I'm finally returning to finish Howard Zinn's "A People's History of the United States," and it's exhilarating to learn of all these social movements and rebellions I've never heard of. Like unwrapping gifts of possibility. Also very painful. Recently, the Clandestine Insurgent Rebel Clown Army had a training in Charlottesville, and a gaggle of "clownvassers" visited low income "minority" neighborhoods to register people for the upcoming Dialogue on Race. It was wonderful to share some of these beloved skills with new friends here, and it opened up a real sense of possibility. Charlottesville is surprisingly alive with all kinds of rebellious and progressive politics. An urban communitarian network of cooperative anarchists, various neighborhood associations focused on mutual aid and autonomy in the legacy of the civil rights movement, various artists and writers working creatively for social change, tons of non-profits, a new popular education center forming in the countryside near here, a new age book shop that runs a prison books project, a blossoming local food movement with transition town potential, engaged buddhism, environmental negotiation, bicycle activists, clowns without borders, a city government supporting a race and reconciliation project embracing action for change, and the list goes on... It's exciting. I still often have the urge to flee (wrought from my conditioned transience), but I think we have a good thing going on in this place. An idea is percolating to band with others and create a cooperative for mapping cville projects and alliances and then offering capacity-building process and storytelling training -- playback theatre, theatre of the oppressed, oral history, ethnography, writing, documentary... I feel more connected than ever to the sense of value in acting locally, but also strategically and holistically. Perhaps it's Howard Zinn's storytelling, tales of brave folks coming together in relation to their circumstances. Women walking out of mills to stop the overseer from turning back the clock.

value noticing
value opening
value not knowing
value beginning again

Tricky Business

It has been an interesting week of noticing the terrible tension in my mind - human minds? - between practicing acceptance of life as it is - right now - and dreaming about what might be possible. This is a very tricky business for all of us, and for me there is the tricky circumstance of finding myself deeply drawn to two challenging ideological/spiritual/material traditions: Buddhism and anarchism. The first teaches radical acceptance and the practice of peace-making through an honest encounter with suffering from the inside out. The second is often utopic and dreamy, often (though not always or necessarily) drawing its power from a spatialization of self in opposition to oppressive forces deemed to cause our suffering. In theory, I am very excited about the places where these teachers intersect, and I am also increasingly aware of how they can both gnaw on my poor mind. My intellect endlessly concretizes and grasps for the possible, imagining potential states of being as places I can construct and control. Yet the life force really comes from the surprising moments of practicing freedom, kindness... moments that we can't really hold up and point to, can't really discuss or describe. Moments of deep interconnection and peace, when we cultivate and celebrate, feeling acceptance and revolution at once. I know I want my life to be a journey of learning to create the conditions for a greater aliveness to these moments, and to do so in mutuality with others. To do so with kindness. I also know I am doing that, small small. And that I probably think too much about it.

So. I have various new models in my mind for future work in the world. I do want to record those, to create a map from which to design the little one can design. I also need to place them within the context I am trying to point to here. My life right now is like that of a less experienced meditator sitting on a cushion. There is mindfulness, yes, but at every stabbing pain she pulls herself away, adjusts a little bit, delighting in the release of pain, not yet having complete faith that another just as bad will soon return. Not yet having complete faith that the painful sensation, however bad, has come with a power to purify and a promise to always leave in the end. My life right now is like that of a fledgling anarchist. Angry at the reality in which she finds herself. Unsure what to do with her surge of urgency. Confident in her radicalism. Brilliant, reactive, and almost certainly mistaking the root of the problem.

I long and grasp for community, yet I rarely rest my hand on my heart.

I keep tinkering with the compass. Why not turn my face to where it points?

Buddha's Advice to his Son -- Passage from the Majhima Nikaya

Develop a state of mind like the earth,
Rahula. For on the earth people throw
clean and unclean things, dung and urine,
spittle, pus and blood, and the earth is not
troubled or repelled or disgusted. And as
you grow like the earth no contacts with
pleasant or unpleasant will lay hold of your
mind or stick to it.

Simply you should develop a state of
mind like water, for people throw all manner
of clean and unclean things into water
and it is not troubled or repelled or disgusted.
And similarly with fire, which burns all things,
clean and unclean, and with air, which blows upon
them all, and with space,
which is nowhere established.

Develop the state of mind of friendliness,
Rahula, for, as you do so, ill-will will
grow less; and of compassion, for thus vexation
will grow less; and of joy, for thus
aversion will grow less; and of equanimity,
for thus repugnance will grow less.

- Gautama Buddha

L'Arche in Nigeria?

Happy Hogmanay!

I've been planning to write a post about cordwood building, permaculture, and a new dream for cooperative farming in Virginia (creating a debt free home base here from which to plan towards our work in Africa). Yet again, I've been inspired by the most recent interview on Speaking of Faith, which explores the L'Arche movement founded by beloved Canadian philosopher and Catholic social innovator Jean Vanier.

