The tapestry of suburban Johannesburg is little brand-new cookie-cutter housing tracts, as are the bane of California, surrounded by high walls with electric fences. Outside is Africa, much like West Africa; women with babies tied to their backs and loads on their heads, people cooking over open fires and selling fruit from things that look like lemonade stands. It’s as-if Europe flew over and dropped little enclaves out of a plane, and they landed, scattered, in the middle of Africa. Within the city proper, we saw a neighborhood like Beverly Hills, again with electric fences, less than a mile from beat-up high-rise apartments strung with colorful clotheslines and teeming streetlife. There are more cultures, more economies, more countries-in-countries, more differences packed into one city than I’ve ever seen.

On the drive to Soweto, we saw a veld littered with electric purple flowers and pink and white poppies. I was happy to see the vibrant culture of Soweto and life blossoming everywhere within and without of S.A.’s largest township.

We met Trevor Tutu, Desmond Tutu’s son, and the kids interviewed him in a long, narrow restaurant outside Nelson Mandela’s house. I was getting very worried about their hydration status, so I spent most of the interview sneaking around with the staff finding bottled liquid, and worrying about the noisy construction going-on outside.

Trevor took us for a walk around the square where Hector Peterson was shot and the famous picture that spurred-on the anti-apartheid movement was taken. There was an African school group in uniforms singing in front of the fountain and giant picture.

How can there be a memorial to a photograph? It seems so strange. But media continues to be a huge part of why this country is so confused. Our Afrikanner host took us to the apartheid museum later. Not only had he never seen the museum, he had also never seen the media coverage or footage that was being projected in 20-foot high Technicolor in every room. He was shocked. Ten years later and he’d never seen the police beating protesters in the townships. In the western world, we watched all that in real-time in the late 1980’s and wondered what on earth the white people were thinking over there. I now believe that in fact there was a huge number of them that didn’t know, or were just never confronted with any sort of reality. Seems like some of them still don’t know.

Everyone thought we could have spent hours in the museum, but I could not have. I choked-up and teared-up at every photograph. How on earth, how an earth can people do these things to each other? Such a beautiful people, getting tortured and beaten. The museum pulls no punches. They even give you a ticket that says “black” or “white” and you enter separately and go through different exhibits for the first two rooms.

What struck me was a wall covered with tiny black signs. Each of them had an Act written on it, such as, The Bantu Education Act, 1976. These were all the laws that made up apartheid, written between 1936 and the late seventies. There was a mass of them, over a mass of years, and the room they hover over is full of video of people bleeding and being beaten to death. The disconnect is incredible. How did a government, for so long, have such an enormous and momentous Wrong Thought Process?

Just before that, we spent the afternoon with a youth project called Conquest for Life. This one was a lot of work to set-up as we went-in cold on the contact, but it was incredible. There was a group of African High School kids, and we had directed talks and they made us a traditional lunch. There were so many smiles, and our kids were so happy to have traditional food. They happily mingled with the other kids all over the sunny, run-down, barbed-wire-protected courtyard and exchanged addresses, hugs, and just talked. On the pretense of taking pictures, I eavesdropped on conversations encompassing everything from drivers’ license laws to ambitions of community service careers. Both our kids and the South African kids had so many amazing things to say, and they are all so brave and kind.

After all this, we visited the Cotlands Center for Abandoned and Abused Children. My mind just kept blowing. We were shown down a hall freshly painted with Mother Goose animals by a British woman. The first stop was the hospice for children with HIV; we just looked through the windows. Some of our students had a moment of fear that the place might be very sad for them; I reminded them that it was actually hopeful and happy and home for the kids they were going to meet. When I was the age of my students, HIV was a more dire diagnosis; the hospice would have been the only possible future for the kids.

The world does change for the better. We progressed to the orphange and spent a beautiful, joyful, colorful hour in the play yard with kids who were just-walking up to kids about 4 years old. They were a riot of excitement. I walked straight in first, got right down and started playing with some tops I’d brought and I had a little crowd immediately. I started playing soccer, and when I looked at our students, they were so natural. They were giving piggyback rides and tickling and cuddling and chasing the toddlers around, and everyone was giggling. Even the teachers and staff and photographers were playing with the cuties.

After a lot of crazy play, I ended-up with a beautiful boy with long eyelashes perched on my hip twirling my hair. His little head eventually fell to my shoulder; I knew he wanted to have a time-out above the hubbub, he had come up to me on the verge of meltdown. I loved him completely for all the time we had. Then the toddlers had to wash up for dinner, and we left past the baby room. Bright and clean, full of happy alert little ones playing or napping in cribs.

Then we unpacked five bags of perfect donations; toys and clothes, and marched them down the hall. Every student got to participate in the process.

What a day! Full heart…. I do miss my family tho…

You see, when humans do-the-do, the male contribution to the next generation is just a packet of DNA.  The female, on the other hand, gives an entire cell, complete with specialized mini-cells, or organelles, inside of it.  Some of the organelles never re-combine or change, but they do contain DNA.  That DNA never sees an outside influence; it copies itself into every cell of the eventual baby human.  That fact has allowed scientists to use the genetic information in living people today to trace our earliest ancestors. 

And who has the oldest DNA, of all the highly varied human races on earth?  People who have always lived in South Africa; the bushmen of the Kalahari (see The Gods Must Be Crazy, you won’t regret it).  In theory, we could trace every Homo sapien on the planet back to one woman, and she lived near Maropeng.  So the bones corroborate.

I tell this story to all my classes.  It was one of several ideas that made me decide to study molecular genetics.

But again, I’ve never told it while overlooking the savannah, my class and the tall grass washed in a warm breeze and evening sunlight.  I’ve never taught it while staring at the same giraffes and acacia trees our genetic Eve looked upon.

Or having had 4 hours of sleep over the last 33.  I lost track of how many meals we’ve had in transit, but it was way too many.  As for coffee, who knows?

 After talking, we descended into the museum.  The first stop on the tour of the home of the first hominids was a boat ride rather like Pirates of the Carribean with no pirates.  There was an ice age that was very cold then a lava phase that was very hot, and several waterfalls and silly fake volcanoes.  Then there was a 30-foot planet earth that evolved over 4 billion years before our eyes. 

This was quite perfect for jet-lagged people, we just giddily took it all in and giggled a lot.

The museum was actually quite beautiful; I want all the interactive displays in my classroom, and there were so many inspiring quotes on the walls.  The room full of actual bones was quite impressive.  Turns out there are two new species of the Homo genus since I took Physical Anthropology 14 years ago; and they are both buried here.

When we re-emerged into daylight we hiked up a stone path past many “beware of snakes” signs in the tall blowing grass, and came out on a deck with a gorgeous round infinity pool, high over the Savannah. 

I’d have to say this is the nicest hotel I’ve ever stayed-at, and I’ve been to some very nice hotels.  The scale is small; everything is hand-crafted and looks like a magazine.  We have our own porches looking out on the veld.  We have basin sinks, posh robes, beautiful spa toiletries….  It’s quite unnerving.  Rust and gold and walnut and insanely subtle post-modern tribal art.  And gorgeous open porches 40 feet from a very well-hidden game fence; there may be animals in our day….

At the museum, after the Eve story, I told the circle of students (we have the kids make a circle when we give them instruction or instructions in all kinds of places) that this was the mystical beginning of their Africa experience, returning to the origin of our species.  And it turned-out to be fun….

