas relief art that explained the history of the kingdoms, and King Ghezo's throne built on four skulls to symbolize his conquest and domination. The tour was lead by Rose and given in French but was translated by Barbara who I shared a room with. It was fascinating to hear about the traditions and history of this central city. Unfortunately no cameras were allowed on the tour as they believe the artifacts are spiritual. However, I did get some pictures of a local weaving art that was being done in the outer courtyard.



Like mentioned before Benin's history and current daily practices are saturated with voodoo beliefs. Driving through the villages you see flags in different colors indicating a voodoo doctor or shrine. I saw painted on walls rainbow pythons with twisted tongued around babies. We walked through a fetish market and were lead to the back were there was a bird of prey in a shoebox wire cage, a skittery chipmunk and after they peeled back the layers of dusty tarps were skulls of any imaginable animal. The stench of death wafted up and there was an overall feeling of doom and heaviness. However, not all the market carried this moroseness. Most of the markets was lively and active. The tables held piles of metal bolts, baggies of salt, or heaps of fishing nets.




On the third day we left central Benin and headed south to Grand Popo. To do this we boarded a train and chugged through the countryside of lush green, burnt fields and dirt pathways. As our train approached children would run out to greet us, wildly waving with both hands and shouting something either in French or their tribal dialect. The train ride was fast paced and the rushing wind kept us cool. We stopped a couple of times to deliver bulging bags of coal or to call ahead to clear the train track from other trains. Our third stop was for lunch. All of our meals far outweigh any of the meals I've had in Lagos. This one was delicious as well with spicy rice and sweet tomato sauce with a side of fish and a little spoon of green chilies.As always we had pineapple, mango or papaya for dessert.



I heard that we had an hour to go so I reclaimed my new favorite spot on the dresser and started to journal about the days events. I noticed it was unusually quite and that there was no one else around but I thought perhaps every one was in the second train car. I preferred the first one that was more open and was the original built in 1922. One of the attendants came around and was raising the windows. When he came to mine I asked him why he was doing this. But, it's really necessary to speak at least a little French because no one speaks English here. Through gesturing and hand signals I asked him to keep mine down. Then in the distance I heard my name being called and I stuck my head out the window to see everyone gathered around the buses and waiting for me! I had no idea the next hour drive was going to be on the buses instead of the train. Our travels on the train were over. I sheepishly gathered my belongings and joined the group who jokingly poked fun at my oblivion.



We drove for another hour to the city of Grand Popo which is known for it's ideal spots for relaxing on the ocean sands. And once we got there this is exactly what we did. I changed into my suit, dipped for a brief moment in the pool and sat under the low arch of a thatched roof while journaling. That night we had dinner on the beach under a full moon and lightning flashing behind clouds. We were entertained by local musicians on drums and maracas.



To take full advantage of the last day on the way to the border we stopped by a silt village. This was an amazing site as every day activities such as the market, getting to school and work, and church are all held on the water. Even weddings are held on the water in the boats. Each family typically has four boats. One for the men, women, boys and girls. Children being to paddle boats at age 2. While we were coming into the village we were taught about the two seasons on the water. The high season which is just three months of the year and is also when the water is sweet. And the low season which is the remaining nine months of the year which is when the water is salty. During the high water season there is a plague of water lilies which reduces the 60 available species of fish down to 3 species. This community is built around fishing which means the markets open at 4:00 in the morning to provide the fishermen with food for the day. Each family has their water property and have net fences to harvest the fish. While we were coming in the children we taking a lunch break from school. It's remarkable to see young children around the ages of 6 and 7 steering a long wooden boat filled with other children all plaid in their school uniforms.




Even after insisting to Eugene and the water guide about leaving the village at 1:30 getting us to the border at 3:00 we still were late. We got to the border around 4:00. By 5:00 with passports re-stamped we loaded our company bus and were thrilled with the sweet blows of AC. At the border I watched in disgust as Nigerians would hand over some 20 nira bills along with their passport to get back into Nigeria. I know that it's just part of life here but it just doesn't sit right with me. The small form of corruption points to bigger issues with bigger price tags. I had brought out my ink pen to fill in my entry card and the clerk took a liking to it. I let him use it but when I went to gather it from him before stepping into my third line he gave me a smile and said he wanted to use it to write with. I just gave him a look of disgust and acted disappointed, but then I realized that I wasn't acting at all. This really was how I genuinely felt about this tradition of a little dash here a little dash there.