L'Arche is a model of residential community founded through principles of love and acceptance, expressed through caring relationships between "core members" (people with mental or intellectual disabilities) and "assistant members" who provide support in a context of mutual transformation. Like the Catholic Worker Movement (that I've been in love with for years), L'Arche has its roots in the best kind of Christian theology. A faith-based core provides a foundation of resilience and optimism, but people of all or no faiths have been drawn to participate. Hearing Vanier describe his experiences living in L'Arche communities, I can't help but relate his words to mindfulness practice. Attention to the body, acceptance, kindness, care... This could be an extraordinary model to incorporate into whatever home we build in Nigeria, where people with disabilities are still so often shunned and cast out of families and other havens. L'Arche already exists in Africa, in Uganda, Burkina Faso, Ivory Coast, and Zimbabwe.

I've added "living for a year as an assistant in a L'Arche community" to my cluster of lifelong dreams - right up there with cycling across America and building a home with our own hands. Speaking of which: cordwood construction = next post.

"You see the big thing for me is to love reality and not live in the imagination -- not live in what could have been or what should have been or what can be -- and somewhere to love reality, and then discover that god is present." - Jean Vanier

last minute gift idea? consider giving water to those who need it most

A few years ago an old friend of mine - Ariane Kirtley - encountered the human face of climate change, and in response she founded Amman Imman: Water is Hope, an organization that drills wells to provide life-giving water to the people on this planet who need it most. The people of the Azawak in Niger are directly impacted by climate change, which has shortened the rainy season in an environment where survival was already difficult. Amman Imman's work is intelligent, effective, and inspiring. It focuses on local collaborations and on harnessing the ingenuity and compassion of volunteers. The result is low operating costs, with funds going directly to support the borehole projects that deliver water to thousands of people and animals and usher in other development projects. Through a beautiful initiative called Wells of Love, Montessori school children become Heroes of Compassion motivated to learn, teach, and fundraise to support their brothers and sisters in Niger. Just $50 can help ensure a child has clean water to drink...

The Bill McKibben Reader

Recently heard an interview with Bill McKibben on one of my favorite radio programs, Speaking of Faith.

McKibben is an American environmentalist and writer now organizing internationally to help folks locally build community alternatives to the choices that fuel climate change.

Anyone want to join us in using (or getting) a public library card and delving into the works of Bill McKibben? A Bill McKibben reading group - via potluck or skype? A chance to clarify our understanding of climate change and to contemplate our strategies for living a more integrated, neighborly, sustaining and sustainable life?

Here's a wee preview in which McKibben describes his most recent book *eaarth* (so spelled because our planet is now so radically different from the orb captured in those early iconic photographs from space -- the ones we grew up with -- that it needs a new name):

"I make the case that we’re going to have to figure out how to stop focusing our economies on growth, and start thinking about survival. That means embracing local, smaller-scale ways of living, like it or not. Happily, there’s much to like. Think about food: Americans this past year embraced gardening: seed sales more than doubled. Think about energy: Instead of relying on a few centralized power plants, we’re quickly heading for a nation of solar panels and small windmills, of neighbors generating power for their neighbors.

We’ve built a new Eaarth. It’s not as nice as the old one; it’s the greatest mistake humans have ever made, one that we will pay for literally forever. We live on a new planet. But we have to live on it. So we better start understanding what the hell is going on."

X

...in Nigeria?

Hello out there, and Happy Midwinter!!!

So, we're resurrecting the Nija blog. Now, '...in Nigeria' will become a space in which to educate ourselves and to imagine present and future possibilities. We are dreaming towards a living and livelihood of community, interconnectedness, engagement, and integrity back in West Africa. We are also practicing creating and inhabiting those qualities now, where we are, among the mountains of central Virginia. We are practicing to be more whole, to have more of ourselves and our lives present in the moments that pass, to be more ourselves and more each other, to listen and engage authentically with self and land and other, even as all of it changes all the time.

We wish to invite our loved and admired ones, (near and far, known and unknown), to interact with our dreams and despairs through this blog. We want your ideas -- links to sites that inspire you, information about practices that motivate you. We also want to listen and be listened to around those embodied practices that upset and pain us, that hold us back from stepping into what we are. All of it is important, and welcome.

We want to invite you to help us and to participate with us. Anything is possible. Want to follow this blog? Want to help us create an ecovillage in Nigeria's lush greenbelt? Want to cycle through West Africa with us - and interrogate what such a journey might achieve? Want to share and celebrate what you are already doing and dreaming - right here, right now?

Here are some ideas to get us started:

*Possible vocations and orientations*

volunteer emt brigades manned by university students
organic farming
permaculture
climate organizing
recycling
direct democracy
create a space for workshoping
create a space for resting
hydrology
oral history
alternative energies
mindfulness practicing and teaching -- acceptance
the work that reconnects
drama - playback, theatre of the oppressed, clowning, drama for development
photo-journalism (documenting the dying practice of facial marking)
cooperative business
social enterprise
sailing to london and cycling to nigeria
environmental negotiation and mediation

Comments? Additions? Revisions?

Thank you for visiting...