This morning we arrived after a 91/2 hour flight from Dubai, and I must say even the little play screen on the airplane did not entertain me any more.  I had a rousing game of Pong with Amar, as you can play a game against anyone else on the plane.  And I began working-on the backgrounds for my slideshow.  Chris, who never took the slightest interest in Chemistry, is this jumping, alive, super-genius on this trip; he took all of our computers and made them able to see each others’ desktops, so we can shoot files and messages at each other on the plane or wherever.  That was entertaining for awhile.

When we deplaned, we stood in the longest immigration line I’ve seen, under a questionable low ceiling with lots of missing roof tiles and ugly fluorescent lights.  The immigration officers were cold, but all my jet-lagged brain could do was stare uneasily at the pile of luggage carts on the other side.  I was wondering if they cost money like they do in the states, then I was wondering where we would get enough coins to pay for carts for 56 suitcases.

Turns out they were free, and turns out SN got the customs official to wave us through without a second glance. Every kid helped with baggage, listened, and cheerfully wheeled a cart with their own things, donations, and camera equipment through customs. We emerged, all 500 feet of us and our stuff, into a three-day-old ten-story-high glass atrium.  I surmised immediately that Emirates must have helped build it.

Dawie met us jauntily and I liked him right away; a very straight-shooter and an obvious leader but approachable and caring at the same time.  I’ve seen an intense desire to show the kids his country and keep everyone comfortable; an impeccable host.

We sorted the 28 donation bags onto five carts, and marched directly off to cargo.  The five carts went up an elevator one-by-one, all the while I worried about whomever I couldn’t see.  This trip is bringing-out my mother-hen in a bad way.  I’m such a worrier!  I habitually (perhaps obsessively) space out in the middle of whatever conversation I’m having and count heads.  Perhaps I will relax slightly now that we’re through the airports….

The elevator schlep was to no avail; the third floor was not where we were supposed to be.  To avoid the elevator, Dawie steered us down trolley-friendly escalators, but the carts were piled so high we all almost fell over each other as the first two carts had bags spilling off.  Cliff and I were laughing as we stepped quickly backward up escalator steps and nearly ran into the people behind us while those below frantically threw bags to the side.  I wished I had a camera out for that one!

Oops!  An hour of finessing later, Dawie decided to simply have his company ship the bags.  We all trekked across the airport to a big, red, shiny, air-conditioned, ultra-clean….

TOUR BUS!  Bain of world travel, but oh did I appreciate the soft seats and panoramic windows.  Dawie talked at us for the next two hours, a perfect wash of information pouring over us like tonic as we drove around Johannesburg.  SN, Dawie, and I pulled out the itinerary and made phone calls and planned at a hundred miles per hour between sights.

We finally arrived at Maropeng for lunch, and there was a sumptuous buffet awaiting us.  Of course!  Then came the talk on the  balcony and the lovely museum.

After we had arrived at the hotel and gone through the wild fiasco of sorting everyone and their bags into rooms while trying to follow the hotels’ strange paperwork policy, I changed as fast as I could and ran down to the pool.

The boys were already in high form, performing Feats of Physical Prowess for each others’ digital cameras.  I had envisioned a peaceful swim overlooking the savannah, but as it turned out the water was freezing and the boys were hilarious.

Unbelievably, we put the kids back in their Business Casual for dinner at 7, which was incredibly formal.  A prix fixe feast with lovely linens, high-backed throne-like chairs, and intellectual conversation.  Sort of.  Jack kept nodding off and nearly falling into his filet mignon, which sent the giddily tired girls into such fits of hysterics they nearly fell off their chairs.  Someone started asking Book of Questions type stuff, and their tired brains spun into orbit until Mara asked me something like, “If you had a choice of someone at this table dying or you being at Disneyland with your organs removed and duct-taped to Space Mountain, what would it be?”  None of us could stop laughing.  I pulled off a decadent toast to our host at the very last minute to cover up our precociousness.

On the way to the Cradle, we saw three wild giraffes eating acacia out of a tree by the road.  True dat.

It’s the next morning.  Over coffee, I sat on the balcony by myself listening to animal sounds in the distance, watching the sun turn the tall grass gold and a gazelle peacefully grazing on a distant hillside.  Yes, this is a most wonderful place on earth…. Dressing up and setting out to find internet service now.

April, um, 7^th?  I think…. Maropeng, South Africa 2009

The airport was like the insides of a giant sugar cube, or waking up inside a snowflake like a Who down in Whoville.  There were Grecian columns eight miles high encrusted with either mirrors or princess snow sparkle, white marble floors, and attendants and officers in sweeping white robes and crisp turbans.

Everything was brand new, clean, and smelled subtly of fine cologne, as if the UAR cleaning staff uses Aqua di Gio to scrub the floors.  They probably do. From the fleet of brand new black Volvo station wagons emblazoned with “Emirates” waiting on the doorstep, just in case tourists might want one to hire, to the gigantic fake palm trees erupting out of each baggage turnstyle, it is all just-built.

The kids looked surprisingly awake and refreshed, and mature, and calm.  The food at the hotel was fabulous.  A sumptuous middle-eastern buffet with rich lamb stew and creamy lemony hummus like nothing I’ve ever bought at New Leaf.

Hippy hummus vs. real hummus.  I’m collecting too much arcane info in the world; I’ll soon be the bore of every party I attend.

15 hours on the plane was effortless with everyone plugged-in to the ICE system, which, for me, meant 100 new release movies to choose from.  Joy!  Moms of young children do not get to see them in theaters.  I caught up.

The stewardesses were snarky, but I didn’t blame them; I couldn’t take care of 100 rich people with high expectations for 15 hours.

Looking down was even more magic than ever; we flew over the North Pole, which is shorter than circumnavigating the earth.  Huge cakes of ice bumping into each other, veins of turquoise water and wispy clouds.  The next time I got a peak was over Iran; sand dunes.

I’d like to come back here and spend more time….

Please be comfortable and prepared, but pack lightly! Remember that we will be travelling and on-the-move constantly on this trip, but we will also be toting donations for Philani across South Africa. The easier it is for you to pick up and carry your personal baggage, the better!

Wardrobe:

3-5 Business Casual outfits that can be mixed-and-matched. Please read the attached guidelines for business casual dress.

1 Business Formal Outfit: This is a suit or sports coat and good slacks and tie for boys, or a matched business suit for girls

1 light Rain Coat

2-3 Plain, lightweight, long-sleeved shirts to wear on walks in the bush in Kruger park: neutral colors, not white or bright

2 pairs of casual long pants to wear on walks in Kruger Park (on a warm day, you will want something lighter than jeans but that still covers your skin)

2 sweaters, one informal (like a fleece) for Kruger Park and one more formal

Lightweight, long-sleeved and long pants pajamas (skin coverage is important in Kruger due to malaria!)

1 sun hat

1 swimsuit

1 pair light flip-flops

1 pair good walking shoes (hiking boots or tennis shoes)

Your Ubuntu T-shirt!

Toiletries: 

Personal Items! Things like toothpaste, toothbrushes, your favorite shampoo, deodorant, pads/tampons, makeup, and lotion will be difficult to acquire en route.

Sunscreen

Insect repellent with DEET. The kind that comes in a push-up solid stick is excellent as you avoid getting DEET on your palms and fingers when you apply it.

Lip Balm

Hand Sanitizer

Other Items

Bed net (available at Outdoor World, REI, or Wal-Mart)

JOURNAL! Required for both Values and Environmental Science  The same journal may be used for both classes

Small flashlight

Money belt or pouch for carrying passport and money beneath your clothes while travelling

A water bottle

Medicines

Follow your doctor’s advice first! Your friends and teachers may have different regimens for malaria, shots, etc.; the person to listen to is YOUR DOCTOR.

Bring any over-the-counter medicine you might need for a minor illness or cold, headache relief, and for allergies.

