Not wasting a wish

I lost the month of August in between the cushions of the couch. It nestled in among the lost hair ties and cracker crumbs. It took refuge in what-ifs and maybes and some-days. September is threatening to do the same. 

It's been over a month since we were first supposed to leave. Our original flight was scheduled back in July. The suitcases were packed and the apartment cleaned. Of course, over the course of August, things have gradually found a way out from behind the zippers and emerged into our daily life again. The clean apartment has reverted to it's lived in, cluttered appearance.

I keep remembering these articles about how and why time distorts when we are not making active new memories. Life in lockdown looks pretty much the same every day. I have been starting to get the sense that other people are having a lot more liveliness than we are, but after closer conversations I learn it is mostly not true. And after closer reflection, I remember all the events we have experienced, albeit through our computer screen. (Graduation in the palm of a hand, phd residency #4, Mexico through my daughter's eyes...) 

The anticipation of finally reaching our destination is tempered a bit by the realization that upon arrival we will be isolated again. No community welcome. No exploring the grounds or checking out the classroom. Just more staying home. It's not terrible most of the time. My studies keep me too busy to focus on much else anyway. But it's become downright awkward to still be on the campus of a school I no longer work at. 

We're still here. Still waiting. Trying to manage the complex unification of airline schedules, covid testing turn around time and figuring out how to pay for it all in a country that eschews cash. 

In the meantime, the girl has lost her first tooth. After reading Throw Your Tooth on the Roof: Tooth Traditions from Around the World, she has decided to go for the wish. We wanted to throw the tooth on a roof, but all the roofs are too high. I suggested we throw it off the 7th floor balcony, which has been the site of many long afternoons building, creating and storytelling. She vetoed that idea. 

In the end, we decided to bury the tooth by a coconut palm near the swings. What place could be more magical than the swings? 

                

First wish

I am sure she didn't waste her wish on getting out of Lagos. That would be a mom thing to do. We'll get out of here eventually. It just requires more patience. Lessons of 2020.

Identity tree- a found poem from an academic essay

The search for personal identity is an ever evolving 
   life long journey. 
Like trees, we develop rings of growth that respond 
  and reflect our environmental conditions, 
reaching and bending to the direction of the sun 
shedding and conserving in times of drought 
expanding and sheltering 
producing fruit in times of plenty. 
The inner personal identity cannot be separated
  from the community
even in exclusion or exile or abandonment; 
the inner identity develops according to absence 
  or lack 
or prolific abundance. 

Travel Advisory- a found poem

I found this poem in my inbox

which is filling up with notices.

Email after email on the state of the world
Crime, civil unrest, kidnapping
All the countries that I love
filling up with what seems like unusual levels of
armed robbery, roadblocks, military checkpoints,
demonstrations that turn violent
heavy-handed police tactics
resulting in civilian casualties or death-
but the breathing kind of death
that comes from being shot in a crowd of angry masses
hurling rocks and threatening to overthrow the government.
Not the death that comes from buying candy, or an evening jog
Not the death that comes from selling cigarettes or CDs
Or walking in the rain, talking on the phone
Or sleeping in your very own bed.

My inbox is filling up with notices
Suggesting actions you should take:
Appoint someone to talk to hostage-takers,
media, government agencies, and members of Congress
should you be kidnapped or detained
Establish proof of life protocol
and leave DNA samples with your medical provider
for ease of access in case your family needs it
Most of all, if asked to stop by police,
Stop only in well-lit areas or where many officers are present

I wonder who is sending out the advisory on the US?
Canada, Europe, and the beautiful places.

But even these advisories do not say

the things that need to be said. 

Rainbows in the sink and fun other stuff

This is lame. It's a lame post with the same old excuse. I am once again feeling like there simply isn't time for writing here. There isn't the same set of inspirations. After twelve years, my environments don't seem so new anymore. In fact, it is often with an eye toward America that I find the unusual and perplexing.

I don't want to give up. I am not quite ready to do that and figure if I can somehow keep small threads hanging together,  I will eventually return with something bigger and better. For now, most of my better thinking gets directed towards my studies. I am required to have such an abundance of ideas and connections between ideas that trying to write something simple yet interesting here feels challenging.