In the Midst of Dizzying Travel: Engagement Party, Nija Style

I reckon that in the last month or so I have both lost several brain cells and fashioned new chambers in my mind for coping with a rolling course of geographical displacement -- or, more optimistically, honing the art of feeling at home in rapidly changing circumstances. Having returned to Hampton, Virginia in the wake of a visa fiasco and in anticipation of my younger brother's military commissioning / graduation / wedding (congrats! ... we in the Weaver family rarely live without adventure), I spent about two months making sweeping life decisions and planning the perfect small wedding (should homeland security grant me my scheduling wishes).

In June I returned to Nigeria for about one month that would be crammed full of final research goals and the orchestrating of an event that had been my father's idea: an engagement party to celebrate our relationship with Nigeria-based friends and family. Eze's logistics talents were put to the test as we worked on a tight budget to create a party for a target of 50 guests. In the end, in typical Nigerian fashion, about 100 turned up. But there was food and drink for all (just:), and the party was a great success.

It took place on June 21st, which was, incidentally, the Summer Solstice. This sun-worshipping Pagan holiday is not particularly meaningful on the African equator, and it was only due to the astronomical interests of Doc (our Sierra Leonian uncle by communal adoption, and the party's host) that we knew of the auspicious date at all. It meant that the sun set a wee bit later that night than usual (around 8pm), which made for a delightfully late-night (in Nija terms) affair. We and the last guests wrapped it up at around 10pm.

Highlights of the party included: our cute matching ankara (name for a dyeing style) outfits; the food! (wonderful moin-moin bean cakes made my Eze's mum and neighborhood friends, bountiful plates of chicken and jollof rice, freshly roasted suya and chicken barbecue); the spraying (being showered with money while getting down to Nija hip-hop) and the fact that I was a better dancer than Eze on the day -- which was probably due to his level of party planning exhaustion rather than my sense of rhythm -- but whatever the reason I enjoyed the kudos. Eze's parents looked splendid: Momsy in a special wrapper we bought her for the day (wrappers are a big deal in traditional Igbo culture, and the giving of one is a must for a new daughter-in-law), Popsy in his traditional regalia offering Igbo kola nuts and snacks of tiny raw garden eggs (eggplants) to the men at his Igbo-only table. I took the opportunity to present my new parents with a seascape painted by my mum, after which I called the States and both sets of parents had their first chance to chat on the phone. At party's end Eze's folks informed me, in a tone that was both playful and earnest, that henceforth I would belong to their family and become a visitor in my own home. Even before the wedding-to-be, I had become their Iyawo (wife). (Of course in Nigeria it's common to refer even to a casual coupling of boyfriend and gilfriend as 'husband' and 'wife').

Just a few days later and I was on a plane to England. Spent about two relaxing days with friends in Bournemouth on the southern coast. Having just bought a 100 year-old fixer-upper home with a magical wild garden, they were full steam ahead on the repairs and my visit helped to instigate a bit of resting for everyone. Then a bus ride up to Scotland and a week of alternately sifting through and dragging about stuff, and saying goodbye to a place I have for some time thought of as 'home.' I will certainly be back to visit Scotland as much as I can, but its homeland status in my heart has necessarily shifted. Better to live on two continents than three :)

And then... flying back to the U.S.A.

I have continued to come 'home' to visit in the 5 years since I graduated from Yale and travelled to England to study. But the feeling of returning to re-settle is decidedly different. A week in Glasgow had brought the Scottish inflection back into my accent, and I enjoyed the transient experience of striking up conversation with many friendly Americans who asked me questions and then wrapped up the exchange with the decidedly welcome and privately entertaining benediction: Hope you enjoy your stay in my country. Perhaps Eze's folks are prophets, for I do feel a visitor -- or perhaps immigrant -- status as I return to the land of my birth. On my flight out of Chicago and back to Virginia I count the number of years I have lived 'overseas' in my life. 12. Very nearly half my life 'away'. My Bournemouth-based buddy -- also born in the U.S. but now well nested in the UK, sent me a bon voyage email in which he wondered what 'America' would mean to me as I made the crossing 'back'. All these years I have called the place The States -- partly through a desire for precision, and partly out of respect for the Canadians and Latin Americans who also exist. But on this journey I say I am going to America. The word conjures all sorts of magic in my imagination. America is, despite everything, still a place that beckons one to bring her dreams, a place to make a new beginning, in my case a beginning with a man who will be an immigrant in a land I know as much from without (as either exile or ambassador) as from within. I feel as I walk the Norfolk exit ramp that I do wish, I do choose to be(come) 'American' and all the magical contradictions the identity signifies, but I also know that I have some power in determining -- in practicing -- what that will mean.

a wee announcement (and finally updated blog!)

Kristina and Eze are getting married!

We first met seven years ago, and after reuniting this past autumn in Ibadan, Nigeria it wasn't long before we became the best of friends. We are enjoying a joyful, happy, fun connection -- and we've decided we'd like to keep it!