For Fun and Comfort (not required)!

Camera

Small, lightweight binoculars

Inflatable neck pillow for sleeping on the flight between San Francisco and Dubai

Lightweight reading book

Ipod with charger for the airplane or for falling asleep at night, if needed. Once we are on the ground ipods will not be allowed in group settings.

Plug adapter for South Africa (try Radio Shack) (better to buy on line if you want a good price)

Laptop with padded travel case

Phone (many cellular plans have a provision to loan you a World Phone for 30 days, but be aware of very expensive charges for texting and minutes in Africa)

Pocket money for souvenirs

Small pad and pen for exchanging contact information with new friends

South Africa guidebook—this makes good reading the month before, too! Lonely Planet is a good choice.

DO NOT BRING…

Expensive jewelry! If you want to wear jewelry, it should be modest-looking and fake.

Too much money.

Too much stuff—you WILL get tired of carrying it.

Bright-colored clothes on safari—you will be sent back to your room to change.

Revealing clothes or clothes with offensive slogans—you will be sent back to your room to change.

Liquids or sharp objects in your carry-on bag

Other Practical Packing Advice

Business casual clothes can be found at Ross, TJ Maxx or the Goodwill at inexpensive prices; try not to pack clothes that you feel you can’t get dirty! That means, now is not the time to invest in your dream suit or a designer dress. You need to look very nice, but the trip will be hard on your clothes. In the suitcase, I use gallon-size Ziploc bags to remove air from clothing so that it packs smaller. I try to pack clothes that look presentable after just one night out of the suitcase in case you don’t have time to iron. 

Day 7

Or so?

My nose is absolutely bright pink from demonstrating solar cookers.  I think that all developing nations are sort of a wash to us, visually and conceptually.  One of the wealthy parents who watched the demonstration today commented that Nigerians don’t need this, they are rich enough to afford wood and kerosene for their stoves.

I was really proud of myself for the way I brought out the objections and got people to feel comfortable speaking their minds about it, so I could address the issues.

I just patiently explained to him that the UN, amongst others, (as in, those who have a Greater World View), realize that the cost of fuelwood will double in the next two years, and will literally increase ten-fold in the next ten years.  I said he could keep the idea in the back of his mind until then.  After which I truly offended him by saying thank-you to everyone in Hausa, and he was Yoruba.   I’d been told many times that everyone speaks English, Hausa, and their village’s language.  Apparently this is highly offensive to Yoruba and Ebo.  Well, I tried.

The people who were intensely interested were the women and all the teachers; they live in the real world, where kerosene is hard to afford.  They all stuck around until the rice cooked.

I’m getting to be very good friends with the Hausa money-changers who camp out all day, every day in a little white thatch-roof hut by the gate to the grounds of our hotel.  The well-guarded gate.  There are four or five men who sell cheap watches, crafts for tourists, pottery, and Nigerian currency.  They all wear white or pastel traditional Hausa outfits, meaning flowing embroidered caftans, pants, and little pillbox hats, and sit together in a hut all day philosophizing and joking.  I think they have a wonderful life.  They are full of smiles and are always thrilled to see me, even though I jog around and around in shorts with an Ipod.  They always talk to me, and they’ve been fervently teaching me Hausa for the last two days.  I can say a lot of things, but I forgot them.

In our final ceremony, the seniors sang us a song and looked sad, and hugged us, and really sincerely sounded like they would miss us.  I thought I would be handing Emmanuel donation money on the sly, he’s been so squirrely about taking money, but he asked me to make a speech and present it today.  I’m becoming quite the speech-maker in English AND Hausa, but I think I looked like a total tool attempting the latter.

Tessa asked to visit a craft market after our farewell ceremony, but Emmanuel and Sunday took us to a leather-works.  Jos is very proud of its leather.

Here, in Africa, there is a direct connection between cute fuzzy goats running around and stylish flip-flops.  As you drive up, you can see the goat-shaped skins swinging in the breeze, and you can hold your nose and speak to the man stripping off fur and tending the dye pits.  Then you can watch the whole shoe-making operation.  It was good fun but I’ve really enjoyed the goats everywhere, they’re sort of like substitute cats for me, so I was too creeped-out to buy anything.  Luckily Emmanuel decided to present us each with a pair of flip-flops as a parting gift, and he gave Tessa a head-to-toe African Lady Outfit.  I had ordered one earlier this week to wear around and give slide shows, so that I can look like a tool on my own continent as well.  But I really love it.  I feel like a total princess in it, it’s full length, well-fitted, and I look excellent in an enormous rainbow turban.  I think I’ll wear it to really normal places, like Seven-Eleven, when I get home, just to embarrass everyone who knows me.

The goats here are not penned-in, because they go home every night like dogs.

I was also presented with an enormous outfit For my Husband, so I’m going to have to be especially creative at sneaking back money to Emmanuel.  My husband is a size four, three of her could fit in it.  Perhaps it could be used as co-pajamas, or for sack races; one person per leg.  And we got some lovely furry goat-skin flip-flops for any Mount Madonna faculty member, where they are so very into animal cruelty.  Seriously, it was all such a beautiful, gentle, loving gesture on his part.  It’s impossible for them to understand our reverence for animals at this point, but we’ll get there.  It makes me wonder how much we don’t understand about them.

Emmanuel and I talked for what seemed like hours at the Jos museum.  I just leave every long conversation filled with amazement.  It started by looking at the masks together.  He began to tell me about the New Yam festival in his village in Benoit State.  No one may eat the first yams of the new harvest each year until masks are brought out, sacrifices are performed, and the chief has the first plate.  The entire village takes their meals from the same bowl, and the elders eat first.  All these superstitions and traditions are well alive in the villages.  I talked about cultural extinction and how I think lessons from these types of traditions and ancient religions are how Africa could really make its mark on world thought, and he assured me that the entire values curriculum he’s publishing in August is from ancient tribal traditions.  He’s so cool; most Africans I’ve met really don’t appreciate what they have in their cultural heritage.

Then we found a beautiful carved Mancala game by a catfish pond in a Roman-style mud hut in the back; it was like a courtyard with a reflecting pool in the middle.  The guard had stocked the artistic game board with seeds and I learned how to truly play it African-style for the first time; the language barrier always got in my way on the last trip.  What fun!  It’s the most mathematical game I’ve ever played, and I’m going to be sure to have it in my classroom.  Emmanuel showed me all the museum art that was from his tribe, and the guard did the same.

Outside the museum was a huge African wedding.  The bride and groom sat in wrought-metal thrones under a tent, and hundreds of Africans in the most colorful finery imagineable were milling around chatting.  There was a line of at least 60 people both for the bride and the groom.  They were each holding a gift.  At African weddings, each guest personally presents their gifts to the couple.  I stood there taking pictures of everyone, because no one seemed to mind, then raindrops came and everyone left.

There is a girl at the school, and orphan adopted by one of the school families, who has an enormous growth on her head above her eye.  The teacher took her up to the assembly at the front of the school on Friday morning and told the students they all had to help her.  Then Emmanuel told all the rich parents who attended the solar cooker demonstration today that they had to help her.  Basically, the entire community has raised 500,000 Naira, or $450, to send her to the hospital for an operation next week.  It’s really incredible, and I think we need to follow that example at our school and in the US in general.  If someone in your community has a problem, it’s your problem too, no compromising.

In his closing speech to the community, Emmanuel said that if you cut off a cow’s tail, it doesn’t know it’s missing until flies show up and it has nothing to swat them with.  In the same way, he said, they will begin to feel the many impacts of our week here after we go, and over the all the years of the lives of the students.  I like my work being compared to a mangled cow’s butt, it’s something I can easily believe in.