I am taking another creative writing class this term, a memoir and identity class. I find a lot of my writing resembles the writing I used to do here, only with slightly different subject matter. And I miss it- coming here to ramble on about a personal observation that can be neatly tied up in a few paragraphs, complete with a photo or two, occasionally alluding to a more universal truth. I feel certain that returning Congo might restore my ability to write here, not just write, but write well. Nothing compares to Congo.

But we're still stuck in Lagos. We've had tickets booked, cancelled, rebooked, recancelled. We have no visas yet, after more than a month of waiting. There is timing to stress over as covid test results need to be less then 72 hours before flying. Airports are not open here, but opening there.  It's all an exercise in patience and calm. I cannot rage against an invisible virus.

I do think about the adjustment. We've been isolated on campus here for almost 6 months and that means we've settled into some routines. We've gotten to know our apartment well. I will not miss it a bit, I often think as I dream of the sunlight streaming through the jungle. And then, occasionally, I recognize that some things here are just a bit luxurious. And maybe I am not taking proper time to really appreciate them.

Here's a list of the random things around my home that are perplexing, unusual or obnoxiously plush.

The dryer falls under all three categories. It took awhile to figure out. Some of the single teachers have a washer/dryer- as in a combo machine that does both. I am not referring to a stacked model, where one sits on top of the other and each have their own doors and clothes space. No, I mean one machine, one door, one turning cylinder to hold the clothes. And yet somehow, it manages to spit water or hot air through the pipes. We don't have that one, which would also fit all three categories.

We have two separate machines, though I rarely use the dryer- preferring the clothes to hang dry. When we do use the dryer, we need to empty the lint trap as well as the water well. I've never seen such a dryer before, and honestly, hadn't even considered the science behind it all.

Super long drawer

Collects water from the clothes

The second item on my list is not really unusual, but it is freakishly convenient. Our oversize stove has both gas burners and electric options. It's genius for those who cook indoors. I prefer the gas burners, and when the electric is out, it's the obvious choice. However, for those times when the propane runs out- always in the deep evening while dinner is cooking, the propane never seems to run out in the middle of the day for some reason- it is easy to switch to the electric burner. Overloaded convenience (except of course if you are cooking pizza, in which case, you're completely out of luck.) I have been reminded more than once of the sagas filling the propane tank in Abidjan. There are absolutely zero worries about that here. I do not need to lug my tank to the corner store. I do not need to struggle with a valve that's been turned too tight. No calling the neighborhood kids to find me a tool or help with the refilling.

On the other hand, when I am cooking pizza, which I often am when the gas runs out, there are no options for quick refilling. Like instantaneously quick. I remember moments in Bamako when, if needed,  I could throw the empty tank into the back of my car and head out for an immediate exchange. The security guard on duty was always willing to lend a hand bringing it in, or wrestle with a stubborn valve. But I was able to resolve my issue within 15 minutes and get my dinner cooking again.

Here, there are no pretenses to independence. We are small children. We are not allowed to touch the gas. Some colleagues even balked at having gas. "Isn't it dangerous?" they wondered. "What if someone blows us all up?" they queried. And I wondered exactly what kind of people I'd surrounded myself with. My concerns grew deeper when, during the first months of school our generator went out for good and required a major repair. We lost electricity for a solid week. One of the first few days I showed up at school with a mug of hot tea only to have a fellow teacher light up with joy thinking the electricity was back. When I sadly shook my head, she wondered how I had gotten hot water. I had no idea what she was talking about. With my stove, of course. Apparently she didn't know it could be lit with a match. You don't need the electric clicking feature to light the stove. Manual works just fine.

I remembered my Bamako days with no electric clicker. Lighting the stove is no problem but lighting the oven can be trickier. I had perfected the paper roll, not too tight, not too loose, wound just enough to catch the flame and burn slow and long, reaching into the well for a controlled woosh, pop, flame. Inside cooking is a breeze. Charcoal lighting...that's the real challenge.

Gas-electric combo with 6! burners

I have continued to be amazed at how many of the people here have little knowledge of Africa. Many don't even know the border countries. When I talk about places I have lived, they're not sure if those are even in Africa. I am stunned, disappointed, perplexed. How can you be living somewhere and not take the time to know where you are exactly? 