The folks we love are stretched across a geography Kristina has come to bemusedly term her bermuda triangular trade in carbon credits. This means we're not even going to attempt to throw a big party and ask (or oblige) everyone to come. We'll be making it official with a small family gathering over the summer. We'll also throw a party in Nigeria sometime over the next year and will keep you posted when we have the dates all figured out. That celebration will definitely be in keeping with the Nigerian tradition of 'anyone and everyone' is invited. So, if you've been waiting for that reason to visit West Africa..... In the meantime, and beyond, we'll do our best to stay in touch as we navigate our wee triangle. Whether we hear from you often or haven't been in touch in awhile, we feel blessed to know so many great people in far flung places and look forward to our paths crossing again.

* p.s. The snapshot is of our recent boat trip to Creek Town, an historic river-side community near Calabar in eastern Nigeria. The nice gentleman steering us along is a member of the town and did a great job showing us sights like the oldest tree. If you would like to and haven't done so yet you can read about K's and Eze's adventures in earlier entries on this blog. Also hope to tell a few more stories on it soon from the backlog of experiences K hasn't had a chance to write-up over the last busy wee while. FYI: K is unexpectedly back in Virginia for a few months of high speed internet connection and easy phone call opportunities, and she would love to take full advantage of them :)

Christmas in Ibadan

This Christmas was hectic (I slept through Boxing Day:)...but wonderful. I spent the day in a neighbourhood called Sha Sha. To get there you drive past U.I. and down a very beautiful road that cuts through land owned by the International Institute of Tropical Agriculture (IITA), Eze's former employer. I consider the road a lovely respite from the increasingly traffic-congested Ibadan, but most of the locals know it as a site of car-jacking and armed robbery. I have yet to see any evidence of that, though we do sometimes pass young men hanging out at massive potholes, pretending to repair the road and threatening to stop your car if you don't toss them 20 Naira notes out the window. At any rate, I always enjoy the pilgrimage to Sha Sha.

It is the neighbourhood where Eze's parents live, and this year they were very excited at being able to have most of the family home for Christmas. The picture shows all but two who were there to celebrate. Missing from it are Eze (cameraman) and Nonye (Eze's Lagosian big sister and mum of the strong, rambunctious toddler Tola and her baby sister Sola). Present in the picture are Mumsy and Popsy, Chime (younger brother currently working in the northern town of Mina), Agatha (Chime's lovely wife-to-be), Uche (older sister working as an environmentalist in eastern Nigeria), her husband Johnson and Chichi, the doctor-in-training-nephew who is the apple of everybody's eye.

Eze and I spent the day before Christmas hunting for gifts at the local Aleshinloye Market. It was a challenge to find something for everyone -- especially for me as I didn't know everyone yet -- but we managed it. I insisted that each gift had to be wrapped and stayed up late recycling scrounged bits of tape (which we had forgotten to buy) in order to make that happen. We woke up very early on Christmas morning in order to roast two chickens -- our surprise contribution to the day's festivities. We used a special recipe we have developed over a few attempts. Very much our own conconction -- roasted chicken stuffed and overflowing with sweet plantain and savory potatoes -- but it has been termed 'Virginia chicken' by a friend of ours who assumed I must have brought the recipe with me from across the ocean. Especially funny because, as I keep reminding everyone, 'I used to be a vegetarian.'

We didn't make it to Sha Sha until noon, which was a disappointment for the rest of the family until they caught sight of what we brought with us. Eze managed to capture a few photographs in the joyful chaos of chicken-gobbling and gift-unwrapping that ensued. We spent the rest of the day hanging out, watching dvd's on the family's new television set and, later, the young folks stole away for a bottle or two at a local bar. All in all it was a great day -- wonderful to be with a loving family for Christmas and magical to be able to share some of my own festive traditions...of course slightly tweaked for reasons of taste and logistics.

The next post will feature a German Shephard puppy and a late night church vigil, but that's another story...

The ‘Happy Holidays’ Entry

The season of harmatton is here and my friends say it smells like Christmas. This time last year there was a fuel shortage. Fifty years ago Nigerians still returned to their villages by foot to mark important occasions. Now the economy and the movement of people is completely reliant on oil, so it was no surprise to me to learn that last Christmas came and went with many not noticing it had happened. Perhaps this is also because the omnipresent evangelical churches are always in the mood to sing, dance and collect ‘thanksgiving’ donations from the faithful; I don’t expect a big change in religious ‘business as usual’ come the end of the month. I sip beer with members of the older generation as they reminisce about the good old days of all-night Christmas parties decked with beautiful dancing women from all over the West African region. The level of poverty in the country now means that the majority of people just don’t have the cash or time or energy to exchange gifts, to celebrate on that scale anymore.