Seriously, the Home-School Forum, or PTA head, gave a speech, the principal (Victor) gave a speech, Bishop the Chemistry teacher gave a speech, a student gave a speech, and even Tessa gave a speech.  They all made me teary.  I kind of do believe there may be something in the web we wove that may turn into a beautiful cloth in the future.  Just to go analogy-crazy, I’ll say I want to come back in a while and see the tree that grew from the seeds we helped germinate.  Not plant, they were already there.  We modeled and taught and dialogued modernized teaching techniques, dialogue in general, Montessori, classroom design, networking computers, curriculum, solar cooking, practical lab skills, and most of all, non-violence.  We brought laptops, educational manipulatives and toys, Montessori lessons, electronic equipment, textbooks, posters, maps, globes, books for all ages, movies, letters, cookers, and more love than you can imagine.  I love giving, it’s the best thing in the world.

And of course the night ended with another hysterical and interesting dinner conversation.  I’m really going to miss eating every meal with AJ, Emily and Tessa.  The fact that the restaurant takes an hour and a half to bring you coffee has really forged new friendships for me, even though I’m older than dirt compared to all of them.

Here is The Movie List:

The Most Well-Crafted Films of All Time

City of God, Love Me if You Dare, The Boat Movie (ask Melissa), Friday Night Lights, The Motorcycle Diaries, 9 (Fellini), There Will be Blood, Like Water for Chocolate

Movies that Made You Laugh the Hardest When You Saw Them, Even if They Seem Stupid Now

Austin Powers II, Anchorman, The Big Lebowski, Juno, Surfs’ Up, A Night at the Opera

Best Sick Day Movies (Comfort Movies)

Pretty Woman, Oceans’ 11, Garden State, The Philadelphia Story, Clear and Present Danger

Worst Movies Ever

Brazil, Ironman, Battlefield Earth (the story of Scientology with John Travolta), Total Recall

Movies You Just Have to See

A Love Song for Bobby Long, Swimming Pool, The Revolution Will Not Be Televised, Dog Town and Z-Boys

I really missed T today.  I climbed the highest hill and looked west, and wrapped my arms around her.  I miss my little baby boy so much.

And I miss raw veggies and brewed coffee.  I’m making a beeline for the expresso bar in Amsterdam, it’s right next to the gate.

Tomorrow will be our first unstructured day.  I’m going to walk around on the streets and see if someone picks my pocket or calls me an infidel.  No, really, I’m not, we’re supposed to go to another waterfall, but we may just sit by the pool.  We DO get to sleep in, if the goats and the yak in the air conditioner will allow it.

We watched Pimp My Ride in the lounge in Nigeria, with Arabic subtitles and commercials.  I never considered what effect this type of schlock might have on the developing world, who appears to be imitating America’s every communication, around here.  Altho I admit I like the ebonics AND the flames painted all over the old cars.

Monday we’re meeting with Teachers Without Boarders and US Embassy personnel some other high-ups in Abuja, to try and figure out getting a container here full of textbooks and lab supplies.  Suitcases are inefficient.

Oh, and they named the lab at school the Mount Madonna Science Lab.  And the computer room/library is the Mount Madonna IT Center And Library, although I said it should be the John Frediani Technology Center.

Peace and Love,

Lisa, 3:53 Santa Cruz time 11:53 Jos, Nigeria May 23 2008 or so

Aaaaah, so, lauged so hard I cried again today; they had to kick us out of the restaurant after dinner we were in there laughing for so long.

I’m trying to learn enough Hausa to make a speech tomorrow.  The main phrase I learned in Twi was, “You are cheating me!”  That was what I needed to say, 90% of the time.  It’s nice to learn, “I have a gift for your school.  I think you will be very successful.”  So much more pleasant.

Everything I own smells badly.  Today we were stuck for awhile in an absolutely torrential downpour next to a waterfall; I pictured our van being washed down the delta and out to sea.  The rain made rivers down every window, then it began to hail.  I’ve never sweated so much in 20 minutes; I drank about five liters of water today and two Gulders.

The waterfall was sooo pretty, and big; there was a majestically pounding 75 foot fall and a beautiful canyon-cut rushing rivulet next to it.  This would be such a good eco-tourism destination if they had trash removal services.

So, I skipped writing yesterday due to the fact that I am working my ass off.  I think doing all this good work while also jumping a cultural and language barrier every minute is just exhausting, but so incredibly fulfilling.  In fact, fulfilling has a new meaning, I’m like, full.  It’s true that you only keep what you give away.

I had that conversation yesterday with Emmanuel and Victor while we were waiting for the first of the new laptops to talk to eGranary through the new switch.  I did go and buy a switch, at the Jos version of Best Buy.  It’s the size of my bathroom, and everything is four times as expensive.  But it exists!  Cheaper than courier service, I’m sure.

We talked for about an hour and a half, mainly about non-violence.  I think I was able to really answer every objection they had to getting rid of flogging, but I still think they’ve got a long way to go.  They’re not really raising their true objections, because they don’t know what they are.  It’s like asking an American to stop using toilet paper.  It’s so ingrained, and natural, and ridiculous to think of stopping, for them.  I also know what it’s like to balance the many priorities and demands of teaching and how difficult it can be to try something new.  Some days you just have to get through the day, you’re not ready to unleash a new system and put up with the temporary chaos that might ensue.

The lightbulbs that popped happened when they got to their real, final, absolute argument; the scripture, of course, “spare the rod and spoil the child.”  I said, “That’s so 100 years ago in the rest of the world.  You can’t possibly take that literally.  I mean, you stopped doing ‘an eye for an eye’ a long time ago, right?”  They were shocked that I knew the phrase.  “Of course I do.  We don’t take it literally, ‘the rod’ just means discipline.”  I brought it up when they said they thought a big problem with Africans was their low self esteem.  “From my perspective, there’s a direct correlation between low self-esteem and child abuse.”  I explained that they were teaching children that they are bad, through and through, but in fact their behavior is bad.  They are innocent.  I like to slip-in biblical sounding ideas.

So, that went on for a long time.  For lords’ sake they use the Dalai Lama’s book in class.  It will seep in.

I did do one very conflictual thing about it, tho, because when students are in my class, they are under my protection.  Some of my biology students were supposed to write exams today during my class, but they snuck away to hear my lecture.  You wouldn’t believe how hungry these kids are for knowledge!  Anyways, one of my least favorite teachers was waiting to take that group out one-by-one and flog them, but I didn’t allow it.  I marched to the principal and informed him I would never teach here again if he flogged students for coming to my class, or touched any student in my class, and he stopped it.

Then he took me to the Lab they’re trying to set up, just an empty room with high tables and a sink that may or may not work, and we brought in advanced students for a microscope lesson.

Oh WOW, are these people sharp.  They are so incredibly smart.  I showed them onion root-tip staining and examination, then stem cross-sections, and every microscope part, and everything about using it.  Victor (the principal/biology teacher) asked them each to say back to him what they were observing, using excellent teaching technique himself.  Every kid could tell me every part of the scope and what it was for, in a half hour.  In an hour, Victor asked me to step back and allow the students to prepare a slide and focus the scope.

Now, I brought this scope because it’s a cast-off at Mount Madonna.  In any of our classrooms it would last 40 seconds because it’s light, breakable, the objectives are plastic, and the stage almost comes off in your hands.  It’s not easy and you have to treat it with great reverence.  After hearing how difficult the laptops were for them at first, I was reluctant, but I trusted Victor.

They did it.  Perfectly.  Every single one of them.

I have Biology students who, after a year, still can’t make a slide work.

I snuck out to Victor’s office and started bawling.