It's the money. The money allows people to barely be here. To flit in and out, collecting their cash inside and spending it outside the country.  I believe the influence of money deserves a blog post of it's own, and maybe it will one day.  What I think I have learned most from my time on VI is that money really is at the root of evil. This idea feels tangible here, a visible image conjured in the very air. Everywhere I look, things are sharp and clear, surreal, hyperreal, tainted through the filter of money. 

Luckily, we have a rainbow in our sink. I see it every morning and night- and several times in between. But the morning is when I really concentrate on it. I am thankful to start each day with a rainbow. It feels innocent, hopeful, positive. Spiritual even. 

Every day starts with magic
 (or science, which is sometimes like magic)

American conundrum

Reading the news from afar, I must admit, all of us outside the US are just plain confused. While countries around the world are adopting simple, protective measures the US is stuck in a pattern of closing its eyes and wishing away the virus like a petulant child refusing to come home from the playground.

It is puzzling that the voice of reason, logic and science has not been able to win out over selfishness and ignorance. Perhaps that is not a surprise to history experts. Although there is an extreme lack of unified leadership, I had expected that grown adults would inform themselves and take appropriate measures, regardless of the errors of the government. I am amazed at how uninformed citizens remain. I cannot imagine that there is anyone left who still believes the virus is a hoax, and yet, there are. 

From my completely amateur observation,  it seems the US has become complacent with it's wealth and ease of living over the years. Because so many have assumed they have freedom and entitlement, they forgot to remain vigilant and aware. What were those freedoms again? How were they won? And what were they safeguarding against? Citizenship comes with responsibilities as well as rights. 

Often, the US appears as an island to me, not because it meets the geographical definition of island, which it technically doesn't, but because so many of its citizens isolate themselves from knowledge of or interactions with other nations. Believing they are on top has led to a sense that other countries are not important or relevant. The concept of international exchange and global dependence seems to have passed many Americans by. 

I wonder about the role of the states, which at this point, seem to be functioning like tiny countries, independent and apart from each other and the national government. The United States have become anything but, in which case it seems a bit unfair to be comparing them to European countries. 

Here in Nigeria, where numbers are also rising, people wear masks (not everyone and not always the correct way) there are temperature checks and hand sanitizers or portable sinks in place outside of every store. It's possible to do these simple things while more information is being gathered on the true nature of the virus. 

For me, that is the most astounding aspect of all. There does not seem to be acknowledgement that this virus is new and therefore we know nothing about how it really spreads, how it really affects the human body and who is really at the most risk. In the face of a completely new disease, all we can do is look at similar strains and make educated guesses. Which can be wrong. Erring on the side of caution seems like the safest and most reasonable course of action.  The next few years are sure to shake up the order of things we thought we knew.

Creativity in the market

Extremism- African style

Fashion follows function- naturally

Sensor operated hand sink and soap
The blue machine is now open and
shoppers choose between hand washing
or the full decontamination

Nazali kozónga

The Kinshasa stories are already beginning and we haven't even arrived yet. Maybe my penchant for being there is about the abundance of source material. In the wake of world events, and US events, I've begun to see such connections.

The Black Lives Matter movement translates slightly different into Africa, but it's there. Undoubtedly. The latest rumors in Kin revolve around doctors who may or may not be diagnosing coronavirus correctly. Some say they get a cut for every patient identified, as higher numbers leads to more international aide. In one account, the amount of dollars being paid directly to the doctor per covid death was extraordinary- much too extraordinary to even be considered as possible...and yet, the person telling me wasn't really sure he could count on the doctors. It's easier to believe that your own doctors would kill you for cash- and that Westerners would offer that kind of cash for dead Congolese.

The entire premise points to everything that is wrong with the Africa-Europe/America relationship. Reparations are needed for black lives all over the globe. Trust is eroded, has been eroded, and the West hasn't really done anything to gain it back- better to take advantage of the ability for stories to run wild, paving the way for an even wilder reality.

But then, something like this story comes out and it's easy to see how the unbelievable takes root and grows into the mostly, probably, maybe. A friend shared this image, which sums it all up. While the rest of the world is welcoming emergency shipments of supplies- and in Africa, countries like Nigeria, Ethiopia and Rwanda are benefitting from billionaire Jack Ma's donations- RDC is playing host to European politicians (whose own countries haven't fared all that well in the face of corona, it bears pointing out.) Twenty-nine thousand Cuban doctors dispatched to fifty-nine countries...so how does RDC end up with.... this?