But this year, or so I’m told, there is a definite cheer in the air. Small plastic Christmas trees and white baby dolls (apparently black dolls would be considered juju implements and the work of Satan) have appeared in the markets, and a few of the banks have strung up Christmas lights. The government has warned of a fuel price hike, but that hasn’t happened yet. A de facto civil war rages on in the oil-rich Niger Delta, but by all accounts people are optimistic about a political leadership that, though ‘elected’ through unprecedented rigging and political violence, at least appears to be sincere, intelligent and, for once, not stained with a military mentality. Time will tell…

For my part I feel I have a great deal to celebrate this year. Returning to Nigeria has, in many ways, been a homecoming for me. A homecoming that has gotten me eating meat and growing my hair long :) and also left me feeling sweetly homesick for friends and family in other parts of the world… Above all I have been nourished and refreshed by a sense of open invitation to begin to participate in the kinds of strong extended families and communities that I have admired and, in a sense, longed for without quite knowing how to construct them. Feeling welcomed – no construction necessary – has been quite an extraordinary experience. It has radically deepened my appreciation for the caring, diverse group of family and friends carrying on with their lives out there in the wide world, and along with that a desire to get back in touch with mates I lost contact with over the years. I am experiencing sensations of growing…outwards. I am surrounded by people who love to interact with one another, who will shout abuses while negotiating the price of purchases only to smile and part as friends once the deal is done. Because it’s funner that way. The majority of people in Nigeria cope with conditions of material poverty -- by the usual standards of measuring such things – but while frustration remains high at the inability of the oil economy to deliver on its extremely rich promise, at the inability of the hospitals or the universities to deliver functioning services, at the state of the roads and the rate of inflation, folks play out their daily lives with an impressive level of cheerfulness and happiness. Happiness is a state of being that is extremely valued. So many people have told me: It is so important that you be happy. That is what life is for. This kind of positive collective energy is not just for Christmas.

No doubt there is a huge amount of dodgy, white-American-middle-class romanticisation in my stereotyped representations. I am here to do research on violence on Nigerian campuses, after all, and it has indeed proved a very rich topic. For sure there are a lot of signs that many people are leading lives of quiet desperation perhaps concealed by a resilient optimism. People here, like everywhere, do of course suffer from depression and other (relatively) ‘hidden’ illnesses in the face of the harsh realities they have to negotiate. But the attitude towards these experiences is what has really impressed me, again. As one friend told me, when he feels defeated and confused and depressed he knows that he can turn to his family and his friends to talk about it. He knows how to keep smiling and laughing and ‘jisting’ (shooting the breeze, gossiping, blethering) alongside the suffering. One of my best friends here is from Sierra Leone. He was in Freetown during the encroachment of the civil war into the capital city. He clearly still struggles with his memories of the atrocities he witnessed. At the same time, he expressed pride to me that, even at the time, victims of that conflict were able to relate to their experiences with a genuine sense of humour. He gave the example of the trademark form of mutilation used by the rebel soldiers – hacking off the arms of civilian adults and children. He says that even then people were able to make a joke about the situation, to talk about whether you got ‘long sleeves’ (amputated at the elbow) or ‘short sleeves’ (amputated at the shoulder). Now, Sierra Leone ranks last on the global development index, but according to my friend (who is excited to be returning home for the holidays), the people have demonstrated an impressive ability to move on from the war without deep resentments and divisions. He says it is a very nice place to visit. Folks are friendly and relaxed. Probably a great place to learn about how to recover from the effects of violent trauma.

As far as I know, anti-depressants haven’t flooded Nigeria’s wide open market (yet – or if they have, most people can’t afford them, although bottles of Nigeria’s own cheap lager – Star – for use after another extremely hard day’s work, may serve the same purpose). The perception, at least among my friends here, is that whatever their situations Nigerian (civilians) aren’t going to open fire on shopping malls or primary schools. In fact, such acts seem extremely bizarre and inexplicable (perhaps just as incidents of violence in Nigeria seem to indicate ‘underdevelopment’ and, to this day, ‘barbarism’ to folks back in the ‘West’). I don’t have the official statistics, and so there could be some serious denial (or alternative explanations for death) at play, but folks I talk to insist that people don’t generally commit suicide here – it’s just not done. That’s not, according to those I’ve asked, because they are extremely religious and fear judgement; it is because, at the end of the day, they really value the experience of being alive.

These observations are no doubt deeply flawed, but I suppose I’m letting myself make them anyway in order to provide some context for my own (re)discovery of the primacy of happiness and cheerfulness in my own life. I feel like a novice in so many ways here, but I am surrounded by people who are somehow teaching me things I really need to learn. My friends tell me that they are quite used to cynical vegetarian oyinbos coming here and making loads of friends and reluctantly leaving at the end of their stays with a smile on their faces and some goat meat in their bellies. Maybe that particular stereotype has some truth in it. A great deal of my own cynicism has certainly been shed in the last three months, and I feel myself learning to confront the challenging and wonderful paradoxes of life with a sense of humour as well as a renewed zeal for action – the kind of action that involves working with others to sew and nurture seeds, excitedly anticipating the harvest while also remembering that the crops may fail… and if they fail you grieve and smile and carry on. The weather is a bit crazy this year and the people I’m working with are definitely talking climate change. But although it will be primarily poor people in this part of the world who will truly suffer from the environmental changes created largely by a global corporate elite with bank accounts in ‘the West’, the sense of frantic apocalyptic fear and anger is refreshingly absent from conversations about the situation. On a very personal level, this exposure to daily performances of strength, resilience, and positivity has helped to sharpen my own perspective on what’s important to me.