I don’t know why the world works like this.  Then there were the questions they had, the brilliant, creative, interesting questions.  Things they couldn’t have prepared in advance.  They just blew my mind, they were like the greatest gift a teacher could have.  And they have NOTHING.

Their teacher hadn’t even seen a microscope until 2 days ago.

Victor and another teacher, one of the smartest ones, and I talked for awhile.  I felt peaceful again, but I’m still a little shook up when I think about it.  Imagine minds like that, cooped up in an over-crowded, empty room that would be condemned in the US.

The hope is just in these teachers at the school.  If there were ever a group that could change things, this is it.  Well, 90% of them, but it’s only a year old.

Teaching Bio was really wonderful.  I had four boys bring in all the textbooks and distribute them, because I think they don’t really know how to use them.  They are proudly displayed in perfect condition in the school library.  I used the textbook as a touchstone for a collaborative learning/report-back type class, which they never do, and the students handled it brilliantly.  Most of them offered synthesis-level analyses of viral pathologies and structures.  Pretty good for 14-year-olds who live and work in empty rooms.

I have to make another short speech tomorrow and I had the money-changer at the hotel translate it into Hausa.  So I can prepare myself to look like a total tool.  Emmanuel said there are over 200 languages spoken at the school; he’s going to make an official census.  I think it would be good publicity. 

The solar cooker demo went brilliantly well.  It happened to be on the only day it hasn’t rained, and like the Montessori Workshops, lightbulbs were popping in minds left and right.  Some of the teachers loved them so much they were ready to grab them from our hands, and Emmanuel is thick in plans to involve students in starting a cottage industry to support the school.  He’s already planning to take the most interested student, who is Head Boy (like Percy the Prefect!), to Kano to scope out cardboard manufacturers.  The rice turned out great.

We went to the Zoo today, we had to, he wouldn’t stop bringing it up.  Maybe they think we never see lions in the US.  Whatever, but it wasn’t as bad as I expected.  I was really prepared for the worst.  In the back, you take a long hike through the forest to an area where they are trying to breed and bring back the Pygmy Hippo.  15 years ago, the one regret I had on leaving West Africa was not making the long journey to the Tai Forest in the Ivory Coast to see the chimps and nearly-extinct Pigmy Hippos.

They’re so cool!  They’re like huge, hippo-shaped pigs.

The second Montessori workshop was brilliant, and it really was incredibly fun putting together Montessori lessons at the local market.  Emmanuel had absolutely no idea why I was buying shoe brushes, toothbrushes, dry beans, funnels, little cups, sponges, and plastic trays.  It must have seemed so random to him.  I made eight lessons for ten bucks, and I really have some hope that they get it.  The carpenters are finishing the new classroom this weekend.  Hang on, cute little ones!  They really enjoyed Tinky Winky today, and he mysteriously started talking again when we got back to the hotel, but not when you press his button.  One little girl looked at him and said, “Is not baby……….is…..teletubby!”  I have NO idea how she knew.  BBC, maybe, tho I have not seen it.

The teachers really got a laugh unpacking the plastic food Addy sent.  For some reason, the plastic potato chips were particularly funny to them.  I thought they’d recognize some of the food, but they had to ask about every single thing.  “Is Pineapple?”  They didn’t recognize strawberries, grapes, or sunny-side-up eggs at all.

We played dominoes for awhile.

After that was when we had the long laptop-fixing session and heart-to-heart.  When the first one finally started talking to eGranary, I just had to get up and do a touchdown dance.

Today, we got every single one working, and got the students on them.  It was really cool.  AJ taught two boys to play chess on one, and I began to show Emmanuel Power-Point.  The nice thing is, he was doing the troubleshooting by the end of the day so I’m really confident that he’ll keep it working.

Day 4

A huge, evil noise like a tyrannosaurus rex burping blasts out of our open room door.

“What’s THAT?”

“It’s our air conditioner.  It sounds like a diseased yak.”

“We haven’t gone close to ours since a reptile crawled out of it.”

Our true conversation, parting ways after a pleasant dinner.  I had a hummus platter, Emily had garlic noodles, AJ had chicken jollof rice, and Tessa had Chinese stir-fried veggies.  All at the same restaurant!  For about five bucks.

Today we rolled up our sleeves and went to work.  We got out all the laptops and tried to set them up, only to find that the internet switch we had with us didn’t work.  We got the old network functioning briefly before that switch shorted-out.  Emmanuel had a backup switch, but that didn’t work either.  I hit one of the bigger lows of my life, which is just very appropriate on the heels of one of the bigger highs of my life, darn it.  I thought, great, we came all this way, there’s barely any sun (it actually HAILED today), and not only is the new network not going to work, but the old one is now DEAD!  I tried to cheer myself up by walking around the school and seeing the kids, but immediately came upon a child kneeling at the front of the class with his hands on his head, his eyes closed, crying quietly in fear and shame.

Sure enough, a teacher was coming around the corner with a belt in her hand and a mean look in her eye.  I walked right into the principles’ office and explained how very unacceptable this was, how painful, and how wrong.  We had a long conversation about it.  I’m going to have so much trouble keeping it on that level over the next few days and not just walking up and taking the belt away.  I think I’m figuring out more pressure points to touch about it, and more honest language, and alternative solutions to explain, which is what they really want.  It helped to strategize with my travel-mates.

Then I tried again.  I went to visit the foundations (pre-K) class.  Sadly, there were 20 or so tiny children stuffed into an 8-by-8 foot room.  They are building a new one, but how tough.  They can’t spend too much time out in the torrential rain and beating sun, they are really in a room the size of my bathroom all day.  The few small things the last travelers bought for them were stuffed in a net bag, hung on the roof and out of reach.

Thoroughly depressed, I returned to the laptop lab where we are staging all the materials we brought.  Tessa was placing the books for the kids on the shelves, all the while pulling out books that came on the last trip, some of which were in shrink wrap.  None of them had been touched.

School ended, and the science teacher came to show me his curriculum so I can teach chemistry.  He asked me to teach acids and bases.  I asked him where he was in the full set of “Physical Science” textbooks we’ve carried over now between the two trips.  He explained that these were just physics.  I showed him that in the US, “Physical Science” means physics AND chemistry.  He did not believe me and went to get the book he is using, which is a sad, tattered, tiny little paperback full of things you can copy onto the board or have the students recite.

They just don’t know how, I thought.  They don’t know how to use the books.  Not at all.

Their school looks good in the community.  They will have a better computer lab and library than the university.  People are clamoring to sent their kids there because of the last visit.  But they still don’t know how to use these things.  When we arrived at the computer lab, the server was set-up by an open window, its fans and ports caked with dust.  It’s truly a miracle the switch lasted this long.

I told science teacher I would teach acids and bases, and would progress to Acid Rain in my lecture.  They have no idea that Environmentalism, Environmental Science, or anything of that nature exists.  I then walked him over and showed him the chapter on Acids and Bases in the textbook, and luckily it had an entire section on Acid Rain (I’d never seen the textbook).  In fact, every chapter has a section called “environmental connection.”  I informed him that at the beginning of class, we would walk the students in here, each would take a textbook, and we would learn from the book for the entire class.  We would discuss the pictures, and the students would discuss the questions.  He shook his head and said, “They are too precious.”  I should have said, “the students, you mean?”  I reassured him that we would explain that to his very, very obedient (aka terrified) class.  We shall see how it goes.