At the border I finally had reception so I called Mark. He asked how my trip was and I told him it was wonderful but I'll show him the pictures and tell him the story hopefully later that night. But, this didn't happen because he was flying out that night to Vancouver. His flight left at 11:00 meaning he had to leave around 7:30 to get there in time. He found out on Saturday that he had to leave on Tuesday due to a French visa he needed to get. He had tried to call me but my phone didn't work in Benin. The whole bus ride home I tried to distract myself from thinking about this. Distract myself from getting sad about not getting to say goodbye. Distract myself from getting angry about his crazy work schedule and life that leaves me in lurches with little answers. We talked a couple of times before he flew out that night but still I miss him terribly already. We don't know when he will be back in Nigeria.

Benin City

We wanted to get on the road around 5:00 before environmental day started. The last Saturday of each month is devoted to cleaning the city and your area. The roads are closed to cars and runners (as our principal and his wife discovered) from 7:00 to 10:00. It applies to the whole state of Lagos. So, with the set goal and with Ibrahim, our driver, arranged to pick us up at 5:00 we finally loaded the car at 6:30 and were off! Mark and I got the roomy back seat while Ibrahim was behind the wheel and Max Powers (what a name) was the hired MoPo which stands for something about military police. His job was to sit in the front seat. The drive up to Benin City was rough. The roads are scared with giant pot holes that can only be avoided by swerving. Children dart across the road and jump over the barrier to get to the other side of their village. Cars come down your one way road unexpectedly because they are avoiding the big holes on their side. Suddenly the road ahead of you is being worked on and because there is no warning you have to turn around and now you are the one driving on the opposite side of the road and the one way is now a two way. We saw trucks freshly turned on their side and carcasses of others left behind licked clean from the fire flames. The drive was long but we were in a clean, air conditioned land cursier. The ipod was pumping and Mark and I were cuddled under a comforter pillows. The back was loaded with granola bars, Pringle packs, and liters of water.

About three hours into our drive I was napping when I heard a loud bang that sounded like a popped ptire or the backfire of a car. With my eyes still closed I selfishly hoped it was someone elses noise and not our own. Opening my eyes I saw billowing smoke pouring from our hood. In this nice Land Cruiser we were the ones stalled on the road being passed by cars only suitable for the junkyard.



Like magic our car was surrounded with people who wanted to help. It reminded me of the area boys who stand around this sand road that people use in Lagos as a sort cut. They stand around waiting for someone to get stuck. And when the little Honda with a big heart but not enough power starts to skid and spit sand they are there before you can cuss a full sentence. It's like the watchful and patient predator ready to pounch. Really, in all honesty it's brilliant and innovative.

But, this situation that could have been seen as a doom and gloom wasn't at all. We happened to be only 15 meters from a mechanic. And Mark who is a natural optimist took a hold of the situation within seconds never loosing that brilliant smile and said "Ok let's do some work while we are here, shall we?" And five hours later he had a replaced radiator, 50 tomato surveys completed, had gone on a full tour of the coco nut plantain and a poormans factory where they roast the palm nuts. Also a whole village was in love with him as he teased the children about "chopping their bellies". To chop means to eat in pidgin.







We got the information we were looking for about farming, prefered tomato paste and competed surveys. We also got hot, sweaty and farmer tanned. After Ibrahim negotiated the price with the mechanic we piled back into the car and headed again on this rustic road to Benin City. I was so grateful for the presence of the MOPO. The drive would have been quadrupled without him. Talk about being a powerful presence. The uniform of the green beree and the plastic looking gun prompted between your feet were a ticket to the fast lane. Every 15-30 minutes we would drive up to traffic which indicated there was a military stop. We would see vehicles pulled over with the people in them angerly gesturing. Some would be standing with stapled papers wildly flying in their hands trying to prove to an uninterested audience who wasn't interested in that type of proof. But, wanted the proof with the famous historical faces smiling back. Because of the MOPO we were always waved through, saving us hours of time and thousands of nira.


The next day we drove out of Benin City into a beautiful community where we meet up with a guy who was a cousin of Marks friends C.Y. He took us on a tour of farm land. We saw the tented greenhouse land dedicated to the future tomatoes of Nigeria. We drove by a beautiful valley view with nothing but trees to line the horizon. I learned how a cashew grows after seeing my first cashew tree. The fruit looked like a yellow pepper but it was tart and chalky.





The tour was short but worth the drive. Just walking through the land made me feel reconnected and was like pushing the reset button of my heart. Back in the car I happily shook my seed pod and stroked my cashew nut. Simple pleasures should never be underestimated or denied.



While the drive back was just as swervy and stomach turvy as the coming it was beautifully uneventful. Mark and I laughed over episodes of Jake and Imir on his iPhone and just plain enjoyed each other company.

With the weekend over, check! Now, I've done the tomato surveying and farming investigation in Benin City thingy and can add one more meaningful adventure into my pocket of treasures.