A huge part of this story for me – a major factor feeding my sense of celebration – involves an unexpected experience of tripping into a well that you might call love. The picture is of myself and Eze, one of the finest people I have ever met. He grew up in Ibadan and speaks excellent Yoruba although his family is Igbo and hails from eastern Nigeria. (A bit of trivia, his name means ‘King’ in Igbo). He is currently getting his masters degree in geography at the University of Ibadan – Nigeria’s oldest and (arguably) finest universities and one of the principal sites of my fieldwork. He is very interested in environmental science and has worked in agricultural labs, and at the same time his passion is black and white photography. I actually first met Eze six years ago when I was in Ibadan for two months conducting fieldwork for the first time. We were friends but we didn’t have the time to become close and we never stayed in touch. We met again when I got back in touch with a mutual friend, and we both felt some kind of strange, inexplicable and magical connection. We come from very different backgrounds, but rather than create difficulties that has been a big source of creativity and excitement for us so far. There are so many adjectives I could use to describe Eze: strong, happy, kind, brave, generous, funny, loyal, talented, open, wise… But hopefully many of you will get to meet him in the not-so-far future. We are working on getting him a visa to visit the US this summer to meet family and friends and have the chance to experience our relationship more ‘on my turf.’ I have told him so much about all of you and he’s very excited at the prospect of meeting you and experiencing some of what I’ve had more than my fair share of – travel!

In the meantime, Eze and I are excited about the holidays this year. Today his uncle is throwing a party for the staff of the publishing house where Eze lives and works. We will be spending Christmas Day with Eze’s family – the siblings having traveled here from all over the country – and New Year’s Eve at a barbecue hosted by our wonderful mutual friend in Abeokuta. I have drawn up a gift list to thank all the people here who have been so generous and welcoming to me, a process that reminds me of living in Lagos as a kid and participating in the Christmas parties my parents used to throw for our Nigerian friends. A dear friend from Scotland arrives in January for a two-month stay and there are plans for travel North and East combined with fieldwork in other sites. If you are reading this then chances are I know you and I miss you. I’ll try to keep the ole blog updated. For now, to sum it all up: as 2007 winds itself down I am feeling well; I’m learning and growing; I’m happy.

bata dance

howdy folks. well i had a pretty interesting weekend with a few highlights. here, finally, is a picture on my blog! i'm at the alake's palace in abeokuta attending the second anniversary of his coronation and the recommissioning of the palace's chapel. dating back to 1845 (i think), the church is the site of the first 'western' school in nigeria -- where the children of the yoruba kings attended classes with english tutors. unfortunately we were a wee bit late to the event so spent most of our time seated under the overflow canopy outside of the church. we then did some more waiting for food (i hear that abeokuta folks love their parties, and parties entail a lot of sitting and waiting for food). it was actually on the way out of the palace that i took the opportunity to learn some bata dancing -- 'traditional' dancing with drums. it was fun and, as always, generally entertaining to see an oyinbo try to dance. i'm wearing a suit made out of adire fabric -- a style of dyeing that hails from abeokuta.

there are more stories up my sleeve, but right now i have to go run some errands. love to all!

feeling very much at home...

hello out there, and greetings! i'm writing you this time from a small postgraduate computer cluster at the university of ibadan. last time i described what it's been like to live with a very protective host family. i've actually decided to pursue accommodation on campus so that i can claim more independence and get more work done. i am excited by the prospect of building a cohort of postgraduate friends here. i've met a group of economics PhD students from sierra leone, and they are super fun and interesting. hopefully the change of living space will happen from next week. even as i continue to iron out logistical issues, i am enjoying the feeling of having now a very strong base, including a growing network of great friends, from which to work for the next six and a bit months. i will be cutting my fieldwork slightly short so that i can return in time for the wedding of my wee brother in may (very very exciting, congratulations todd and emma!). perhaps the 'lost' research time will bolster my excuse to return here next year for a few extra months of fieldwork as i finish writing up my PhD :)

the weather is turning hotter and drier as harmatton approaches. it's the season when the sands from the sahara blow southward, when everything will be coated in a thick layer of dust. but we're still enjoying dramatic late night thunder storms. i went outside and played in the last one. hopefully tomorrow night will be dry, though, as i'll be attending a barbecue at the home of a few friends. i'll contribute roasted chicken and plantain and clown games for the kids. mmmm....

doing well...

hi all!

well, i am still in ibadan, and i have a library card! my research is shaping up. only complaint being persistent carpel tunnel problem making writing difficult...but i am determined to resolve this somehow! off to abeokuta this weekend to visit my adoptive mummy and a few very good friends. met a canadian student at the university here who wants to tag along, so it should be a fun time. a few days ago i was invited along on a trip to lagos with the uncle of a friend of mine. while the uncle experienced very big wahala (hassle) with the banks, i managed to buy a pair of jeans at a lagos market. in the late afternoon we went for lunch at a boat club of which he is a member. i ate gigantic prawns while enjoying the sound of the lagoon lapping concrete and the smell of early hyacinth flowers floating in the wakes. the experience really took me back to childhood, when we lived on the bank of that same lagoon and my wee brother and i played with the snails and coconut husks. i am very well and happy here...