Next I brought out the microscope.  He was too scared to put his eye close enough to the eyepiece, but kept nodding his head when I asked if he could see the slide.  The principal, who is also the Biology teacher and very smart, came in and did exactly as I said.  He reared his head back in amazement.  “I think I will say that this is the first time I am seeing this.”  I brought a tiny vial of methylene blue, and I showed them how to prepare an onion root tip slide (amazingly, they had an onion with tips down the hall).   The principal made an excellent section himself.  They brought a student in and showed him.  I suggested they use it with one or two students at a time.  Emmanuel said they had never taught science in a hands-on manner;  for some reason, I think they really did understand this.  Emmanuel also asked the student what he saw, and told him if he could not answer honestly and talk to his teacher, how would he be a creative thinker?

After school we went to Mr.Biggs and sat through a torrential downpour while Emmanuel and Sunday went to find out if you could buy new switches in Jos.  I was on pins and needles about it, trying to decide who I would call and ask for an act of heroism to get one here by Monday, um, I think it WOULD take an act of Goddess.   There ain’t no kinkos.  The US Embassy?

Luckily you can buy them.  For like, ninety bucks when they are thirty in the USA.  I spoke to John and neither of us could figure it out, but it’s a really good idea to just buy one with 220V anyways, so that the next time they move the laptop lab they don’t short it out in the wrong socket again.  So I’m going to get it tomorrow and keep my fingers crossed.

I think we should just have a juju man come in and sacrifice a goat, it would work just as well as far as my knowledge of wiring goes.

THEN we went to the market; I was feeling more relaxed. 

There is nothing more vibrant, colorful, and brimming with life than a West African Market.  Not the best dance club, not the best concert, nothing.  And I’ve been to some good dance clubs.  Two steps in and I had fifteen new best friends, twelve scowels, four people waving live chickens in my face, and several old, scar-faced Hausa men waggling their finger at me.  Perfect!  I am so happy that I spent a year here and lost all fear and anxiety about the ebullient, joyous press of humanity.  I even enjoy all the foul smells.

We ended up at a cramped stall where I found some simple, lovely locally-made traditional Fulani baskets.  I told Emmanuel I wanted every one they had as gifts for people who sent computers, solar cookers, and donations for the school.  After that, he was like a fireball of righteous rage with the madam, bargaining like something out of a B movie.  Oh the drama!  And shouting.  Tessa had to leave.  Suffice to say I got the baskets for $1.62 each.  Emmanuel gets tears in his eyes whenever he hears one word about the people helping him in the USA.

Emily and I bought the same shirt.  I can tell she would be an excellent shopping buddy.

When we got back, we dove into the pool.  It was dusk, but we figured we’d go from underwater directly into a fog of DEET when we got out.  The water was a little cloudy, but we figured it rains enough to renew itself at least every other day.  There were Muslims around, but Emily wore a t-shirt, and my swimsuits are 100% grandma style anyways.  Well, I mean, I don’t wear swim skirts, but close.

At the moment, the AC is not working, but we have power.  No hot water, but the toilet flushes.  As usual, two out of four ain’t bad.

This morning I went jogging.  I ran past where we walked the first night, all the way out the plateau on a trail.  I got to the end and had, quite literally, 360-degree panorama of Jos, including a lively soccer game 200 feet below me.  Jos would be such a good mountain biking destination, if the people in charge would stop stealing all the money slated for infrastructure.  As it is, I don’t think mountain-bikers like riding through trash fires and small piles of shit.

Today is my 35^th birthday, and I would not have known it if I hadn’t glimpsed the date on a blackboard as I walked through a classroom.  What a perfect birthday; to be so totally involved with work that really means something to you and fills up your soul, that you don’t even remember you exist.  Cheers to the world!

Peace and Chicken Grease (I mean it wow, the food is freakin oily),

Lisa 5.20.08 10:45 pm Jos 2:45 pm Santa Cruz

Day 3

This morning we were celebrities.  I didn’t know what was coming.  We had instant coffee, eggs, and the best pineapple I’ve ever tasted for breakfast.  I woke up terribly jet-lagged; I’d been unable to sleep between Santa Cruz dinner and bedtime, roughly 1-4 in the morning here.

When we got out of the van at the school gate, we were greeted by a giant banner, “Welcome friends from the USA.”  Then as we entered,  students in African costumes draped ribbons around our neck and hugged us.  About 500 people were assembled, and all were on their feet clapping and cheering as we walked across the school yard to the tent they had ready for us.  Under the tent was a linen tablecloth with fake flowers and a little nest of “minerals” (fanta, coke, sprite, bitter lemon) and water at each seat.  Thus began four hours of festivities; almost all of them students performing traditional dances and plays for us.  We saw dances from every corner of Nigeria, and even one from the Zulu of South Africa.

The students who were not dancing sat all day, even the foundations class (age 3-5).  They each had their own cute plastic chair, but I still can’t imagine how three year olds wore sweater uniforms all day long.

Emmanuel made a beautiful welcome speech.  He said he hadn’t wanted to speak because there was too much love in his heart to express with words.  He thanked god to see this day.

I made a speech.  Something like this:

I wanted to make this long journey to express the heartfelt support our community at Mount Madonna School has for the work you are doing here at Creative Minds International Academy.  The gifts and ideas we have brought for you, they did not come from me, but from our community; teachers, students, administrators, and parents.  You have built a community here that is very similar to our community in the USA.  I hope that while we visit we can share a common vision of the way we want the world to be.  We can look together honestly at the way things are now, and consider how we will move through the space between to make a better world a reality.  We know that we can do this by our common belief in values-based education, creative expression and creative problem-solving, and educational excellence.  I want to thank you for the opportunity to practice greater world citizenship; we are all citizens of the world.  The world has become a much smaller place, with cell phones and the internet.  I hope that while I visit we can open lines of communication that will continue after I leave.  I am so proud of the work you are doing here.  We have so much to learn from each other.

Later I made a speech to the teachers:

The lifeblood of a school is dedicated teachers.  We are all here because we love children.  I think we all share the common view that we can make the world a better place by teaching our children values.  We can increase the happiness of all the people in the world by creating students who will grow up to have integrity.  That is what we are all here for.

That sums up how I feel about life at the moment, and how I felt about the day. 

We always have these boring kinds of meetings at Mount Madonna.  I am so happy teaching, I just wish everyone would dance together.  You know, I just want to play Savage Garden or something and dance around the room at the end of every meeting.  I think about it a lot.

Today, after the formal festivities, the day with the students ended with everyone, all 500 of us, dancing joyfully together in the schoolyard for a good long time.  At one point I did get up and dance with some of the performers, when the African teachers were doing it as well.  Everyone just loved it.  The dancing together at the end made me very happy.

Then we spent some time taking pictures and just talking with the students.  I asked them about what they wanted to be when they left school; we have lawyers, doctors, literature majors, and mathematicians.

Then we were introduced to the faculty; my blood ran cold when Emmanuel said that after this meeting, we would all call each other by name.  There are 20 of them!  When the four of us were alone at dinner, we tried to review, but we all, ironically, remembered the same two names.

After the brief meeting we took minerals together (syrupy sprite and fanta) and relaxed.  Then we left for food.

We went to a middle-eastern restaurant where, of course, I had jollof rice.  I do think I’ve been a great help to the other three travelers when it comes to ordering off the menus.  The truth is, most restaurants only have a couple of dishes, and there are fifty on the menu.  You can count on waiting an hour and a half while they run to market if you order something they don’t have.  Street restaurants make one thing, then put out a “food ready” sign; most restaurants still operate basically the same way.

We were at the restaurant for three hours.  We got into such an intense conversation with Emmanuel that we couldn’t think about anything else.

Emmanuel does not draw a salary from the school.  He drives a taxi on the weekends to get by.  He reminds me of Greg Mortenson of Three Cups of Tea fame(the man who slept in his car while trying to raise money for schools in Pakistan). 