                                           Top: European delegates arriving in Kinshasa 
                                          Bottom: Cuban doctors arriving in Italy Matteo Bazzi/EPA

It's hard to dispute that perhaps there is some mineral conspiracy here- people don't need to actually arrive in person, in the middle of a pandemic, to discuss a humanitarian donation, do they? I could not find evidence of Jack Ma arriving in Ethiopia. In fact, Kagame tweeted his thanks  along with Ethiopian Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed, who received the goods for dispersement.
              *               *               *          *           *             *         *
While doesn't seem like the time to be writing something personal, I guess this is the place. It's true, tozali kozónga, we're headed back to Kin. As soon as airports open, that is. I am dreaming of deep jungle green and rich earth rain. I am trying to remember that returning will be different, because of time passed, because of the new world we are living in. But also because I am not the same person. A lot of growth has occurred in these past five years. Eyes wide open this time around.

 This post isn't really a what-we'll-miss-about-Lagos, it's more like a what-we'll-need-to-readjust-to.

• Untethered- This post about needing to be connected on the streets of VI to order Uber or Bolt is sure to have a different feel in Kin. There are so many different layers of being that it is seems completely possible to find a community fit without the need for constant attachment to internet or a mobile phone. I could be wrong about that, but I am hoping for off-grid options.
• Banking- This post talks about the ridiculousness of all things money in Nigeria- from stacks of naira as high as a coffee cup to the instant suspicion associated with trying to conduct any financial transactions. Prices won't be cheaper, but ATMs spit out hundred dollar bills in Kinshasa. Back to needing crisp new bills for spending, greenbacks preferred. This article from 2014 attempts to explain why dollars still rule. As far as I could tell during my October visit, Congo is still a long way from weaning off the dollar. 
• Our apartment- It has not been a source of cozy- and on the contrary, I have dreaded it's pristine white walls and floor to ceiling windows (that peer directly out into the neighbors floor to ceiling windows) but it is bright and new. I was remembering how I had to adjust to the Kinshasa dim. My latest trip through Kin's Ndjili Airport was sparkling with the shine of the newly constructed. But I am not kidding myself about school housing. We are likely to find it in much the same shape as we left it. Including a porch, however, which I am looking forward to with deep longing. 
• Isolation- VI has been a terribly isolating place to live. I am hoping the same will not be true of Kin. And even if it turns out to be so, those birds in the jungle...especially the night ones...are good company. The sounds of Kin are different too. The streets sing, full of vibrant energy. VI streets are simply clogged with traffic. Which is not to say that Kinshasa streets are miraculously clear...not at all, most likely worse. But they are interesting. And rhythmic.
• Organic delivery- I am completely not attached to this service, but it has been a luxurious find since lockdown. Lagos has had a thriving delivery service well before lockdown, and VI caters to it's elite class in remarkable ways. Finding several quality organic vendors- who deliver- has been a small wonder. 

I am sure more things will reveal themselves. At the pace of life these days, I am just hoping that airports will open and we'll find ourselves in a beautiful place once again. I am also hoping I will find a few of my friend-family connections still there. There's going to be a lot of grief to manage in the next years and being in a place where I feel completely invested and connected is going to be a help.
A return, yes, but also a new chapter.

in the way

reading news for months of only corona headlines 

just when I wonder…how does it end?

suddenly, it’s gone  

states just decided to open up, as though it never existed

and thousands of lives weren’t really extinguished 

only to have one life grab headlines 

spark anger

reading news for weeks of nothing but tensions rising and fear mounting

fear of living, fear of simply existing

fear that brings a grandmother out into the front yard

in her housecoat and walking cane

to cover up her grandchild who is panicking

police training their guns on him as he lays across the lawn

knowing there is nothing he can do to stop the bullets 

from finding his body 

laying still on the grass, crying for help, raising his arms

no action or non-action will be enough to 

save him 

from his skin

and my own news sends me to my heartland

where already rumors fly

of doctors willing to kill to gain ten- grand

for every body lost to corona

no one knows what to believe when streets talk

and life is worth a mere 10k

I see the connection

between the panic that assumes 

a doctor could murder so easily, so quickly,

so callously

because the white man called

with money in his mouth

and the killing of blacks

across the ocean 

just for being

in the way 

of privilege.