settling into Ibadan

hello everyone! well, i'm sorry it's been a wee while since my last post. i have been distracted, and also busy simply being here. through an interesting series of fortunate events, i found myself adopted yet again by the auntie of my friend in abeokuta. i am staying in the fairly large home of a retired engineer and his very entrepreneurial, opinionated, and lovely wife. (known to me as daddy and mummy, or as auntie and uncle -- with which i feel a bit more comfortable). also living there are yemisi and tosin (17 years old), dayo (about the same age), and kudi (around my age). they are all incredibly kind and giving to me. they have affectionately termed me 'their oyinbo,' and cook lots of nigerian food for me, and are very patient teaching me to speak yoruba. due to retirement, the family is by no means affluent -- the house is definitely fading, but there is the sense that they were once doing very well for themselves, in terms of that measure of success. auntie is a community leader, and people are always dropping in to talk with her (or else she's visiting the neighbours). conversation is in yoruba-english, so i'm gradually picking up a lot and charming everyone with my practicing.

the biggest challenge is that the family is very very protective of me, and auntie is prone to lecturing me about all kinds of things -- from making sure to wear my wrist watch so i look like a 'lady,' to never drinking alcohol, to never talking to strangers. i think they've transformed me into some kind of bronzing marilyn monroe look-a-like -- i've had some dresses sewn that flaunt my outrageously big hips (or so the girls here say), and been gifted gold plate earrings. the dark sunglasses and now almost shoulder-length hair complete the look. ha!

the protectionism was really starting to get to me last week (apparently americans are ridiculously prone to wanting to do everything by themselves:), but then i just decided to smile, be grateful, and find my own ways to independence, bit by bit. i have a good friend living just a walk away, and he is a geography postgraduate student as well who has been helping me start my work at the university here. my research is kicking into gear, and as i learn my own way around i'm able to brush off all the protectionism, while at the same time appreciating all the hospitality. participant observation!

i intend to be blogging a lot more now, but in this one just wanted to give that bit of an update about my whereabouts.

love to all!

palm wine and kola nuts

Happy Nigerian Independence Day! 47 years ago today Nigerians celebrated the exit of the British government. Today in Abeokuta school children will be marching at the governor's estate (one of the few residences in the town that has a decent road passing by it). My Abeokuta mum said that she marched as well in 1960. She wore white and black -- the newly designed Nigerian flag tucked in her hat -- and marched proudly at a stadium in Ibadan. At school they slaughtered a cow for the children. She says they ate a lot! There is a cow slaughtering station a short walk from where I am staying. I remember from childhood seeing women very impressively carrying large sections of cow on their heads, but I had never seen the body quartered all at once. Pretty fascinating -- especially knowing that I will likely be eating part of it soon. I asked my friend whether industrial meat farming exists here, and he said that any efforts to bring in factory farming have failed. People prefer to know the local butcher and inspect the processing themselves. I have been making a point to try and finish everything that's served up out of respect, but also in order to eat enough -- vegetarianism seems ancient history. But so far my stomach has been surprisingly strong; no health problems to report. Nigerians cook with copious amounts of chilli pepper -- usefully antibacterial. At any rate, I will soon be in a situation where I can cook more for myself. I am gradually slimming down in this hot climate, but people keep remarking on how big and fat I am. Especially those who knew me when I was here at 19/20 years old. It is true that traditionally Yoruba women have been full figured -- and that this is a sign of a relaxed and happy lifestyle. But young people watch a lot of MTV and expectations seem to be changing accordingly.

I have had an interesting week. This past weekend I journeyed back to Lagos to attend a 60th birthday party. I didn't know the celebrant, but in Nigeria, the more the merrier. I made a bit of an impression by participating in 'spraying' the celebrant -- dancing Yoruba style while placing money on her chest and forehead. She responded by playfully insisting that she wanted dollars, not naira, from the oyinbo. Other dancers taught me some steps and showed their appreciation by spraying me as well. I further redistributed the 20 and 50 naira notes to the leader of the impressive juju band there for the occassion. Several small gift items were passed out to all the guests -- nylon bags containing candles and matches (very useful in this land of power outages), wash cloths, plastic buckets, notebooks stamped with the celebrant's image. We drank from bottles of coke and ate rice and chicken from pots of food left at every table. Lagos is a crazy and exciting place. As one friend put it, Lagos is synonymous with traffic. We got stuck in traffic at night in Oshodi, a neighbourhood which used to be notorious for criminal gangs but has been 'cleansed.' The markets stay open late into the night. A lively place to be stuck in a go-slow.

Earlier in the week, and again last night, I had the opportunity to meet the Alake of Egbaland, one of four Yoruba kings and a friend of the family where I am staying. He is responsible for meeting with and advising anyone who books an appointment, but we were able to pop in without one. I learned how to properly greet both him and his wife by prostrating and praying in Yoruba. They were very informal meetings -- he was dressed in his golf clothes and there was much laughter and chatting. I had the chance to sample sweet palm wine and bitter kola nut. Mmmmm. The Alake is a former military official and has a deep knowledge of Nigerian politics. He has offered to grant me an interview at some point.