Emmanuel  is so angry at the corruption of the system, that he has modeled himself as the exact opposite in order to make a statement.  He speaks with great emotion about school systems where teachers are not paid for months on end, while the principal builds a beautiful new house.  He has been betrayed by politicians he voted for, believing in them, then watching them buy million-dollar houses with government money.  Once, Emmanuel made a good living writing for articles for Nigeria Today, an American magazine.  He was paid $40 per article.  He found out on accident that the newspaper was paying him $80, and the lawyer transferring funds must be taking half his money.  Instead of complaining, Emmanuel simply walked away gently.  He did not want to cause strife between the lawyer and the magazine boss.  That is his way; he is an amazingly humble man.

He also has the resonance of a great man.  It is such a privilege to meet someone like him.  I’ve never met anyone so inspirational.

I’m starting to understand something about him.  People who do big things and have big ideas in Africa sometimes fall because they become too greedy or selfish or corrupt.  They want to be a big man.  Emmanuel does not want to be a big man; he is utterly deferential.  He simply is one.

Also, he is so saavy politically without any consciousness of it at all.  It is just his way.  He will not let us pay for food.  In a traditional African village, he says, you will feed and house a stranger in need, even if it means you go hungry and sleep outside.  He argues passionately against us when we try to pay for food.  He is deeply sad that he cannot pay for our flights and hotel.  And he drives a taxi for a living.  In a way, this is such a beautiful and smart attitude.  When people come to help you, you should never give the impression that you are willing to just take things from them for yourself.  Even if it is a struggle.  In fact, this makes people want to help you all the more.  We know we will find a way to give him money.

Teachers at CMIA make between 7000 and 13000 Naira per month, or $60-$110.  When Emmanuel was principal, he drew 7000, and decided that he would never pay anyone less.  Except himself.

He thinks now he will start a university.  This will allow him to certify teachers in Values, and spread Values Education more broadly across Nigeria.  This idea is burning in him.  His new principal at the school is smart, well trained, loved by the staff, and visionary as well.  Emmanuel tries to stay out of school affairs; he teaches Values only.

He has decided to arrange meetings for us with the Governor of Plateau State’s wife and the wife of the nearby traditional chief, who has an educational fund.  We will add our voices to the growing support he has for his ideas.

We have been very well protected.  He told us more about the measures he takes to ensure our safety.  No one but him and Sunday know where we are staying, or when we are leaving.  He will not tell the school, either, we will have a simple farewell immediately before we leave.  He himself will not show cash in public, and we cannot give him anything in public.  This way, he will not have people thinking he is a rich man.  He once had a friend ask him for money, thinking the school was getting rich, and when he refused and explained that he himself was poor, his friend never spoke to him again.  In the same way, we do not show cash in public.

There were reporters at the school today filming and photographing us, but nothing will be released until we are gone.  He is making sure we do not become targets.

At least you are not a bathroom ho.

So, last night, there was no hot water and the a/c didn’t work.  The lights came on after a couple hours, and rustling up a maintenance man for a new bulb.

Tonite, the a/c was on when we came in, which is shocking as it was missing several crucial and obvious parts, but the only light working was the bathroom.  The cold water didn’t work, and the hot was scalding, and the toilet wouldn’t flush.  The TV has never had a prayer.

I asked for a maintenance man to fix the toilet.  We waited and waited.  Finally I took the long walk over the grounds to the front desk.  “Oh, he has gone home for the night.  Sorry.  We will get you a new room tomorrow.”

Hmmmm.  Didn’t fix my immediate problem.  “Do you have a restroom?”  He smiled and waved me at the restaurant, where they turned me around and waved me toward the restroom, back across the lobby.

There was no toilet paper.  Back I went across the ground to retrieve some, then hid it under my shirt so they wouldn’t see me walking across the lobby with it, then back again.

I went into the first stall.  There was no toilet seat.  That just wasn’t going to work.

The next stall had one.  I didn’t have much paper but I painstakingly put a little on the suspicious seat.  The door would not pull all the way shut, it was warped and badly hung, and certainly didn’t lock. 

I sat down, giving up, and immediately someone walked in.  The strangest clicking noises began coming from the other side of the door I held shut.  I sat there quietly, waiting for whomever it was to stop clicking and leave.  I pictured the tall, well-dressed from turban-to-toe traditional lady I’d seen in the lobby.  But what was she doing?  Click, click, click….

Then I began to worry.  Was she doing drugs?  Was it a cleaning person about to pull the door open on me?  My hand was about to fall off.  I gave up and twisted myself into a pretzel, dressing myself while holding the door.  When I was decent, I let the door swing open, and there she was.  A ho.

She had a wig on, perfectly straight light brown bob, tons of dark eye makeup and fire engine red lipstick.  She was big-chested and wore an embarrassingly tight halter top.  She smiled hugely at me and said, “Well, Hel-lo-o!”  I ran away.

A bathroom ho!  I couldn’t believe it.  Nowhere to go tonite.  When I got back Tessa and I laughed hysterically, and she said, “Just think, it’s such a good thing our toilet is broken, or you would never have that wonderful story to tell.”

Tessa is a cool kid.

I don’t know where to begin.  I was sitting on the baggage turnstyle, talking about life with one of the airport porters.  His name was DY and he pays 1000 naira per month for cell phone service… that’s about  six dollars.  He works for eight hours every other day, wants to meet an American wife and move to America (If I were Dutch, well,  you get the idea…. Insert nationality here….), and he is a Jehovah’s Witness.  He asked me the name of my church and I said “Well, we go to school at a hindu center….”  And he said, “Your church is called Hindu?”  We proceeded to discuss spirituality until Emmanuel arrived.  He is utterly deferential and sweet; I can’t wait to see him get passionate and radiant about something.  For now I just sense that he is very concerned about our welfare and wants to keep us happy and get us out of Abuja.

This city is a different story from anywhere else in West Africa.  Most capitals are distinctly African, glorified, colorful, busy hodge-poge shantytowns with a few uprisings of European buildings, perhaps a block long…. Abuja is just the opposite.  It is a brand-new European city; you could blink and miss the pockets of people in bright cloth cooking suya over a fire.  I think I saw about three of those in a drive that took over an hour, most of it past bright new tall buildings.  Most of them don’t appear to have electricity.  But there are actual lit bus shelters with big, bright ads for banks.

AJ was hungry and Sunday stopped at what may have been a restaurant, but they couldn’t get their generator working.  We moved on to, I swear, a Nigerian Fast Food restaurant.  Modeled on McDonalds with a heat-lamp preserved tray of pre-made food and giant glass-front fridges full of bottled drinks, this place delighted us.  The pre-made food was meat pie (like a spicy empanada, with more suspiciously chewy parts inside), chicken, boxes of jollof or fried rice, and supposedly burgers, although I didn’t see any of those.  There was a big, plastic, back-lit menu, albeit with prices taped and sharpied halphazardly in to keep up with daily inflation.

We took a pile of food and water to the hotel, where we sat and laughed over a Nollywood film (Nigerian Hollywood; great fun, they have their own stars and fan magazines) and ate.  The hotel is desolate but has all the amenities.  We each have our own room with bathroom and Nollywood TV.  And AC!  I don’t expect this luxury in Jos….  But it does feel unsafe.  Emmanuel was sure to see us each behind dead bolts in our rooms with strict instructions not to open the door until morning.  I locked all my windows. 

Overall, I feel extremely peaceful, calm, and happy.

The bags all made it through with no troubles.  We were horrified to find we had to do carryon security again in Amsterdam (where I DID succumb to a chair massage).  They didn’t give us trouble and were more interested in what we were doing, but I was a too jet-lagged to be happy about having to unpack, scan, and repack all seven again.  I’m not convinced, either, that this whole journey they made was easier on them than going through checked luggage.

Tessa was a hero; a much better traveler than I would have been at her age. 

Our only annoyance is that no one’s cell phones work, and of course, we were all reassured by our various companies that they would.  AJ has AT&T and an iphone, and thinks he may have got a text message through.  Guess it’s all about internet cafes….  Silly, as every Nigerian you see has a working cell phone.

The air.  The soft quality of the air, and most of all, the smells.  I feel very at-home here, and memories flood me whenever I take a breath.  Nowhere else has the same mix of smells as West Africa.

Love, Lisa 10p Nigeria 4P Santa Cruz May 17 2008

Day 2 Abuja-Jos

Surreal.  A restaurant with linen table cloths.  Bright blue and yellow ones.  For chairs, there were royal blue faux fur couches with yellow and orange throw pillows.  The hanging light fixtures were glowing blue with small LED disco lights going around the top, and the other room was full of cocktail tables with green plastic orbs suspended above.  A large TV perched at the head of the table, and we kept having our lunch conversation interrupted by a CNN interview with Hilary Clinton, pussyfooting around the idea that her or Obama would be willing to be vice pres after one wins the primary, and commercials for Beautiful Croatia, “how the Mediterranean is supposed to be.”  The owner seemed to be good friends with Emmanuel, we clearly had the best table in the house waiting for us and were escorted there immediately on arrival, with subtle smiles and warm handshakes.  I understood immediately.  The restaurant owner is also a man who thinks big.

The menu had a vegetarian section for Tessa, who ordered lasagna, which came in a paper bowl and was full of oily vegetables.  There was an African page for me; I had pounded cassava (eba) and a beef-spinach stew.  I did eat it with a fork.  Drinks were enormous juice boxes of Fan-brand tropical punch.  AJ and Emily had meat with jollof rice.

Just a minute ago, I ventured into the hallway after gently capturing two beautiful glass-winged moths who were visiting our room.  At the end of the hall, the attendant and guard were on their knees, trying to keep back a swarm of the moths as they fluttered and dove around the light.  There must have been 1000 of them.  I walked down to get a better look and found the main hall covered in them.

At lunch, we immediately started talking about whether to expand the school.  Emmanuel said the idea is to get bigger, but I asked him what his goal is.  He’d like to spread values-based education across the world, and I think he will, but I pointed out that his school can’t include every child in the world.  I believe he is thinking of a school system, or complete educational reform.  Since the first group of MMS parents arrived with laptops, he’s had to turn away students to the point that parents follow him home and beg to take their children.  A school that has computers is a novelty, but laptops are almost unseen.  They’ve been heard-of, as a far-out, unreachable technology that someone like the president might have; kind of like a Comanche helicopter in the US.  We passed businesses named “laptop central,” in shacks.  Such is the mystique of a laptop.

Emmanuel’s version of Values Class has some basic differences from ours.  He took up the idea because, he says, if there are people in Nigeria’s government who are willing to appropriate funds meant for the citizenry, something has gone very wrong with the country’s education.  There is something wrong with the hearts of the most highly educated people in Nigeria.  They are very educated people, and in the moment when they are presented with the choice of good or evil, they do the wrong thing.  The time to teach values is while people are young.

Emmanuel’s Values curriculum will be published in September.  He’s given us bits and pieces of it; instead of “Values in American Thought,” of course, he teaches “Values in African Thought.”  His curriculum is based on proverbs and wisdom handed-down from an intact culture, and things he learned while meeting the Dalai Lama during Project Happiness.  The students perform the inquiry in Project Happiness; how can we make the people around us happier?  How do we find happiness?  They study the African proverbs like Ubuntu, “People are people because of other people.”  I’m waiting to hear more information….

He is the first African educator to employ Systems Thinking while building his school, as far as I can tell.  He recognizes the circle that exists between parents, teachers, administrators, and students.  To this end, he has all parents sign an agreement to check their students’ homework nightly, not only to make them do  it, but so that they will know what their children are learning.  If the students’ homework does not come back signed over a designated period, he goes to the parents to find out why they have broken the contract.

He gave over leadership of the school so that he can become involved in other projects, but he remains as Values teacher.  His wife and son are “used to” having him leave to do big things; we discussed balancing family and work.  He says they always come first, and he tries to share and involve them with his endeavors.

As I guessed, they have not heard of Montessori education.  I took one look at the bag MMS’s preschool-kindergarten had sent and knew I would have to do more than just drop it off.  So, I printed out Montessori handouts and I’ll be giving a workshop on Tuesday.  They are not going to know what the value of a puzzle or a pegboard is without learning about Prepared Environments and Work.  I’ll present Bloom’s Taxonomy, multiple intelligences, learning styles, and fostering creative thinkers to the high school faculty on Wednesday; they teach strictly rote memorization at the moment.  Thursday I will teach the science professor how to use the microscope.

Tomorrow the students have planned a performing arts presentation for us that will take the entire day.  I will be making a speech; I’m hoping a lot that has been brewing in my head about community, shared vision, world citizenship, peace, and compassion will come out in some sort of organized manner after three solid days of travelling without a drop of caffeine.

Somewhere in there, I’ll be networking seven new laptops, demonstrating solar cooking to two local business leaders and four senior students, hanging lots of maps and posters on the walls, presenting 8 and 9 year olds with letters from MMS, handing out books, and playing soccer.

Back to travelling.  There were no less than six passionate, loud, boisterous Christian church assemblies in our hotel in Abuja this morning.  People were raising the roof, staggering around and speaking tongues.  Or whatever it is people do when god overtakes them in the middle of a sermon.  I’m clueless.  Everyone was dressed beautifully, in traditional African dress.  My camera finger was absolutely itching.

Breakfast was at another one of those fast-food-type places, where the power blinked off and on.  The restaurant had a room full of big plastic toys for little ones.  I had jollof rice and fried plantains with tea.

The drive was incredibly beautiful.  Driving down a breezy African road with villages, towns, markets, vendors, scooters, and the bloom of life swirling by your window is a wonderful experience.  The Jos Plateau looks like Moab with more green growing things.  Red earth and amazing rock formations, granite steppes.  I even saw a balanced rock.  I noticed that Nigeria’s villages are not like anywhere else; in most West African countries villages are either Christian-influenced tin-roof huts or traditional thatch-roof affairs with round granaries.  In Nigeria they are all mixed together, and the effect is beautiful.  All the villages look traditional, basically.  They look less like sad impoverished hovels.  More proud, more African.  My only sad moment today was when a blind beggar stopped at our car with a boy about Addy’s age as his guide.  The boy and I had a moment, we kept smiling at each other, and I just wanted to help him, that child, right there, but there was nothing I think of to do.  I felt a little teary after that.

The hotel this morning had cans of something that looked exactly like red bull but was called “Wild Buffalo.”  It made me laugh so hard and I asked for one, but they were not for sale.  Emmanuel proceeded to stop at two different places; he gave us each a huge box of juice at the first one, then each an actual can of red bull at the second.  Since we actually didn’t want to drink any of it, I felt quite bad, and I was unable to explain why I’d wanted the Wild Buffalo in the first place.  I learned something about how difficult it can be to help people get what they want, even if you bend over backwards.

I tried to get Emmanuel to go see his family as soon as we got to Jos, but he wanted to escort us.  Finally, after the fancy restaurant, he did go home.  We walked around the grounds and took pictures of Tinky the Traveller.

Peace and Love, Lisa C 8:12 Jos Time, 12:12 Santa Cruz