Oh, I have to leave early as my lift has just arrived. More soon! Love!

Plenty of time to write from Abeokuta!

hello! thanks again for your emails and telepathic messages. i am doing well -- a very proud auntie of a new addition to the family back in virginia, and spending this week in the very peaceful, friendly, historic Yoruba town of Abeokuta (about 70 km north of Lagos). the week in lagos was really interesting. the first two days were hard -- exhausting and complicated. it was especially hard to adjust to the leaded diesel traffic fumes everywhere -- many headaches! but a few reassuring emails and a few open conversations with folks here, and i had the strength to smile through the transition. i spent time meeting people, giving some interviews, navigating the city a wee bit, and on the last night enjoying a concert by Femi Kuti -- Fela Kuti's son -- in honour of my friend's birthday. i surprised a lot of people by demonstrating that an oyinbo can dance.

i feel that already i am beginning to understand more about 'Nigeria' -- or more precisely, about the specific interactions/locales/contexts i'm experiencing - than i ever have before. it is gratifying to feel my awareness and competence deepening, bit by bit. i have been taking every opportunity to write what i learn about the current political situation, to ask questions, read papers, etc. i'm also taking the time to let myself adjust -- am currently in that strange head-space where you start thinking in different sentence structures. my accent is changing, words are dropping in and out of my lexicon. minor difficulties and adjustments aside, i am very glad i have returned, and for long enough to get something done. i hope to learn a lot over the next 35 weeks, and to continue to come back over time.

Abeokuta is lovely. i am staying here with an old friend from my visit in 2001. Lekan now works for a local bank -- so it's interesting to go from visiting a lot of people in Lagos who are really struggling to make ends meet, despite their professional degrees in many cases, to now visiting someone who is able to afford a new car, etc. (according to some statistics i've heard here, most Nigerians still live on about $1 a day, which will basically buy you one meal and one sachet of water in a cheal Lagos eatery). Lekan and i get on very well; it has been a happy reunion. he has invited me to stay for as long as i need, or whenever i want, at his family home here. it is wonderful to feel so welcomed, and that i have a home when i need or want one. also pleased to hear that Lekan is thinking of studying in Scotland, and in any case wil be there this summer, so there will be opportunities to reciprocate. his home is a very traditional Yoruba style house (i hope pictures will follow sometime soon), inhabited at the moment only by himself and his mother. i sense that it's nice for her to have me around as company, and she is absolutely lovely. she fed me oxtail and cow intestine soup (unfortunatley i have forgotten the name of the dish, which hails from Benin) with garri, a staple starch. today she took me around and helped me to buy some adire cloth (traditional Yoruba fabric, dyed with indigo) at the market here. had a great time practicing my Yoruba, partaking of the great Yoruba greeting culture. my new surrogate mum has promised to speak only Yoruba to me so i learn more quickly. i plan to stay here at least a week, maybe two, working on the language, reuniting with my friend and his family and also interviewing some contacts he has. i have been invited to a wedding in Lagos this weekend. Nigerian weddings are always open to anyone who hears of them -- the more people, the more succesful the celebration. cooks work continuously to accommodate whoever turns up. so i have been assured that i am very welcome despite not knowing the family. in anticipation of the event, i have dropped off some of the cloth i bought with a local tailor to have a dress made.

next stop on my travels will probably be Ife, where another friend who i worked closely with in 2001 is now a lecturer at the university. i have heard many good things about Ife, but have never been there. i look forward to seeing him again and seeking his advice as i assess whether Ife or Ibadan, where i have worked before, will become my principle field site.

hope this email is not too rambling, and that it gives some sense of what i've been up to. i've been writing more richly ethnographic and political impressions on the laptop -- lots to say about the new administration, corruption scandals, the 'crisis in the Niger Delta', etc) -- but still find the transitional head-space and cybercafe environs slightly strange for communicating much of substance :)

be in touch, take care, o dabo!

treakly Guinness and Okada taxis (not in combination)

hello all,

well, i had a rocky few days of transition after such a long journey, but i am starting to find my feet and feel comfortable and have the energy to plan a bit. i am still residing in Isola -- kind of the 'brooklyn' (excuse the dodgy metaphor) of Lagos. it's a lively place with lots of traffic and small businesses and people trying to dodge the traffic and do business. i've been practicing my Yoruba, enjoying the cuisine (especially the Dodo and Jollof rice), watching music videos of the hippest Lagosian musicians (definitely recommend Lagbaj -- the masked musician --who has invented a very popular drum-centred musical style called Afrikano). Lagos is expensive -- very high inflation. yikes, only a few minutes left of my internet time for this afternoon. next week i hope to be moving away from bustling lagos to a quieter city. not sure yet whether it will be Abeokuta, Ibadan or Ife, but will keep you posted. really helpful to get your messages while i'm still transitioning... ta!

arrived

well, after a thirty hour journey i have arrived in lagos. right now i'm busy and in the midst of trying to find my feet here. writing you from an internet cafe in isola, lagos. going to keep this very short, but i would love to hear from you via email or here when i'm able to login again. aargh, culture shock! xoxoxo